My Kind of Town
>> Kawaihao Church Get me to the church
Rebuffed by the mayor in their desperate request for a pardon, the two escaped prisoners dashed from City Hall across King Street, seeking sanctuary. "I seen it on TV," Abraham Kuamano said, dodging traffic.
Running through the church gate, their hands cuffed in front of them, they saw a bride in white gown and a groom in white tails greeting people as they filed out of the church.
A white limousine awaited the newlyweds who, like their guests, appeared to be Japanese nationals. The couple started down the steps, guests tossing rose petals, the limo driver waiting by the rear door.
An instant later, Moses barreled into the limo driver and knocked him over. Abraham, the other escaped prisoner, was two steps behind. As Moses opened the driver's door, Abraham opened the back.
This was their lucky day, Moses thought a moment before the first shot rang out and he went down, blood spurting from his chest. A moment later Abraham screamed as a bullet tore into his shoulder.
The newlyweds were quickly whisked into the limo and driven away by the best man.
Later, police would surmise that this was a yakuza wedding, but it could never be proved. The shooters disappeared before police arrived, blending into the city, and nobody could or would identify who killed Moses Kuamano and wounded his brother Abraham. Even Laird Ah Sun, who'd been chasing the two escapees, had only seen them go down, not who shot them.
It had been an up and down kind of day. Good luck, they'd found a car with the keys lying on the front seat in Moiliili. Bad luck, busted four blocks away while changing the plates.
Good luck, set free on the way to OCCC when the police van was hit and knocked over, and the brothers ran. Bad luck, no mayoral pardon. Good luck, they found a limo waiting with the engine running. Bad luck, they'd walked into a gangland wedding. One brother dead, one gravely injured.
>> There was a sixth prisoner in the HPD van. He'd been sitting on the right side, and hit his head just before the other five were thrown on top of him as the van tipped over. Knocked unconscious, the air crushed from his lungs, he was lucky to be alive.
And now he was coming to again, his first thought that he was still in the police van. But then his eyes opened.
Yes, he was in the back of a large vehicle. But no, this was not the cop van with steel mesh between driver and passengers. And these guys were not cops. They did have guns, though. Suddenly OCCC didn't sound so bad.
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