My Kind of Town
>> Hawaii Kai Da kine happens
Having flown all night on this sudden, unplanned trip home, Laird Ah Sun was having quite a morning. First, after taking a cab from the airport to Queen's, he learned he couldn't see his brother Lance because visiting hours didn't start until noon. And now, taking another cab to visit his sister Lily, they'd just turned onto Poipu Drive when Lily went past in her teal BMW going the opposite direction.
"Follow that car."
" 'Scuse me, brah?" the cabbie said. Timu Noga, his license read.
"The teal Beamer, turn around and follow it."
"What is this, some kind of cops and robbers thing or what?" the cabbie said, scowling at Laird in the rearview mirror. "You in some gang?"
"No, that's my sister -- the one you're taking me to see. But she left home already."
"OK, boss," he said skeptically. "I just don't want no da kine."
"Nah," Laird said. This was his first trip home in over two years and that was the first time he'd heard "da kine" in a while. One of the things he'd learned to appreciate at Stanford Business was precision in words and numbers.
But he loved the vague efficiency of pidgin, and how "da kine" can apply to so many situations yet always be understood. For Laird and the cabbie, following the woman in the teal Beamer would not involve any da kine -- no trouble, no high-speed chases, no shoot-'em-ups, no legal complications. "Not even close to da kine."
"Shoots, brah," the cabbie said and spun a U-turn.
>> State Capitol
Grace Ah Sun was having funny kine feelings in her tummy -- or somewhere down there -- as she locked up the senator's office. The former president's soft drawl sang in her ear and massaged her ego. He wanted to have dinner with her! She'd been so breathless, her brain stopped working and she forgot to tell him about her boss, Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka, being arrested on drug charges in the middle of a press conference.
In fact, it was odd that the president hadn't asked about Donovan. Then again, the president had asked her to keep their meeting a secret. That meant the senator was out of the loop. Or would have been if he wasn't behind bars. Surely somebody at state Democratic headquarters would tell the president about Donovan -- wishing the man from Arkansas was still in the pardon biz.
But Grace had more important things to think about. Like what to wear for a private dinner with the president. What to wear to be seduced by the president. For heaven sake, Grace thought, where had that idea come from? Certainly not from her.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com