Coffee Kapu

By Selma R. Davis

In this, her third crime novel set in Hawaii, Selma delves into the mystique, history, lure, and romance of coffee while taking the reader on a tour of Oahu.
In Coffee Kapu, modern day criminals pattern their behavior after the notorious criminals of the past. These 21st century bad guys taunt Madam Pele, the legendary goddess of the volcano, and she takes care of them in her inimitable style.
The Days continue to enjoy their vacations in Hawaii and share their observations and experiences even while the criminals wreak havoc.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 13, 2005
• ISBN: 9781469113739

Selma R. Davis

Selma, a Phi Beta Kappa award winning journalist, with a BA and MA from the University of Pennsylvania, resides in Philadelphia's fabled Main Line and spends two months a year in Hawaii. She uses her passion for accuracy and her insight into people to create memorable characters in a fast-moving, easy to read mystery.

Book preview

Chapter 1

On May 14, 1929, the crime lords from the nation’s major cities met in Atlantic City, New Jersey for a convention. Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Dutch Schultz, Pretty Boy Floyd, Louis Lepke, Machine Gun Kelley, Alvin Barkus, Willie Sutton, Kid Reles, Kid Twist, Jake Gurrah Shapiro, Leggs Diamond—all notorious underworld figures of the 1920’s—gathered to work together for their general good. Brought together by Louis Lepke Buchalter, the brains of the operation, they agreed to divide the country into protected zones, respect each other’s territory, to work together to bribe the authorities, and to holster their guns, control their hotheads, and negotiate disputes peacefully.

While in Atlantic City, the conventioneers bathed in the ocean, walked on the boardwalk, partied at the different hotels, and gambled at the California Boarding House. As part of the entertainment, a band of strolling Hawaiian musicians performed each evening in front of the President Hotel.

Lepke, fascinated by the musicians’ colorful shirts, relaxed attitude, and strong music struck up a conversation with the violinist, Robby Kale. Brudda, you have to come to Hawaii, said Kale. You won’t believe how open and available everything is, and Brudda, I mean everything. Kale waved his bow arm around, bent his knees, and swayed his body in a circle as he told his story. The musicians, their music, and their stories fascinated Lepke but one would never know it by looking at him, his expression never changed.

Louis Lepke Buchalter, known to fellow criminals as the Judge was smart, fair, even-handed, and ruthless. Lepke made the final decisions when it came to who did what and to whom both in and out of the mob. When Dutch Schultz wanted to kill Thomas Dewey, New York’s crusading Attorney General, Lepke ordered Schultz’s execution. The world knew Lepke as the head of Murder Inc, responsible for uncounted and unsolved murders.

In the 1920’s and 30’s the New York mob controlled the unions and the politicians. Every loaf of bread sold in New York brought one cent into the coffers of the mob. The garment trades contributed large, untaxed sums of money to keep peace in their factories, showrooms, and stores. These underworld figures carried a romantic cache with their lives and recent books such as Tough Jews and They Were Good to Their Mothers added to that reputation. TV hits as The Sopranos glorify their lives and times and even Elvis Presley sang about them in Jailhouse Rock. To quote from the song: . . . the whole rhythm section was the purple gang. He didn’t sing the notorious purple gang that terrorized Detroit.

The mobsters had expenses, of course, like any other well run organization, but even after pay outs and bribes, enormous sums of money poured in every week and Lepke relished the job of finding a safe place to stash it. So far, Louis managed with banks and property but if the occasion ever arose, the Territory of Hawaii might be the perfect location.

The rules that Judge Lepke spelled out at the Atlantic City 1929 convention held until December 7, 1941.

Chapter 2

Philip, Philip, can you come up here? Barbara called from the third floor of their Tudor style house in Bala Cynwyd. We have a really great e-mail from Felicity and I’d like you to see it in person.

Be right there, dear, answered Philip as he started up the steps.

Felicity Diamond, a long time friend from Bryn Mawr, moved to Hawaii about 20 years earlier because she enjoyed the quiet, solitude, peacefulness, lack of chaos, and general goodness of the 50th state. The Days visited with Felicity in Oahu if her infrequent trips from the Big Island coincided with the Days’ time in Honolulu. But right now, Felicity had written an unusual and exciting e-mail.

My dearest friends, I have great news to convey to you. Just last month I bought an old coffee plantation (actually it’s a really small farm of just 800 trees) on a picturesque road off the main highway to Kona. I have been working like the proverbial busy beavers and bees and finally have my new place ready to receive company. Please, let me know when you are gracing our paradise again, so we can get together. I’ll fetch you from the Kona airport, and we will have a wonderful time.

"Well, Philip, what do you think? We’re going to Honolulu in a couple of weeks. We’ll be there for a whole month. Surely, we can make arrangements to visit Felicity one day. Just think, a flight to Kona and more of the Big Island to explore. What shall we write her? How about:

Dear Felicity, Sounds great! We arrive on the 21st. We need a few days to recover from the trip. How about if we plan to meet you at the Kona airport on the 30th?

Love, Barbara and Philip

Unless you disagree, I’ll hit send."

Let it fly, dear, said Philip. It sounds very exciting. It’ll be fun. We drink lots of coffee and we’ve never seen a coffee farm, let alone been on one. I’m going back to my paper now unless there’s something else you’d like me to see up here.

Barbara finished her work on the computer and came downstairs to join Philip for breakfast. He started the second pot of coffee—ah that delicious Hawaiian coffee—from Kauai, or Kona, or wherever, as long as it’s from Hawaii, and Barbara started the rest of breakfast. This morning, they both felt like eating poached eggs on toast with sliced fresh tomatoes and sliced red peppers.

Do you think we should wait until we get to Honolulu to make the arrangements to fly to the Big Island, or should we try to do it now?

Let’s wait, said Philip, ever the pragmatist. We can make the reservations from our hotel or across the street at the Reef. And we’ll have a better feel for what’s going on when we’re there.

Chapter 3

Marion Dell looked through the current weekly Main Line newspaper for the listing of garage sales. School has started, she thought. It’s not quite nice enough to stay outside all day; a perfect time to go to garage sales. She spent a good seven minutes circling the ads and making scribbles on her paper. That must have taken me two hours, she said to herself and then shook her wrist when her watch showed only the few minutes that had gone by. If I start out bright and early tomorrow morning, I should be finished with all 15 places on the list by noon. The best things go early.

Marion lacked an accurate perception of time—how much had passed when she engrossed herself in a project and how much she could accomplish in a small space of time. And she had way overbooked herself on her garage sale treasure hunt. It would take two days to visit all the sales she circled.

But Marion knew about garage sales, attic sales, tag sales, and any other kind of sale. At first, as a young woman, she shopped only at the exclusive tony shops but, as she became more and more cut off from the financial fortunes of her parents, she learned where the bargains were. At garage sales, she found clothing (usually for children) from 25 cents, hardback books for 50 cents or $1.00, picture frames with and without glass from 25 cents, chipped cups and saucers and once, she even bought an old bus token from Hawaii. She started attending garage sales four years ago when her friend, Vivian Rivers took her. Since then, they travelled to many places together, including Hawaii. I’m not a junk collector, I’m just helping people get rid of the things they want to ditch and sometimes I get a treasure.

Marion knew all about the tales of masterpieces bought for a song at garage sales, and she kept hoping to find a secret compartment in a jewelry box with hidden diamonds, or an autographed letter behind a picture in a photo album. She dreamed of matching the bargain found by Claire Wiegand-Beckman of Bergen County, New Jersey who bought an 18th century card table, one of six made by the Boston furniture maker John Seymour & Son, for $25.00 at a garage sale in the 60’s. It brought $541,500 at an auction at Sotheby’s in the late 1990’s. And Wanda Bell of Nashville purchased a painting, in 1990, by New England artist Sheldon Peck, for $25.00. Sotheby’s sold it for $79,500 at an auction.

So Marion woke up bright and early on Saturday morning and drove off in her little Chevrolet Cavalier to seek her fortune at some of the Main Line garage sales. The first sale, a block sale by all the neighbors just down the street from her house had nothing that interested Marion. I should have known better, she thought. At block sales, they all buy from each other.

Back in the Cavalier and on, further west on Montgomery Avenue, to a sale near Harriton High School. This looks more promising, thought Marion. At least all the participants didn’t look through the merchandise and pick what they wanted like they did at the last place. She parked her car and walked up the steep hill to the French Normandy style mansion. She waved hello to anybody who looked at her, walked through the first floor, walked through the second floor and thought about buying the grandfather clock on the landing but realized it would be too big, too heavy, and too tall to use in her home. Then on to the third floor, to look through the moldy old books, pictures, photos, and table cloths. Marion picked up several crocheted lace napkins, a flat box with four hand-painted placemats, a scrap book that had barely been used, and an old stamp collection with many uncancelled American stamps.

The cashier, seated at a card table at the front door priced Marion’s items at $3.50 and Marion gladly paid. I think the uncancelled stamps are worth more than that, she said to herself and she walked down the hill back to her car. Once inside, she opened the scrap book again and found Playbills from the musical theater hey days—South Pacific, Oklahoma, Guys and Dolls, and Pajama Game.

"What was that story that Barbara Day blabbed about Pajama Game? How she got David Wayne’s autograph on a "Pajama Game program. Well, maybe I’ll give this program to Barbara as a surprise the next time I see her—or maybe not." Marion put the program back in the album, never noticing the John Raitt autograph on the front, nor the slip of paper that slid out into her bag.

Chapter 4

The opium poppy, used for heroin and morphine, thrives in temperate, warm climates with low humidity which allow the tiny seeds to germinate in warm air with sufficient soil moisture. Extremes of moisture or dryness affect the poppy plant’s growth adversely. The opium poppy flowers after about 90 days and continues to bloom for two to three weeks. The flowers have four petals, either single or double, and vary in colors from white, pink, reddish purple, crimson red, to variegated,

The petals protect the pod which produces the opium alkaloids. After the petals drop away, the farmer scores the pod with vertical incisions, about one millimeter deep. The opium from each pod drips from the plant and this white latex-like raw opium oozes out of the plant and dries overnight on the pod. In the morning, the harvester scrapes the sticky opium gum from the surface of the pods into a container which hangs from his neck or waist.

The wet opium gum contains water and needs to be dried for several days. High quality raw opium contains no more than 15 percent water. When the opium has been properly dried and wrapped, it can be stored almost indefinitely. Excessive moisture and heat can cause the opium to deteriorate but, once dried, opium is relatively stable if it remains dry and cool.

In the early 21st century, law-enforcement officers found 40,000 lavender-hued opium poppies growing in the Sierra National Forest, south of Yosemite, 40 miles from Fresno. The plants, enough to yield 40 pounds of raw opium, were in a clearing on a 3,000-foot high slope.

Chapter 5

Yasha Katzenberg helped Louis Lepke turn illegal drugs into millions of dollars. Katzenberg organized the drug growers in Asia, knew the customs officials in the United States, and kept the heroin flowing even after the League of Nations put strict limitations on the amount of opium that could be grown. The League banned the growing of more narcotic than could be used at home, domestically. Katzenberg, unable to make this trip with the opium to Hawaii, shipped the drugs to Honolulu and told Louis how to pick up the package, mark it to get it through customs at San Francisco, and described which customs agent would overlook this particular import for a price, of course.

Good thing that Lepke knew all about the customs inspectors. When he and Jacob Gurrah Shapiro arrived in San Francisco, they searched out the customs and immigration building and looked for the friendly inspectors. They’ve been fired, said the clerk on duty. I’m not sure, he went on, but the rumor is that they were on the take. Are you guys detectives? I understand they left town.

Louis and Gurrah left immediately and wondered how to get in touch with Yasha Katzenberg. We’ll just have to figure out what to do when we get to Honolulu, said Louis. Katzenberg said that he has agents in Chinatown, near the river. I’m sure they’ll find us, or we’ll find them.

Many alternate plans raced through Lepke’s mind. He prided himself on his ability to think under pressure, always fair, always striving for the perfect decision. With our friendly agent out of the picture, we’ll just have to leave the opium in Honolulu until things turn around. We’ll find an agent that needs some dough. We always do.

Lepke kept in touch with Robby Kale and arranged to meet him in Honolulu. Kale promised Louis that he would be in for the treat of his life when the boat docked. Kale told such stories about greeting the tourists on boat days that Lepke actually anticipated with delight the serenading of the Royal Hawaiian Band and the hula dancing girls. Kale never told him about the lei the girls would put around his neck, nor about the kisses, always given with the lei. Lepke, accompanied by his friend and protector Jacob Gurrah Shapiro, thoroughly enjoyed the whole welcome to paradise experience and no one paid much attention to the two men from New York with their grey business suits, light grey fedoras, and polished black shoes.

Lepke and Gurrah gathered their luggage, hailed a taxi, and asked to be taken to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Katzenberg told Louis that this was the best place to stay. It would be full of cruise passengers and the staff knew how to keep its mouth shut.

Check in went smoothly even after the hotel clerk asked if they wanted one bed or two. Lepke nearly blew a gasket, remembered to stay cool, sputtered out two of course while Gurrah convulsed in laughter. This was Hawaii. Who knew what happened here, away from civilization? They registered as Lester Blum and Jack Sunshine—same initials, same monograms, no questions.

Lepke and Gurrah, entranced by the sights, sounds, and scents of the island unpacked, changed into shorts and short sleeve shirts, and strolled along the beach.

They had dinner served in their room—fresh pineapple, grilled fresh fish (they never figured out its name, but it was delicious), and 3 cups of fabulous Kona coffee. They slept soundly with the Pacific Ocean playing a gentle lullaby just outside their window.

Chapter 6

Barbara Day had mastered the art of packing for Hawaii. I just wash and dry all the clothes that we wore on the last trip, and pack them away. If anyone asked, she answered we have plenty of clothes to wear at home too, and if not, I can do laundry every day if I have to. I won’t do laundry in Hawaii, not on vacation.

The taxi from Kelly’s Kabs arrived on time, as usual, and the Days got to the Philly airport at 4:30 AM. The Expressway was practically empty, but some of the cars drove as if they were on the autobahn. People are in such a hurry, said Barbara. Where can they have to be at this hour of the morning that they’re flying down the road? I know, think Zen. I’m glad we’ll soon be in the land of hang loose and it ain’t no big deal brudda. I like the Hawaiian idea of time too, you’re never early or late for anything, you’re just there.

Thinking about the Philadelphia Expressway, their I-95 trips to Virginia to see Marlowe and his family, and the other roads with high speed trucks and traffic, Philip said, there shouldn’t be too much car racing in Honolulu. Not with all the congestion that the TV traffic reports show—a solid mass of red lights, moving slowly on the highways, looks like a lava flow coming down the pali.

The scheduled departure time of their American Airlines plane at 6 AM and the 90-minute early arrival (because of extra security after the 9/11 attack on America) resulted in no sky caps at curb side or elsewhere. Apparently, they don’t start work that early and so the Days had to negotiate their four heavy bags and two carry ons all by themselves, to the rhythm of airport announcements unattended bags will be removed and destroyed.

Somehow, they did it.

What stress!

When they finally got on their plane, they felt as if they had done a full day’s work. They probably had since they had been awake since 2:30 in the morning.

After the ordeal of getting to the airport and getting on the plane, the Days welcomed the 12 hour ride across the five time zones (even though the time difference is six hours during daylight saving time, the number of time zones crossed remains constant at five). Barbara read, did crossword puzzles, dozed, and ate a little. Philip read, dozed, sketched, and ate a little too. The Days always bring along some food because they never know if a meal will be served, if the airline will have their special order vegetarian platters (they are not vegetarians. The Days have experimented with the different special meals available on air planes and concluded that the best of all the food that can be ordered on the plane is vegetarian), or if they will be stranded somewhere with no access to wholesome food and drink. Although not fanatics, the Days prefer food that is low in sodium and fat and minimally processed. They changed planes in Chicago and took off for Honolulu.

By the time the plane landed, Barbara had changed out of her long pants and long sleeved shirt into shorts and a T-shirt. Her fellow passengers asked her how she put on her shorts so fast and Barbara confessed that she was wearing this layer of clothes under the clothes that she wore when she boarded the plane. My plane clothes are in here, she said, holding up a small red duffel bag.

The Honolulu airport welcomes all the passengers with glorious displays of flowers, fresh air that wafts through the terminal, and happy friendly people smiling and saying Aloha. Many times, the Days hear their fellow passengers gasp as they take in the beauty of Hawaii as soon as they land at the terminal, and comment that the air smells like candy.

Chapter 7

Week after week, Marion Dell continued on her quest through the Main Line, always looking for the perfect bargain. An antique mirror would be nice, she thought. That would be just the right touch in the entranceway over the pink marble ledge. She followed her itinerary and stopped at the advertised places in Villanova, Wayne, and even as far out as Devon but found only a couple of picture frames and three big containers for flowers. I can use anything for my flowers, she said to herself. Always could.

Home again to her Ardmore townhouse where she unloaded her Cavalier and looked through her treasures. When Marion got to the scrap book, she looked carefully at all the programs, mentally marked Pajama Game for Barbara and started singing Oh What A Beautiful Morning from Oklahoma. What a great show that was, she thought, filled with terrific songs and dramatic opportunities.

The stamp album had sunk to the bottom of her bag and when Marion pulled that out, she found a loose piece of paper. What in the world is this? she asked herself. It looks almost as if it’s a map, but how could a map get into the stamp album? Oh well, I’ll just put it aside and look at it more carefully later in the day when I have some time.

Her crocheted napkins found their way into a kitchen drawer. The picture frames wound up downstairs, in the cellar, to be cleaned later, when I have enough time. The flower containers stayed outside on the front steps. "I’ll just pick up some plants at the corner market and stick them in. I must have