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This story probably shouldn't be told. It would give up too many secrets. Most people wouldn't know and it would hardly be worth mentioning anything about Lanai, Hawaii. Most people wouldn't know nor would they care it is the sixth-largest of the Hawaiian Islands and the smallest publicly accessible inhabited island in the chain or that it is the 42nd largest island in the United States. Who cares?

The FBI seemed to care. In fact, that was part of the decision to put her there. Jenny had never been to Hawaii. Most computers would not have made a guess to search for her there. Who would want to live on such a god-forsaken place?

The island is shaped like a bean; with the length (parallel to Maui) about thirteen miles and the width about seven miles. Although most of the islanders living there don't care either way, it is supposedly of a volcano. From Google earth, one can see that the 3,000 foot high mountain range facing Maui is actually part of the ridge a crater. The flat habitable part of the island which the city is nestled in is actually in the mouth of that crater.

Most of the residents have never been off of the island, except to go to a class reunion. Most of them (the reunions) are in Las Vegas. Most of the islanders worked for Dole Pineapple until they moved to the Philippines. Most of the people from everywhere else do not know or care about the fact that when Dole left, the company built two large luxury hotels on the island to give the inhabitants some kind of work.

Everything on the island, food, gas, cars, anything you can think of comes from the mainland. The theater has English speaking films on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. There are Japanese films on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Sunday is for the Filipinos.

The community center is a large lap siding wood framed building with a gymnasium, a stage and a few meeting rooms. On half the days, everybody goes to the gym after work and plays basketball. The men play and the wives and children sit in the stands to cheer. On the other days, ping pong tables are brought out and lined like cordwood on the basketball court. There are no bars on the island, but plenty of drunks.

There are at least seven different churches for the 3,000 people. After regular school, the Japanese children go to Japanese school to learn the language, customs and culture.

The few visitors are the rich. They fly in for a month to stay in their million dollar houses for a brief respite. The not-so-rich pay about $400 per day to stay in either of the two luxury hotels. The one next to Manele Beach is the Four Seasons Lanai. The one at the edge of Lanai City is the Lodge at Koele.

That is where Jenny works. Today she turns the switch on the 1985 Yamaha FZ750. It cranks over a couple of times and roars awake. It started! Sometimes, the weather is damp after a morning rain, and it can be finicky. She probably stuck one of the wires with a probe, checking for continuity. The pin hole in the wire will occasionally create a short. It was almost a gift. On Lanai, you get what you can on Craigslist.

Her father had taught her how to trouble shoot an electrical system when she was in high school. This one had a bad fuse and the local boy had no idea how to fix it. In good condition, this race quality crotch rocket would be worth thousands on the mainland. Here, it was worth what somebody that could repair it was willing to give. She had purchased it for $ 500.00 and fixed it herself. She had fiber glassed the tank and fairings. She had applied bondo in a thin coat over the little chips and painted it.

Today she would not be riding her 21-speed Panasonic across town to work. She went through the gears and the sound of the four-cylinder, 20 valve engine echoed off of the wood houses on the way. The young boys stopped what they were doing and stood silently as the most astonishing rice burner slalomed around the town square. "What a fucking idiot!" one of the boys said to his friend who had almost given it to her.

They were young, but they also watched in silent awe and fascination at the woman seated on it.

They watched the forty-year old woman leaned over the gas tank as she leaned into the corners. They watched this mysterious haole from the mainland. There was so much they didn't know about her. For a woman who was probably older than their mothers, how could somebody that age look better than the girls they went to school with?

They watched. Her denim cutoffs were hemmed at the bottoms but rode up almost scandalously to the top of her thighs. Her burnt umber boots were laced up to the top, just below her knees. Her suntanned legs were an indication of a person who had spent most of her time outdoors. Her reddish brown French braid stretched out behind her like the tail of a cheetah turning to catch a gazelle as the bike went around the corner.

The young boys could almost smell her; like a pile of freshly laundered shirts stacked on the porch overnight in a cold cedar chest. There was freshness about her like new oranges or apples pulled from the refrigerator. She was not a woman covered in rogue, lipstick, perfume or hairspray. They could all imagine sticking their noses in the camel toe of her cutoff jeans or lace panties beneath; same smell. You could inhale forever; like into an oxygen mask after running for a touchdown.

Jenny's blue oxford men's dress shirt sleeves were rolled up above her elbows. The boys could see her tanned, toned arms flex as she turned the throttle back and feathered the clutch. "What a fucking woman; what a fucking bike." The different boys said to themselves individually.

The sun was not always out. The roads were not always dry on this tropical island. Jenny rode when she could. If it was raining when she got off, she could still always walk home, or often when it was light, she would ride home in the rain. This was the best time for the young boys. They would line the streets if they could to watch this woman, wet to the skin riding home. She was too focused on not tipping over to realize the boys were salivating at her nearly see-through blouse and almost useless bra which God had mercifully made almost transparent in the drizzle.

Jenny rode up the main approach to the Lodge at Kōele. To fully appreciate the lodge, you had to be in your seventies. You had to have been there when this road led to the oldest ranch on the island. This part of the island served as the headquarters of Lanai Ranch, founded by Walter Murray Gibson who was one of the leaders of the large colony of Mormons who came to the island in the mid-1800s The pine trees back in the fifties were even then over a hundred years old. They formed a long avenue on each side of the dirt road to the main ranch entrance.

Now, over fifty years later, Dole Pineapple had moved. The owners had erected two luxury hotels to give the local people some type of work. The pines, close to a hundred years old, framed the entrance like the hotel had been there for a century. Jenny turned when she got to the entrance and parked in the parking lot. For the guests, the entrance was magnificent. Once they arrived at the end of the long approach to the entrance, The main entrance was a series of grand entrance doors into a multi-story lobby.

Once in the lobby, the doors on the back of the lobby framed a view across an emerald lawn and between rows of dwarf ornamental trees to a large pond. Beyond that was a white "greenhouse" full of orchids

Jenny's job was to manage the orchids, ornamental trees and prodigious amount of flowers on the site. It wasn't a job she chose to do for her life's work.

Her husband, Michael, had been an accountant. He had discovered that the office he had been working for was a front; a money laundering bank for a drug cartel sending money out of the country. The FBI had promised him immunity from prosecution for his testimony. They had been in the witness protection for over a year now.

The island had been selected through some computer searches. They had tried to pick a place the family had never been to; had no relatives; and had nothing they were interested in in terms of hobbies. The island was a blessing and a curse.

What kind of people went to Lanai? What kind of people ever left Lanai? Lanai was acontronym of concepts. It was like who drives a Cadillac? The very rich and the very poor. Who lives on Lanai? The very rich and the very poor. Lanai was a collection of extremes. The poor were there to serve the rich. The poor, who had never been off of the island served the wealthy wanderers; flitting from the mainland to Hawaii, and then on to Niece or Monaco.

They may have not been poor in a literal sense, if you believe that means lack of money; not being able to feed yourself or going without a cell phone. This is the place the very wealthy vacationed. This is where Bill Gates chose to have his wedding. This is the land of constant sunny weather; 200 inches of rainfall per year. It is where orchids grow wild. Children do not have to pack a lunch on the weekends. They go out on their bikes with spears cut from small ironwood trees, or take slingshots to hunt pheasants. They do not go hungry. They can always find mangoes, papayas, bananas, macadamia nuts or pineapple when they are hungry.

If you have never walked to college in the snow with cardboard to fill in the holes; if you have never had to push a car off the road because it could not get up the ice covered hill, how can you really appreciate what you have? They can be considered poor to the sense that they have never walked the narrow streets of Mont San Michele; climbed the Eifel tower; or had their pockets picked in Times Square.

It was said that when Mark Cuban sold his first company for a king's ransom, he bought a lifelong ticket from an airline and spent the first year traveling. Mark Cuban has lots of money, but he also has the perspective to appreciate what he has. Most of the inhabitants could never begin to buy the homes they own if not for the fact that they were born there. They have a wealth by a quirk of circumstance. To say they are poor is misleading, but there is a kernel of truth to it.

The FBI had decided that this was the ideal location for Jenny and her family. Other than having Bill Gates get married there, there were few visitors. The ones who came, stayed only a few weeks. Most of them (visitors or tourists) had million dollar houses around the golf course.

Jenny had adjusted to her life of obscurity; checking the alkalinity and acidity of the plants, soil and water. She divided the orchids, cannas and irises. She made sure the plants all got the right amount of sun, water and shade. Life was tolerable. You might say she was a prisoner in paradise.

It does not need to be said that Jenny was not ready for what happened that morning. She did not know the man or his entourage that came in while she was trimming the decorative trees on the back lawn.

Jo Jo Mamafuku had grown up on the island and only been back a few times during his playing career. He had always brought an entourage of women with him. He had decadent tastes and a bank account to support it. He had been to all the tourist places; Hawaii, Maui, Kauai and Oahu. He had not been to Molokai. Nobody goes to Kahoolawe.

Joe (Jo Jo) was an oddity. When captain cook came to the islands in 1798, the English began bringing cheap labor to the islands to help raise crops. Slaves were created with the local Hawaiians. Others were brought in from Samoa, New Zealand and sometimes Africa. It is also little known that Lanai and Kahoolawe were used for penal colonies. The men were kept on Lanai and the women were kept on Kahoolawe. It was rumored that some of the men prisoners on the island used logs to float across from Lanai to Kahoolawe.

Since they were not supervised and imprisoned like modern day prisoners were, they were allowed to roam the island. You will not see or hear about the tunnels through Lanaihale. Lanaihale is the mountain ridge that runs along the side of the island facing Maui (the leeward side). It is over 3,000 feet high. Some say it is an inactive volcano. Others, after looking at the formation on Google Earth, feel it is the rim of a much larger crater. That makes Lanai City located in the mouth of the crater. (Repeat??)

Joe had been caught as a young boy. He had been caught trying to pilfer food from one of the local stores. The owners had no idea what they had found. They just thought he had come from another island and wandered into the store.

They had no idea, or chose to ignore some of the hundred year old rumors floating around the island; that some of the slaves and prisoners originally left on the island had formed their own community within the steep fissures of Lanihale facing Maui. The locals pronounce the island mountain name closer to Lana Holly. Maybe it's the Pidgin English pronunciation.

When they caught him, he was only about thirteen years old. The coach of the local high school noticed how much bigger he was than the rest of the boys on the island and took him in. Over the years, he grew even more. He not only grew taller, but became exponentially heavier; faster and unbelievably athletic. The hidden civilization that survived on the leeward side spent most of their time running up and down the steep slopes of the mountain trying to hunt goats, deer and climb the trees for fruit.

When he went to school, the coach passed him off as his son. When he went off to college, he played on the legendary teams with Billy Sims, Daryl Hunt, Reggie Kinlaw, and Greg Roberts.

Jo Jo had done business with the bank that Jenny's husband had been an accountant for. He knew the whole situation, but had forgotten about it. It wasn't his problem. He had no ax to grind with anyone.

However, when Jenny turned to come into the lobby, he couldn't help but notice her. She had gone through the lobby as a shortcut to check some plants along the front entrance. Joe (JoJo) like all of the men on the island, couldn't help but notice her. He continued his conversation with the woman who was checking him and his friends into their rooms. They were there to play golf for a few days and tour the other islands for a week or so.

Joe couldn't remember at first where he had first seen the middle aged woman before. "Another time; another place" he muttered to himself. Once he had taken his bags to his room and gone back down to eat, it came to him.

He had met her: Jenn, Jenny, Mrs. Scott or something like that. He had met her at a reception at the bank. He remembered the discussion a year or so later and the articles in the papers. Jenny's husband had turned informer and gone into the witness protection program. Nobody had seen her in over a year or so.

Joe walked over to the bar and got himself a drink. He walked out the front entrance and walked down the walk to where the unaware woman was deadheading the rose garden.

School had let out for the day and her daughter, Dakota had decided to bicycle by to ask her mother if she could go to a friend's house before dinner. Dakota was the cloned image of her mother. She wasn't quite as tall, and she wasn't quite as filled out; but it was easy to see the similarity.

Dakota hadn't bothered to get completely off of her 10-speed. Her tanned legs peeked out of the short, un-hemmed denim short, shorts. Her feet had the rubber slippers that they were obligated to wear once they were in high school. No bare feet above junior high. Her red blouse barley covered the bottom of her breasts. The edges had been tied together just below, like a hooter's waitress.

The biggest difference between mother and daughter was, maybe, the size of their breasts. Jenny was not huge; melon sized, with no sag. Dakota had not been ordered to wear a bra yet. Hers were more pointy; not quite as big, but with plenty of promise. Up until a year or so ago, her mother had not insisted that she wear a top when swimming. Now that it was clear that she was changing, her mother was adamant that she at least wear a top when swimming. She had not insisted on a bra yet, but it was clearly time.

Joe took his drink and walked slowly towards the two women.

"Pardon me, young lady, but I think we have met before, haven't we?"

Jenny hadn't particularly looked up. This was a popular come-on that was used every day.

"Maybe so," she said almost without looking up. She smiled as she turned away from the roses. It took her a while to remember. Suddenly her heart almost stopped. Goosebumps raced from the back of her knees to the base of her neck. "Oh, Fuck" she thought. "How could he possibly recognize me?" her mind screamed.

"You probably have me mistaken for somebody else," she tried to say with as sweet a smile as she could manage. "Deny; deny; deny" was all that raced through her mind. "Dakota, honey, why don't you run home now. I'll be home very soon." She said without taking her eyes off of the monster in front of her.

Dakota had come there determined to get approval from her mother to visit her friend Molly. When she looked up at the dark giant, she seemed to sense the tension between the two of them.

Dakota tried not to stare. This man was easily the height of their door at home; 6'-8" or so. She could not have guessed his weight, but would not have argued if he had said it was 240 pounds. She would not have argued with anybody who had said he had played corner back and linebacker for 10 years.

She couldn't have possibly known, nor would she have questioned the rumor that he had run the fastest 40-yard dash in the NFL Scouting Combine as a rookie; and that he had run it backwards, covering Deion Sanders. His hair was shaved on the sides and the top was a Mohawk woven into a French braid that went down his back. The tattoos down his arms looked like tribal markings of a New Zealander aborigine. His open shirt glimmered with rippling abdominal muscles and the mild heat of the islands.

"I'll see you when you get home, Mom." Dakota said as she leaned forward on her bike and kissed her mother on the cheek. Dakota was undecided whether to be enthralled or terrorized by this alien from the mainland.

"That's a beautiful fucking young woman you have here, Miss Scott."

Jenny tried to keep her composure. There was no mistaking the implications of his comment. Jenn watched her daughter peddle out of sight. "How could you possibly know who we are?" she stuttered almost silently without looking up at him.

Slowly she began to realize where she had seen him before. It is hard to forget a black man of that size, complexion and looks. He looked like the musician, Seal Henry Olusegun Olumide Adeola Samuel: scaring and all. "I'm begging you to please not let anybody know who we are."

"I don't mind keeping quiet. Your secret is safe with me." He said, knowing now that his suspicions were true. I think if you bring that young girl up to my room tonight, I will be more than willing to keep my silence."

"Please, mister; please don't put me in that position. I'm willing to consider anything; almost anything but that." She was trembling now; her mind racing to come up with other ideas. "I have some money saved up."

"Listen, you fucking cunt; I have more fucking money than you could put in the back of a truck. You think I would settle for a ridiculous offer when you have a daughter like that?"

"Can't we come up with something else?" Jenny pleaded with tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She looked around to see if anybody else could possibly overhear. She could see the head bellman, the head cashier and a waitress or two trying to look inconspicuously away when she turned towards them. They all knew who the celebrity athlete was, and couldn't figure out the relationship between her and him. Fraternizing between the staff and guests was almost a death penalty here.

"I get off work in about an hour. I have to go home and fix dinner for my husband and daughter. Please give me tome to go home first. I will get back with you in a couple of hours. Please give me the chance to keep things under control. I can meet you somewhere; but just not your room. I can't be seen there. I'm begging you to give me a chance."

Jo Jo tried to keep from looking pleased. He tried not to smile. He stared her in the eyes; pretending to weigh the proposition she had presented.

"I will wait until after supper. I will meet you at the Lanai Hotel. You better wear something fucking mind boggling to make up for your daughter not being there. You are going to have to fucking blow my mind if you want to convince me to keep quiet. Cell phones don't work on this side of the mountain. If you aren't here in a couple of hours and looking fucking good, I will drive to the beach, where I can see Maui. I can make a call from there."

Joe turned, finished his drink and walked back into the lobby without looking back. He didn't know if he could keep from smiling. He had to look like he still needed to be convinced.

Jenny fumbled her way through the next hour or so. She cut herself a few times when she tried to gather up the trimmings from the rose bushes.

Jenny didn't remember much about her dinner conversation with her daughter or husband that evening. Mike and Dakota had a sense that something was wrong, but couldn't figure out quite what it was. "I have to go back for a while. They have a staff meeting. It's about some new group coming in tomorrow. I don't know how long it's going to take." She said as she went into the bedroom.

Mike had the TV on and didn't particularly notice the backpack his wife had with her when she left to go back to work. Jenny could hardly hold up the Yamaha when she started it. It might have looked suspicious if she had put on a dress and taken the Jeep back to work. Instead, she put the back pack on the back of the bike and strapped it down with the bungee cord net.

Jenny rode the short distance to the Lanai Hotel. The Lanai Hotel had been at the center of the island since the early twenties. At one time it had belonged to the Au family and was little more than a corrugated metal Quonset hut. During the sixties it had been torn down and replaced with a nice wood frame structure. It had about seven rooms and was a glorified bed and breakfast. Rooms were modest but clean. The most notable feature about it was that it had an outstanding restaurant. It had an exceptionally good chef. Food was great and moderately priced; probably about $25.00 for dinner.

Jenny parked her Yamaha at the foot of the hill. She took the backpack and walked up to the hotel and went straight into the women's rest room. Her hands were shaking as she changed out of her cutoffs and boots.

"What the fuck am I getting into?" her mind screamed. She was torn between watching herself in the mirror and completely avoiding it. Her mind went into auto-pilot. This wasn't her, but she was only going to get one chance to sway this savage. Her own morals and standards had to go out the window.

Jenny took her clothes off. She tried not to look as she put on the black thong panties and the tip-less quarter cup bra. Her mind reeled at what she was doing. She and some of the other women had found these clothes in one of the guest rooms. Evidently somebody had forgotten to take everything when they checked out. The guests did not want to come back for the clothes, and did not want to spend the money to have it mailed to them. Jenny took them home and washed the garments; thinking maybe she might use them on her husband for some special occasion.

Jenny tried not to look as she put on the grey silk button front dress. It was an outrageous dress. Whoever had it before had clipped the top two buttons off. The sides were open to the middle of her breasts. The rest of it was worse. She couldn't go back home to look for another. It was too late.

Jenny looked forlornly at the bottom of the dress. The hem came to the middle of her thighs; just past her thumb tips. She cringed when she realized that two buttons at the hem were also missing. The dress parted scandalously when she walked. If she were on a date with her husband; if they were at home with a candlelight supper, it would have been magnificent. The dress fit like a glove; a second skin. There were no horizontal wrinkles. The buttons that were intact had no stretch lines. She flushed at her reception. The thin fabric seemed like it had been spray-painted around her breasts. The shape of her long pink nipples left little to the imagination.

Jenny sat in one of the stalls and put on her heels. They were matching grey leather boots that zipped up the side. The five inch heels had a look she was not used to. The tops stopped just below her knees. On another woman, the outfit would have looked like a hooker. On her, it made her look like an advertisement in Vogue, Purple Magazine, L'Officiel, Elle or Esquire.

Jenny packed the clothes she had been wearing into the back pack. She walked out nervously. He wasn't there yet. She couldn't stand to be alone, so she went back into the restroom. She sat down on the couch and unfastened her French braid. Nervously, she combed her hair out and re-braided it. She tried to ignore how her nipples rose and fell with the combing of her hair. They were like manometers; telegraphing every move she made.

The wood floors were fifty years old. They may have been old, but they always looked brand new in the sense that they always looked clean and recently finished with tongue oil. They also functioned like a public address system. She could hear somebody big coming into the small dining room. She could hear the hostess greet him. The conversation was muffled, but there was no question who it was. Her time had come. This was her audition. This was her chance to get her family off the hook. "What the fuck am I going to do?" her mind screamed. Down inside, she probably instinctively knew what it was going to take. This would be the performance of her life if she could keep her family safe.

The floor creaked under her five inch heels. She walked through the bathroom door and down the short hall. It was as if she was naked and a spotlight had focused itself on her and her name was being announced as she entered the dining room.

"And here she is, ladies and gentlemen. This magnificent looking woman is going to fuck anybody in the room who wants it. Step right up and claim her."

In reality, Joe stood. He smiled. They were the only guests in the room. He walked over to the chair and pulled it out for her. "You look magnificent, Mrs. Scott." He said as he pushed the chair towards her as she sat.

Jenny's cheeks were red. "What will the hostess think?" she thought. The hostess, the waiter, and the chef all knew her. Fortunately they did not all work at the same hotel. On an island with a total population of 3,000, it is hard to be a stranger.

Joe stood above her as he pushed the chair in. He could see down her dress from behind. He could see at least one coral pink nipple as she scooted up to the table and placed her napkin in her lap. "Oh, my fucking God," he said to himself. The thing was the longest, pinkest nipple he had ever seen. It must have been 3/8" of an inch long.

Jenny struggled with the dress; not knowing whether to hold her hands across the top of it to keep him from staring down, or to keep the sides together as she crossed her legs. She solved one problem with the large linen napkin. The glass table didn't help much.

"You are fucking magnificent for a woman your age, Miss Jenny, but you're a bit of a prude, aren't you?"

Jenny's ears were stinging. "Why do you say that?" she asked, not really wanting the answer.

"You're here to fucking convince me not to fuck your daughter, but you don't seem to be trying hard."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That dress is a good start, but you're trying to cover up like a fucking school teacher."

"What should I be doing?" she said for lack of any idea or time to reply.

"Put your fucking arms down and get rid of that fucking napkin." He answered.

Jenny's mind was still racing. She was numb. She had no ideas or words to counter what he was saying. She picked up the napkin and slowly folded it on the glass table, fighting to clear her mind. Her throat almost chocked as she felt the sides of her dress fall open. Although there might have been two buttons buttoned below her waist, the dress when seated, had bunched up until the open part was barely an inch away from the edge of her panties. Without the napkin, she was almost naked.

"Does your husband know what's going on?" he asked.

"No."

"Call him."

"Why?"

"I'm going to fuck somebody. I can fuck your daughter, you or him. Shouldn't he be part of the decision?"