My Kind of Town
>> Portlock Worse than dumb
OK, so maybe there was nothing illegal about the faded gray sedan that was parked two doors down from his cousin Lily's home -- the same gray sedan that HPD Officer Quinn Ah Sun had seen following Lily onto the H-1 this morning. Quinn was raised Buddhist, spent much of his youth at the Pearl City Hongwanji, and he did not believe in coincidences.
Come to think of it, it was no coincidence that he pulled over a woman in a teal BMW for speeding this morning and it turned out to be his long-lost cousin Lily. But before he knew it was her, she had taken his breath away. Which she would be doing at the moment as they made their way up the walk to her door, the semi-drunk Lily clutching his arm, her breast pressed into him, if his cop instincts hadn't kicked into gear moments ago.
"Nice yard," he said, finding an excuse to check perimeter security, taking a detour across the lawn that felt like a putting green underfoot.
"It's mostly all native species," she said proudly, pointing out the shrubs and flowers along the edge of the house.
They rounded the corner of the house, Lily clutching Quinn tighter in the dark, her hip sliding against his.
"Good," he said, noting a tall mock orange hedge and just behind it a wooden fence.
"What?"
"The hedge and fence. Good security for a single woman."
"It's not for me. It's for the plants in back. That's where we're propagating some endangered native species. The hedge was there when I moved in, but about three months ago a dog got into the back yard and tore up everything. We lost some plants. That's when I had the fence built."
Howdaya like that, Quinn thought, checking the fence one more time, then reversing back to the front of the house. Lily has security for some plants, not for herself. It's a good thing that Quinn and Lily reunited today after 21 years apart, since they were each 6. Like a lot of smart women, Lily was not very aware of her surroundings sometimes. That could be worse than dumb. It could be fatal.
"That's funny," Lily said, putting her key in the door, opening it. "It wasn't locked. I wonder if I forgot to lock it this morning."
See what I mean, Quinn thought, his cop instincts shifting into hyper-drive. And he knew one thing for sure. None of this was coincidence. Quinn was here for a reason.
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