My Kind of Town
>> Portlock A lesson for Mickey
Quinn had everything under control. The mutt who was about to rape Rosalita, his cousin Lily's maid, had been disarmed. Quinn had his Glock 9mm, the smaller version that HPD officers are now allowed to wear in an ankle holster, on him. Rosalita had taken two blows to the face, but she would be OK physically. Emotionally was another thing, but for the moment, with the sound of both police and ambulance sirens getting closer and the situation stabilized, things were about as good as they could be for a guy who had taken a .22 slug to the right thigh and whose blue jeans were turning crimson.
And then they'd heard Lily calling "Elizabeth" from across the house, and down the hallway from the master bedroom they heard Elizabeth crying "Mama! Mama!" Standing in the doorway, Elizabeth swept her 6-year-old daughter into her arms and held her close, the little girl sobbing.
"It's OK, baby, Mama is alright."
As Quinn glanced at them, Mickey shoulder-rolled across the bed.
"Stop!" Quinn shouted and fired. The shot was high, hit the wall and sent plaster flying.
Rolling off the bed, Mickey took two steps and crashed through the window screen.
The sound of sirens was closer now. Too close. Mickey's car was parked two doors down. If he could just get there ... Squeezing himself to stop the bleeding where he'd been shot earlier, Mickey ran across the lawn toward his car, fumbling for the keys in the pocket.
>> Parked in a black SUV three doors down from Lily Ah Sun's home, Tai, Seth and Wili heard two gunshots, then a third, then the sound of sirens approaching, and just now a fourth shot.
They'd been following Mickey all day, on a traditional aufogo after he ripped off Seth's daughter. They'd seen him tailing a woman in a teal BMW, then followed him here, watched him enter a home and not long after saw the same woman come home with a guy.
"Well, lookee here!" Tai said in the drivers seat.
Mickey stumbled across the yard and down the street.
"We'd better do this before the cops get here," Wili said, bounding from the back seat.
Mickey jumped in the faded gray sedan, turned the key and heard nothing. He swore.
Suddenly a huge Polynesian guy was opening his door, a second was lifting the hood and a third was at the passenger window. "Lesson time, Mickey," Wili said, roughly pulling Mickey from the car. The sirens were just a few blocks away now. "A very quick lesson."
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