My Kind of Town
Up on the roof
>> 2002 Wilder
Up on the roof the lights of the swimming pool cast shimmering reflections across Dr. Laurie Tang as she unwrapped her pareau and stood before HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes in a high-hipped yellow one-piece swimsuit.
She nodded toward the pool, took two steps and did a graceful racing dive, slicing into the deep end.
Gomes watched her glide so sleek beneath the water, black hair flowing behind her. She was in her element, an absolute mermaid, right down to the undulating dolphin kick.
Holding his breath, as well as the chrome rail, Gomes walked haltingly down three steps into the shallow end and knew he could ever be as natural as Laurie in the water.
She rose out of the water face first, smiling happily. "The water feels so good tonight!"
"I'd never thought of water as feeling good. Always seemed more like the jaws of death."
"No no. Remember, Sherlock, you spent the first nine months of your life in water."
She had a point. "Yeah, but I didn't need a snorkel."
Laurie had to laugh at the image. "Before we even get into the stroke, I want you to just feel the water as it flows around your body. Watch."
Pushing off the wall with her legs, Laurie glided across the shallow end, lightly touched the other side.
Bobbing contentedly up to her neck, she beckoned him. "Your turn."
Gomes tried, but halfway across stood up sputtering. This, Laurie could see, was going to require some hands-on training. Lucky her.
>> Waikiki
Having been spotted by his recent employer, the widow Mrs. Rayna Chang, Achmed al-Hazir ran out of the Marine Surf parking lot onto Kuhio still clutching a doggie bad of the best spaghetti he'd ever had and turned right, looking for a place to die. Looking for someone to take with him. Looking for a way to leave this life as a martyr.
He didn't have far to look. Allah, warm up the grape-bearing virgins.
A trolley carrying -- according to the banner draped across the side -- people attending the big electronics convention stopped for the red light at Kuhio, going mauka on Seaside. Behind it was a police car. Perfect targets: many dead bodies, including a symbol of wretched American force.
Not wanting to attract attention, Achmed walked casually but purposefully, and at the crosswalk he took an angle that would carry him between the trolley and the cop car. That's when the screaming started from behind him.
"Terrorist!" a woman shrieked. "Stop him!"
Achmed spun around. It was Mrs. Chang, screaming and pointing at him!
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