My Kind of Town
>> Queen's Beach Lady in blue
To hell with that wise-ass reporter Cruz MacKenzie, Jimmy Ahuna thought. The thrownet fisherman who had just called MacKenzie was retired from the Pearl Harbor shipyard and he knew what he saw. The mini-sub had come up to the surface for a blow. And as it bobbed outside the shore break at Queen's Beach, Jimmy saw the periscope slowly turning. The sub was a mottled, faded gray and to tell you the truth kind of rusty in spots. And there was that big red circle, a perfect circle, painted right on top of the hull. It too was faded, but there was no mistaking Japan's symbol of the Rising Sun.
Jimmy knew the stories of Japanese suicide subs and their role in the attack on Pearl Harbor. He'd heard that other Japanese mini-subs had been seen off the Kaneohe Marine station. Maybe this was the last of them. Just then the periscope swung past him, stopped, swung back and pointed directly at him. Jimmy looked back, gave the guy the shaka, prayed that whoever was skippering that sub didn't have his finger on the torpedo launcher.
>> Ala Moana Beach Park
When HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes phoned Dr. Laurie Tang last night, she suggested they meet at Ala Moana, where she would be swimming. And Gomes said he was training for a triathlon -- even though he wasn't -- and as long as she was going to Ala Moana for a swim, Gomes would too. Problem was, while Gomes was a good runner and strong on the bike, he swam like a chunk of lava. He was only hoping to train for a triathlon. Maybe he could get a pointer or two from Dr. Tang.
Parking his gold Barracuda in the Magic Island lot, Gomes saw her doing a little stretching beside the first lifeguard stand and looking impatient. And looking mighty fine to his eye in that high-hipped electric blue swimsuit. Gomes was just grabbing his towel and goggles when his cell phone rang. He answered, listened for a while, finally got a word in edgewise.
"OK, Mrs. Fernandez, you caught me at a real bad time. I'll call you back in an hour so."
Promises, promises.
Towel and goggles in hand, Gomes jogged across the sand, waving at Dr. Laurie Tang as he went.
"You're late." She looked at her watch again. Dr. Tang, like most physicians, was accustomed to calling the shots. "Your questions will have to wait. You do your swim, I'll do mine. See you in 45 minutes."
Gomes watched her swim away, her stroke both graceful and strong. He was so intent on watching her, he didn't notice a guy in the water wearing a mask and snorkel staring at him.
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