My Kind of Town
>> Makiki Heights Here she comes now ...
"I take it, Senator," HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes said, surveying the living room that overlooked the city lights, spotting the telltale evidence on a corner table, "that you have not seen a newspaper or any TV news today."
"Uh, no."
"Senator, this morning your car crashed off the Keeaumoku Overpass with Serena Kawainui at the wheel. She happened to be drunk, loaded on crystal methamphetamine, and stark naked."
The Democrats' heretofore best hope in 2002 slumped in the chair, turned white. Sherlock Gomes noted that the senator did not ask about Ms. Kawainui's health.
"Any idea, where she might have gotten the drugs?"
"N-no, of course not."
"M-hm."
>> Portlock
With fingers so long and nimble, Rosalita Resurreccion should have been a pianist. That was her dream when she was a little girl in the Philippines. But her family could not afford lessons or a piano. So instead those graceful fingers pinched wooden clothes pins and took the sheets and pillow slips off the line in the backyard, loosely folded and set them in the laundry basket. Rosalita picked up the basket and headed inside for Miss Lily's bedroom. Her employer would be home soon.
Yes, Rosalita should have been a pianist, but after her husband Jesus was killed when the ferry sank between Zamboanga and Cebu and she and her daughter faced a life on the streets, she was grateful to be working for Miss Lily. Grateful that Elizabeth had such a lovely place to live in the cottage behind the big house and was growing up with American nutrition and education. Grateful for her husband's cousin Muhammed Resurreccion's "bayanihan," cooperation and help for a family member, which led him to arrange for her work visa, and for which she owed him "utang na loob," a debt of honor.
>> Reclining on the unmade kingsize bed in the master bedroom, Mickey wondered what a single woman needed a kingsize bed for. Ah, he could imagine -- gymnastics. That's when he heard a screen door slide open. He'd heard that door before. Probably the Filipina maid again. He'd almost gotten the little Mony Mony in the kitchen. Here she comes. Mickey patted the .22 in his pocket, jumped off the bed, grabbed the butcher knife from the nightstand, and the bottle of red wine that was already half empty. Ran around quietly into the master bathroom. The fun was about to start. Turn around, shoot 'em down, come on Mony.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com