My Kind of Town
The Honolulu Soap Co.:
Sunday digest>>Portlock
Sprinting back up the path through Lily's garden, Quinn flicked off the safety on the Glock 9mm - the smaller version that HPD officers are now permitted to carry in an ankle holster. That's when the woman stopped screaming from inside the house. Pausing at the screen door leading to his cousin Lily's house, he pulled the cell phone from his belt, speed-dialed HPD dispatch with his left hand."Central, this is Solo 27, Ah Sun. I need some units. My 10-5 is..." He gave the address. "Possible break-in, possible assault. I'm investigating and will keep the line open." He slipped the cell phone onto his belt, attached the ear piece.
That's when the sound of a man wailing in pain came from inside.
In the maid's cottage, Elizabeth had heard the scream too and instantly knew as only a child can that it was her mother. The six-year-old was standing at the screen door to the cottage looking terrified when Lily threw open the door, stepped inside, swept Elizabeth into her arms and locked and bolted the door behind them. "It's going to be OK, Sweetie," Lily said, hoping she was right. "Quinn is a policeman, he's going to take care of everything."
Lily was not just worrying for a cousin. She was worrying for the man she loved. It took this crisis, this fear of losing him, to turn her heart inside out and make her understand her true feelings. Lily no longer cared whether or not Quinn was her first cousin, no longer cared what the rest of the world might say. She loved him. God, please take care of him.
>>Queen's Medical Center
Of course Sheets Ah Sun was concerned about his son Lance. What father wouldn't be concerned for his child lying unconscious - even a son you never once understood in 22 years? Sheets was very concerned, especially when ER social worker Lin Matsuo told Sheets and Grace that their youngest son was technically in a coma. Seeing Lance breathing from a tube, with another tube leading from the back of his skull releasing blood to relieve pressure on the brain, Sheets was both concerned and sad.It's just that he was more concerned that Lance's unfortunate incident could somehow screw up Sheets' big plans for his eldest son Laird's graduation from Stanford Business. The whole family was scheduled to leave in two days.
Lance's graduation with an MBA from Stanford would be the greatest day in Sheets' life, greater even than the births of his children, because a birth is just a beginning. But a graduation, that's an accomplishment - in this case for both the son who carried an A- average and the father who paid the bills. Yes, Stanford had cost Sheets a pretty penny or two, but it was a good investment - not just in his son, but in the future of Sheets' company and his family.
At the graduation dinner, Sheets would announce that he was naming Laird president of the Honolulu Soap Company. He hadn't discussed it with Laird recently, but that had been the plan all along.
Only Lily knew, because this morning she shared her ideas for reorganization of the company, which would have made her president of the Soap Company. Sheets shot her down. Lily had a good plan, but it didn't fit his plans. Unfortunately she did not take it well. He hoped it would not be a lingering, festering problem.
Speaking of Lily, they ought to call her and tell her the bad news.
>>Makiki Heights
No species on Earth has a greater survival instinct than the politician. Both the male and female of the species, as well as every genus known in a variety of environments from sub-Arctic to sub-Sahara, will do almost anything to gain power and even more to retain it, no matter how distasteful it may be personally. So it was with Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka. When HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes explained that the senator could avoid jail if he abided by a few new rules that Gomes had devised, the senator jumped. He could still be Hawaii's governor! Yes, it would mean giving up his penchant for illegal substances, as well as the prostitutes who often supplied those blessed indulgences, at least for a while. But that was a small price to pay in the long run. And too many people had invested too much money in him. He owed it to them to at least try.Besides, Gomes wouldn't live forever.
>>Portlock
Leading with his Glock 9mm, wishing he was wearing the bulletproof vest he wore on duty, Quinn Ah Sun stepped quickly into the doorway, ready to shoot at anything that looked unfriendly. He nearly gagged. The last thing he expected to see staring at him was a big hairy okole.He couldn't tell if it was friendly or not. He decided not. And at first that okole was all he saw. But quickly Quinn realized that the male behind was between two brown legs, obviously female, and he was lowering himself onto the female.
"Hold it right there, asshole!"
Mickey thought the only person he had to worry about was a little girl in the maid's cottage in back of the main house - and Mickey was not happy about it. He would take care of whoever it was, then get back to business. His .22 pistol was already in his right hand. "Sure, pal." Mickey said, rolling slowly to the right, using his body to shield the view of his gun from whoever was directly behind him. Quinn Ah Sun knew better, but he started to relax - he'd prevented his cousin Lily's maid Rosalita from being raped and he had his Glock 9mm aimed at the guy's okole, which was rolling off the woman. The situation seemed under control.
And as the guy with the black surf shorts around his ankles rolled off Rosalita, Quinn suddenly saw that she was unconscious and bleeding from a wound to her cheek. He took a step toward her just as the guy whirled, brought up a silver pistol and from a supine position fired. Quinn was directly in the doorway, couldn't go right or left. His only move was to spin backwards, pivoting away from the shooter, and try to limit his profile, returning fire as he moved. But it was not enough.
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