My Kind of Town
Stains, goo and chunks
>> Honolulu Soap Co.When Sheets Ah Sun needed inspiration, or just a reminder of the true meaning of life, he walked down to the production center. He'd pass through the first of two vacuum-sealed chambers, scrub his hands with an soap of his own making, and don a sterile suit, cap, mask, gloves and booties. Passing into the second sealed chamber, he watched his people making soap and breathed deep the wonderful aroma of "the purest soap on Earth."
With enough soap, maybe he could wash away the stains from his past, the ones that his daughter Lily and his nephew Quinn were apparently intent on discovering.
But really, the kids could look up all the news stories in the world and never find the truth. No, what really worried Sheets was the illegal chemical dump site that had been discovered in Waimanalo. He'd driven past it earlier and nearly got sick to his stomach when he saw a score of guys in space suits, looking much like he did at the moment, digging up the pit with a backhoe and sifting through the excavated dirt and rocks.
Cops were there too, and not just the one to look in the hole. It was an illegal dump site. Charges could be filed, depending on what they found. More so now, Sheets wanted to turn the Soap Co. over to his eldest son Laird as soon as possible, just in case they did dig up his secret in Waimanalo.
Again, Sheets breathed deep the aroma of purity, his saving grace.
>> Waimanalo
Dr. Wilton Pacheco of the City Medical Examiner's office was supposed to be taking a vacation day. Lord knows he needed it. Between long hours at work because they were understaffed and the custody battle with his ex, he was drained. The plan was to take his Radon 18 on Kaneohe Bay, get a hook wet, do a little fishing and suck on a few chilled San Miguels.
But when he read the news about an illegal chemical dump site being discovered in Waimanalo -- because it was contaminating a new Board of Water Supply well, which had to be shut down -- he had to take a look.
Pacheco parked his 4Runner on the side of the road. Pulling on a poly-fiber surgical mask, he was glad to see that one of the guys in space suits was Department of Health forensic biochemist Steve Tamura. They'd worked a few cases together before, the last one digging up a Waianae pig farm looking for the remains of young woman. In vain, as it turned out.
"Whadda we got?" Pacheco said.
"A lot of goo, some chunks."
Behind his mask Pacheco smiled. In his line of work, chunks were good.
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