My Kind of Town
Vol. 1: The Honolulu Soap Co.
>>King Street Don’t I know you?
The shiny black SUV turned left at Punahou.
"So, Cuz, what was Kimmee doing buying dope in the first place?" the driver said, full of perplexion.
His cousin in the passenger seat said, "Her mother and the pastor is dealing with that."
The big guy in the backseat, the brother of the driver, said, "How much this guy Mickey got her for you said, $500?"
"Mmm."
"Relax, Cuz. We get 'em back, one way or other."
>>Wilder Avenue at Clement, Metcalf and Farrington
The young cop straddled off the big police bike the way John Wayne dismounted a horse, in no particular hurry, but in absolutely no doubt about who's in charge.
Still, he appreciated it when beautiful women like this one committed moving violations. He stood 6-foot-3, was a weightlifter and women thought him attractive. But a beautiful woman made him shy, unsure, suave as a stutter. He had more confidence in a uniform. When it came to meeting women, solo bike detail could be like Aaron's on Saturday night.
Lily had her driver's license out of her Chanel wallet and ready when the cop appeared at her window with his citation book ready. But she was not prepared for how good looking he was, how muscular, how lean, how tall. God, he was good looking, like he could pass for the big brother of that kid Jason Momoa who used to be on "Baywatch." And there was a place where Lily felt suddenly warm inside.
"The light was flashing from Koko Head Avenue," he said tersely and snapped the license out of her fingers.
"I'm sorry." And she really was. This would be Lily's fourth speeding ticket in a month. Her insurance rates were about to go stratospheric and a fine would probably be in order. Ola Essences was making her wealthier by the minute, and she paid her taxes quarterly, but she hated giving away money she could spend on clothes and jewelry and her investment portfolio.
The cop looked up from her license.
"Lily Ah Sun?"
He sounded stunned.
>>Tomorrow: Without shades
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the
Star-Bulletin.
Send E-mail to dchapman@midweek.com.