Flea missed my words. "What?"
I ignored him. "They put a parking lot on a cliff and call it a state park? What's so special about this cliff?"
Flea gestured at the ocean. "The waves out there. I don't remember what they call them, but I know they're special."
I did not understand. "Why would anybody give a shit about ocean waves? Hell, they kept coming in forever, don't they?" I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Waves." I gave it up as lost. "What's Corky's old lady look like?"
"She's a nice-looking woman," Flea said.
"How's he get along with her?"
"He can't be getting on too good with her, if he wants her wasted."
"Is it visible? I mean, can Joe Blow catch on?"
"I never thought so. This thing's taken me by surprise."
I gave up. "Good-bye, Flea."
Flea Nichols slunk out of my car like a wet cat. He didn't slam the door behind him well enough and had to reopen and close it again before it was shut tightly.
I shook my head with disgust. "If I didn’t need the money--!" I rammed it into gear, popped the clutch, and the Mustang flew down the highway, until I disappeared around the next curve.
An elementary school was below the opened window in Ivy's bedroom. I listened to the rhythm of bedsprings already at a fevered pitch creaking like a ship in rough seas, as her small urgent female moans grew louder and louder, and I wondered if we were going to drown out the noise of the kids playing in the schoolyard.
When Ivy Lawson reached orgasm, she called upon the Creator, and then she and the creaking bed both stopped. The school bell rang and the little kids went inside. Then the distant sounds of surf and the rustle of palm trees and banana leaves in the wind again had the afternoon to themselves.
We were sated and naked in her bed by the open window, Ivy prostrate on top of me. After a moment she slowly struggled to lift herself off me. She wiped the sweat from her breasts with a bed sheet, then wiped the sweat off my chest before laying her head on me. She snuggled closer to me, gratefully.
I kissed her. "Tell me about Corky Collins."
"Why?"
"He's one of the people I have to talk with about this National Park."
I waited for her to catch her breath.
"Corky and my dad were fishing buddies," Ivy said. "He's a nice guy. A little blustery, but he's got a warm heart."
"Does he flirt with the ladies?"
"That old guy! Besides, he's married. He's nuts about his wife. They're both nuts about each other. They're going to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary next month. The whole town'll help them celebrate. There's going to be a luau, a band, cake and champagne ... "
"I heard he's getting a divorce."
Ivy stopped. "No shit!" She thought it over. "A divorce would cost him plenty."
"How much does he have?"
"Plenty," Ivy said.
I felt great, so I kissed her again and kept caressing her curves of flesh. I like the feel of female skin.
Ivy was relishing this much attention. "We have to do this more often!"
I had a lazy smile. "Your turn, Ivy. Do me again."
Ivy smiled a dirty smile, then slowly slid down the length of my naked body. I felt like a million dollars.
The sign on the building read "First Bank of Maui." The sign on the door in the back of the bank said "Ollie Salazar Bank President."
I sat across the desk from Ollie Salazar. I recognized the short, slight banker as one of yesterday’s poker players from the Paradise Bowl.
"God, but you boys work fast," Ollie said. "Only yesterday I was reading about this National Park idea."
I cautioned him. "That's just one Senator with a suggestion. It isn't law yet, and it may never be."
"Yes, but still--" Ollie tried another tack. "If the National Park Service can send you here--"
"This is not an official visit. In fact, if you check with the regional office, they will deny anyone is here. Officially, I'm a tourist. I want to see how big the coastline is, how many people live around here, what they're like--"
"That's a good cover story," Ollie said.
"Mister Salazar, how do you like the idea of a East Maui National Park?"
Ollie was dubious. "People here are concerned about tourists, congestion, too much traffic--"
"Of course," I said.
"What does Uncle Sam do when he makes a National Park?
"The absolute minimum," I admitted. "We put in some parking lots. Public outhouses, too. Wherever there's a parking lot. By the cliffs, too, so the tradewinds can keep them fresh.
Ollie was still dubious. "Oh."
"The idea is to protect the land for the ages."
The banker blinked. "Well, there would be some development, wouldn't there?"
"At the same time, we want to help existing businesses within the local community.
Ollie brightened. "Really!"
I admitted it: "Some landowners could become multi-millionaires overnight."
Ollie grinned. Now Uncle Sam was talking his language. "How can I help you, Mister Bishop?"