My Kind of Town
>> 2002 Wilder The Honolulu Soap
Co.: Sunday digestIt was, HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes thought, like the song about the alluring moves of a hula dancer, the one about keeping -- wink wink -- your eyes on the hands. Instead, Gomes was trying to keep his eyes on the eyes of Dr. Laurie Tang as she carried a pupu tray from her kitchen to the living area. Her casually clingy dress with spaghetti straps made eye-to-eye a challenge.
"Thanks for taking the time to talk with me. I know how busy you must be."
"Busy," Laurie said, standing before him. "But I try to have a life."
Gomes was a beer guy, but gladly took a long swallow of the white wine Laurie poured when he first arrived.
"Kendall-Jackson Riesling," she said, refreshing his glass. "How do you like it?"
"Good. Kind of tart but sweet."
"To me it's yin and yang wine. Complementary opposites."
Like a local Portuguese boy who joined HPD at 20 and an immigrant Chinese girl who went to med school at UCLA. Six feet and 200 pounds, five feet and 110. Catholic, Buddhist.
"Here's," she said, lifting her glass, "to complementary opposites."
"I'm all for that," Gomes said, making eye contact as they clinked crystal glasses. Gomes sipped, set his glass on the table, reminded himself that he was here, first and foremost, on business.
"Dr. Tang," he said, reaching for a notepad in the pocket of his loose-fitting silk aloha shirt.
"Please, it's Laurie! And I'll call you Sherlock."
"I have to ask you about your boyfriend, Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka."
"Former boyfriend."
"As of when?"
"Yesterday. And it relates to why you're here. It was bad enough not hearing from him for almost a week. And then in the ER, I happened to get the girl who crashed Donovan's car. Just before the anesthesia kicked in, she said 'Please save the baby.' Later I talked with her and got the whole story. My relationship with Donovan ended right there."
Gomes tried not to smile.
>> Manoa
Paul Omandam lived in the loft above the maintenance shed. His employer, the wealthy widow Mrs. Rayna Chang, provided a cell phone, bed, small refrigerator, hot plate and cable TV. Which he was watching at the moment, seeing a news replay of Muhammed Resurreccion being led away in handcuffs. How had their plan to bomb the Arizona Memorial gone so badly? And why wasn't Rey Orlando answering his phone?
Their group was small, just Paul, Rey and his cousin Wilhemina, who'd been recruited as Muhammed's driver. Paul had also seen her on TV being escorted off the shuttle boat that had nearly exploded. So Wilhemina was in custody too. Rey wouldn't talk. But WIlhemina? Maybe.
Paul had to move, now. American agents might already know of his involvement. He shaved his mustache, stuffed a change of clothes, comb and toothbrush in a small backpack. In an exterior pouch he slipped the money, passport, green card and driver's license he'd held for over a year to use in just such an emergency. He was now Ignacio Del Rosario. Changing names was nothing new. Before Muhammed sent him to work as a yardman in Hawaii, he was Achmed al-Hazir, explosives expert. Inside his shirt he strapped what looked like a money belt around his waist. Keeping the lights and the TV on, he hurried down the stairs, paused to steal a machete.
>> 2002 Wilder
The business portion of his visit officially ended when Sherlock slipped his notepad back into the pocket of his loose-fitting silk aloha shirt. He'd heard enough from Laurie to know she had no idea about Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka's double life, and certainly not about the drug use. And he knew that their relationship had been a passionless partnership, both working toward the goal of Donovan becoming Hawaii's next governor.
"That was fine with me. I didn't need to be swept off my feet or get all giddy like some people," she said. "Or so I thought."
"What made you change your mind?"
"This morning. At Ala Moana." With you, her eyes told him.
"Which reminds me," he said, shifting the subject. "You're such a great swimmer. Would you give me a few pointers sometime?"
"I thought you were training for a tri-athlon."
"To be honest, running, biking, not too bad. Swimming, I sink."
"There's a pool upstairs."
"Shoots."
>> Manoa
Stepping outside the maintenance shed, Paul Omandam ducked between behind the mock orange hedge, out of the glow of lights coming from the his employer's house, and went over his emergency exit strategy options again.
It had been so easy to get into the U.S. -- Muhammed's employment agency in the Philippines found him work as a yardman in Hawaii -- and to move around once he was here. Even after Americans were alerted to the presence of terrorists in their land on Sept. 11 and started clamping down on Muslim men of Arabic descent, Paul had no problem procuring plastique explosive or getting it to Rey Orlando. The same plastique used today at Pearl Harbor. The FBI wasn't looking for Filipinos with Christian names.
>> 2002 Wilder
Laurie was enjoying talking with Sherlock so much, even as he asked about her ex-boyfriend, she hadn't thought about the cold realities of his profession. Gomes was enjoying himself so much, he'd forgotten about the unusual safety precaution he'd taken this evening. But then they arrived at the pool for his swimming lesson and stood there in his shorts and shoulder holster. "You think you'd have to force me to talk at gunpoint?" she teased, slipping out of her pareau.
She looked so good, Gomes forgot to mention why he wore the gun -- the other visitor who'd signed in for her condo .
>> Manoa
After two years of premature widowhood when her oncologist husband died at age 54 of brain cancer, Rayna Chang's friends at Waialae Country Club were bugging her about putting herself back in circulation. She was still young, only 47, and there ought to be more to life than tennis and mah-jong three times a week and volunteering with the Outdoor Circle.
"Henry wouldn't want you to be lonely," her favorite doubles partner Babs Johnston said.
"Honey," added the salty-tongued Jackie Mitsui, "use it or lose it, know what I mean?"
When her yardman Paul started to look good as he sweated in the sun, Rayna knew her friends were right. And so, with great trepidation, she allowed them to arrange a dinner date with a partner of Babs' husband in a Bishop Street law firm who'd lost his wife to breast cancer.
"Do not wear black," Jackie scolded. "And show some skin."
His name was David Fulton and he was due any moment. Rayna was so nervous she'd changed dresses five times in the past hour.
She was about to go back to outfit No. 3 when the doorbell chimed. This swoop-neck Mai Scherelle would have to do. Glancing in the mirror by the door, she saw her heart beating through the fabric.
Rayna opened the door and saw a man who might have been David, except that his gray suit was off the rack from Penney's and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his Scooby Doo necktie loosened.
"D...David?"
"Mrs. Chang, I'm Steve Metz, FBI. I'd like to speak with you about your yardman."
"Paul?"
"We believe that Paul Omandam is an alias."
"Oh dear. What's the problem?"
A set of headlights pulled into the driveway. A tall man, graying at the temples, exited a Lexus wearing navy slacks, a white shirt and camel jacket.
"Does it have to be right now?" Rayna said.
"You heard about the bomb at Pearl Harbor today?"
David Fulton walked up the steps, trying not to show his confusion. He was new to the dating game too. "Maybe this isn't a good time," he said.
"Actually," Rayna said, extending her hand, "your timing is perfect."
Turning to Agent Metz, she said, "I'd like to have my attorney join us." The G-man grunted his assent.
Leading them inside, Rayna whispered, "Nice to meet you, David. By the way, what's your area of expertise?"
"Tax law," he said, baffled but willing to go along.
"Close enough."
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