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My Kind of Town

Don Chapman


Right place, bad time


>> H-3

The Kaneohe-bound lanes run uphill just before the Tets Harano Tunnels, making a slight bend. So from the plaza on the town side of the tunnels, looking back at oncoming traffic, you can see barely 100 yards of highway. Vehicles suddenly pop over the rise and are upon you in just a second or two.

The sound of gunfire -- three distinct signatures, HPD officer Quinn Ah Sun noted -- preceded the big black SUV and the baby blue Honda racer that pursued it.

"Get down, your holiness," Quinn said with more calm than he felt, swinging off the BMW motorcycle, pulling the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa with him.

They ducked behind the concrete barrier placed there, apparently to prevent terrorists from storming the Department of Transportation offices built into the mountain.

In the SUV, Seth was at the wheel, his cousins Tai and Wili firing at the Honda holding steady 50 yards behind, the windshield punctured and spiderwebbed by a shot from Tai's extended barrel .45.

As good as their timing had been back at the apartment complex, getting quick, clean shots on the two men they'd come to kill, as they neared the tunnels their timing went bad. Tai and Wili, both shooting .45s, needed to reload, leaving WIli with just his Glock 9mm, not a distance weapon.

Seeing Wili hand his .45 to Tai, and Tai frantically trying to reload, the driver of the Honda gunned the engine and it jumped, just 20 yards away now and gaining, both the driver and his passenger shooting pistols out of their windows, Wili returning fire out the open rear window.

A bullet zinged through the SUV, missing Tai and Wili by inches, shattering the rearview mirror. The tunnels were in sight. Seth did not want to get trapped in the tunnel with the speedy racer. "Hang on!" he barked.

Approaching the plaza, he braked, actually signaled for a left turn. The Honda followed.

Seth suddenly stomped on the gas pedal, turned the wheel back to the right, toward the tunnel. On his tail, the Honda again followed the feint.

At the last possible moment he yanked the wheel left, hit the brakes, hoping the racer would speed past into the tunnel.

But as the SUV went into a sideways spin, Seth glanced to his left, saw the Honda covering the move easily.

Spinning the wheel to correct the slide, the last thing Seth saw was the Honda's passenger, Mario's guy who Seth had earlier dropped with a chop to the back of the head, just yards away raising a .22 pistol, squeezing the trigger, and then blood spurting from his own throat.

As the SUV with the dead driver skidded out of control directly toward them, Quinn called "Down, now!" and protectively threw his body over that of the living Buddha.



See the Columnists section for some past articles.

Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com

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