My Kind of Town
>> Wilder Street Nose for news
Kalani Silva wasn't into politics -- who had time between his architecture studies at UH, helping to care for his Alzheimer's-stricken grandmother and driving for The Grocery Boy shopping service? But after dropping off a case of longneck Buds to a red-eyed guy up Makiki Heights, his next order included the Star-Bulletin's morning edition. Kalani recognized the guy in a Page One photo, under the headline "Where's Donovan?" It was the same red-eyed guy he'd just delivered beer to. The story by Cruz MacKenzie told of how the Town Car of Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka -- the Democrat's best bet in next year's gubernatorial race -- crashed off the Keeaumoku Overpass onto Cartwright Field, landing on its roof halfway down the first base line. The lone occupant was an unconscious young woman who was stark naked, drunk and loaded on ice.
"Who is she?" the story concluded. "The next first lady?"
"And where is the Democrats' great hope?"
Kalani picked up his cell, dialed 1-411, waited for the recorded oratory to conclude. "For the Honolulu Star-Bulletin."
For the first time in a long time Verizon's must-be-made-in-the-former-Yugoslavia-because-it-sure-can't-understand-English computer did not ask Kalani to say the name again.
>> Portlock
This is awesome, Mickey thought, taking another slug of the white wine he'd found in the fridge. The swimming pool comes into the house, forming a private little cove in the master bathroom, out of sight of the rest of the back yard. Mickey had broken into a lot of fancy homes, but he'd never seen anything like this. He sat down on the tile steps leading into the pool and took a puff on the ice pipe. He could hardly wait to see this woman Lily's face when she found him here.
Outside, Rosalita Resurreccion was checking the sheets and pillow slips on the line. Miss Lily was a stickler about fresh-smelling bedding. But oh!
That smell! She knew it from the week she'd spent in a bar in Angeles City before she got fired for refusing to even talk with customers. It was batu! Some of the dancers smoked it to stay up. But it couldn't be, not in Miss Lily's yard, and nobody here but Rosalita and her daughter Elizabeth. Her nose must be playing tricks on her.
Rosalita should have known better. Your eyes can play tricks on you, and your stomach and your mind. And of course there is an organ that is prone to playing tricks on men. But the one body part that never lies is the nose.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com