Quinn Ah Sun knew the area well from having worked out of the Kaneohe station as a rookie cop, off Lilipuna, easily found the address for the hillside home the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa gave him over the phone. But Quinn wasn't sure what to expect as he turned the big BMW bike up the driveway. The young lama was supposed to be at his Waikiki hotel, where Quinn left him yesterday and where he would be meeting him later in the day to provide escort to a meeting with Hawaii's religious leaders.
As he swung off the bike, Quinn sure wasn't expecting Genghis Khan, the name that leaped into his head when the front door opened and a tall Asian male with hard, chiseled features and muscles to match filled the doorway with arms crossed. He was 30ish, wore black cotton trousers of the loose-fitting martial arts variety, and a black tank top that revealed a variety of tattoos on his arms. His black hair was close-cropped, military style, and the dark mustache and goatee added a slightly sinister touch.
They stood there, Khan and Quinn sizing up the other. In the lama's cop friend, Khan saw a man taller than he, more thickly muscled. And he saw confidence. Khan was accustomed to intimidating people with his looks, cultivated that effect, but there was no back-down in the cop. A difficult adversary. Perhaps a solid ally in helping Khan protect the lama from Te-Wu.
Quinn also wasn't expecting to see the lama brush past Genghis Khan dressed in red surf shorts and a white Pray For Surf T-shirt, dark stubble on his head. "Welcome, officer Ah Sun, welcome." The lama bowed, fingertips pressed together touching his nose. Quinn returned the gesture.
"No offense, you holiness," Khan said. "You gotta quit doing that. It's a dead give-away. Here, watch." Khan stepped forward, faced the cop, stuck out his right hand. "Kamasami Khan."
The cop extended his right hand, gripped Khan's hand, looked him in the eyes. "Quinn Ah Sun. How do you spell your last name?"
"Good old Uncle Genghis."
"I hope we're on the same side then."
"That's two of us."
"Oh, my!" They ungripped, saw Bodhicita Guzman in the doorway. "I smell testosterone in the air!" She fanned a hand in front of her nose. "Whew!" Bodhicita stepped outside, introduced herself to Quinn, shook hands. "I'm the lama's eternal consort." Quinn hadn't been expecting that either.
"OK," the young lama said, spoofing Khan with mock machismo. He extended a hand to Quinn, deepened his voice. "Nice to meet you, officer. My friends call me Jey. Now can we go for that ride on your motorcycle?"
"Mind if I ask a few questions first, your holiness." It wasn't a question.
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily
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