My Kind of Town
>> State Library The Honolulu Soap Co.:
Sunday digestLily Ah Sun held her breath as she scrolled the microfilm of stories that appeared in the Honolulu dailies during 1981, the year her father and her Uncle Mits quit speaking and tore the previously close family apart. The last person to use this roll had not bothered to rewind it, so Lily started from the end of the year and worked forward.
The first two references were for the mysterious Clarence Ah Sun. Lily knew her genealogy back four generations and had never heard of a Clarence Ah Sun. But he had to be family somehow. All of the Ah Suns were related. Could he have had something to do with the split between her father and Uncle Mits?
Here it was, an item in Dave Donnelly's column, from July 27, 1981. "Clarence 'Bobo' Ah Sun postcards from Jamaica: 'Call off the wake. Like Mark Twain, rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated. Having a blast performing aboard the Viking Horn cruise ship. The Caribbean is nice, but it ain't Hawaii. Send my aloha to everyone back home.'" Dot dot dot.
Rumors of his demise?
Ah, here was something significant. Lily's Uncle Mits was mentioned in the Police Beat, both papers, June 21: "HPD Officer Mits Ah Sun reported his service revolver, a Smith & Wesson .44, was stolen out of his car while having a few pau hana drinks at the Pearl City Tavern."
The only other Ah Sun reference in either paper during 1981 was for her cousin Quinn, in the Star-Bulletin on April 29. The short story included a photograph, which brought tears to her eyes because it brought back memories. In fact, Lily had been there at the State Capitol on the day when Quinn was honored as Pearl City Highlands T-ball Player of the Year, the award presented by Gov. George Ariyoshi. She remembered being so proud of her cousin. My gosh, he was such a cute kid in the photo, still carrying baby fat and a baby face, grinning through a missing tooth as he shook the governor's hand. For 21 years, that image of Quinn was frozen in time -- so different from the tall, lean, muscled man he grew up to be. So no wonder she hadn't recognized him when he pulled her over for speeding! And so it couldn't be Lily's fault that she'd fallen totally heels-over-head for the handsome young motorcycle cop, and him for her, before she handed him her license and he gasped when he saw her name and they realized they were first cousins.
As she had with the other Ah Sun news stories, Lily printed out a copy of Quinn's photo. She needed to get home, but was so excited about the research Quinn asked her to do, Lily just had to show him what she had found.
>> Queen's Medical Center
Gwen Roselovich pushed the elevator button for Quinn's floor, still not believing the good luck that came with HPD Sgt. Mits Ah Sun's call to her at Dispatch this morning. "I need a favor," he'd said.
"I don't know if you heard about Quinn."
"I did. I'm so sorry!"
Mits heard the sincerity in her voice, and more, as he'd known he would. There was no secret in the department about Gwen's mad crush on Quinn. "Listen, could you look in on Quinn for me? No way I'm getting there until late."
"No problem," Gwen said rather too breathlessly. "I'll run over during lunch."
Gwen stepped off the elevator on Quinn's floor, the happiest girl in the world. After all,, hadn't Quinn's father just given his blessing for her and Quinn to be together?
>> The words Grace Ah Sun had been whispering non-stop into the ear of her unconscious son Lance for the past hour were partly prayers to every deity she knew, partly exhortation to get well, partly lot of I-love-yous. She'd been encouraged earlier this morning when, for the first time since going into a coma nearly 24 hours earlier, Lance twitched and moaned softly. Even the doctor said that was a good sign, but added that Lance wasn't out of the woods yet. Grace continued to pray, when Lance's eyes fluttered open, focused on Grace, and his lips moved. "Onhgm," he said, but she knew he was trying to say "Mom."
>> Lily made a point of remembering where she parked her car in the parking garage so she wouldn't lose it like she did this morning. But that had worked out well. It was while looking for her car that she'd overheard her father and Uncle Mits talking - the first time in 21 years. Gathering up the copies of news stories she'd just copied, Lily wondered what Uncle Mits meant when he said he had a plan to keep her and Quinn apart. Didn't matter. Wouldn't work.
>> PanAm Building
HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes relished nothing more than matching wits with another fine mind. Machiavelli Yang would be a particular challenge. Gomes knew of Yang, but just vaguely. He was a shadowy figure in state politics who preferred working behind closed doors. But when Gomes read Dan Boylan's column in MidWeek about Yang signing on with the young Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka, he knew it was significant. Yang helped get the past two governors elected and was going for a three-peat.
Could it be a coincidence that Yang was coming to visit Gomes' sister at her travel office at precisely the same time Gomes was there to pick up a ticket for the senator's flight to a drug rehab clinic? No, Gomes didn't believe in coincidence.
>> Queen's Medical Center
Gwen Roselovich couldn't think of a better way to spend her lunch hour, and her heart raced with excitement as she pushed open the door to Quinn's 's room.
"Hello," she said softly.
Stepping to his bedside, Gwen saw that Quinn was asleep. She leaned down, softly kissed his cheek, leaving bright red lip prints.
"Everything is going to be OK now, Sweetie."
He didn't stir - knocked out by some pill or another.
Gwen was on duty last night when Quinn called about an intruder in a Portlock home and moments later he was shot. Curious about the wound to his right thigh, Gwen lifted Quinn's hospital gown. The leg was heavily bandaged. And then Gwen raised the gown a little higher. Her fantasy was about to come true. Well, one of her fantasies anyway.
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