My Kind of Town
>> Waterfront Plaza More than temptation
Cruz MacKenzie, who had asked the question on Page One of today's Star-Bulletin -- "Where's Donovan?" -- sat down at his desk to provide the answer that would appear in tomorrow's editions. Booting up his iMac, Cruz thought how much he loved this kind of story. No commentary was required, just stick to the facts and play it straight. Of course, Johnny B. Goo's photo of the Democrats' best hope in 2002, looking disheveled and wild-eyed, angrily throwing a frothing long-beck Bud bottle at Johnny B. would provide all the commentary any reader might need. The red eyes were authentic, not caused by the flash.
>> Portlock
In the shimmering light of a tiki torch, Lily and Quinn Ah Sun looked into one another's eyes, remembering the kiss they had shared less than an hour ago at Maunalua Bay.
"Oh, Lily, you're ..." He stopped, gathered his thoughts. "I started to say you're such a temptation. But it's more than that."
"Oh, I know, Quinn. I know." Lily was sobering up now from her afternoon of drinking. Still one thing remained the same. She had finally found the man of her dreams, but then he turned out to be her first cousin who she hadn't seen in 21 years. Right at that moment, she didn't care about social mores. She only wanted Quinn. Lily buried her face in his big, strong chest, felt Quinn's arms encircle her, felt a hand gently lifting her chin, looked up and saw his lips inches from her's.
That's when the screaming started from inside the house.
"Rosalita!" Lily cried.
Suddenly Quinn was crouching, reaching for his left ankle, pulling back a pistol Lily hadn't known was there, gruffly whispering, "Go to Elizabeth, lock the cottage, stay there!" and sprinting back down the path.
>> Rosalita heard the rip of fabric, felt her panties falling away leaving her totally nude, heard Mickey gasp at the wonder of what he had uncovered, felt him touch her there, heard herself begin to scream and scream and saw the blow coming but could not avoid it as Mickey backhanded her cheek with the pistol, opening a gash. He dropped the butcher knife, threw a meaty hand over her mouth, put the barrel of the gun to her temple, barked, "I said you'd live if you were quiet, b----! What the f--- are you doing?!"
Rosalita twisted her head, bit down hard on his pinky finger and knuckle, and Mickey wailed in pain. He tried to jerk his hand away, but she hung on like a pitbull -- until he hit her again and everything went black.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com