My Kind of Town
Vol. 1: The Honolulu Soap Co.
>>State Capitol Out of reach
Grace Ah Sun tried every number she had for him, and left a message at each. Again. It had been two days now since she last heard from the senator. In the middle of the session.
Grace didn't know what her boss' demons were, but she knew he was haunted. He'd be fine for months, and then the demons would suddenly appear and take him away for days at a time. Out of reach. Off the face of the earth.
How did he get away with it? By being so good at what he does when he's back on earth. And by having such a competent, well-connected secretary to cover for him.
As usual, Grace had the radio at her desk tuned softly to Perry & Price. Something about a young female cell caller's tone of voice made her turn up the volume.
"It was unbelievable! It was speeding and swerving and then, boom, over the side, the yellow car, you know, da kine's, that one..."
The senator, it appeared, had come back to earth.
>>Wilder Avenue at Clement, Metcalf and Farrington
Lily was so happy to see her long-lost cousin Quinn, she forgot that he was a cop and had just pulled her over for speeding.
He checked her left hand, saw a ring on the third finger, a huge pearl, lustrous, in a gold setting. Quinn didn't know much about jewelry, but he knew expensive when he saw it. It wasn't a traditional wedding ring, but you never know these days.
"You married?" he said, lifting his chin.
"Not even close."
Why was Quinn glad to hear this?
"How about you?"
Quinn wrinkled his nose, shook his head.
Lily wondered why this seemed such good news.
A few yards away, a big guy exited the backseat of the black SUV at Pump 3 of the Arco station. His name was Tai. And he instantly sized the guy who obviously was not really checking the air pressure of the tires on his piece-of-bleep car. Big but soft, mean but weak, a drinker/druggie but dangerous if he's packing a piece. Bottom line: punk. And he was so absorbed in watching the babe in the teal BMW he didn't know how close trouble was.
>>Tomorrow: The scent of gardenia
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com