My Kind of Town
>>Royal Hawaiian Hotel The Honolulu Soap Co.:
Sunday digestAt times of crisis, times of joy, and all of the times in between, Lily Ah Sun and her two best friends, the identical but very different twins Fawn and Shauny Nakamura, talked. They talked about everything -- guys, jobs, parents, clothes. Still lying in bed, Lily needed to tell Fawn and Shauny about the incredible events of yesterday, especially the part about her and Quinn, and their kiss.
Shauny answered on the second ring.
"How do you feel this morning?" Lily said -- after their afternoon of drinking yesterday.
"Thank God that guy Chuck made us eat or I'd really have been in trouble!" Shauny said.
"Small world, I saw him again last night."
"Mr. Buns of Steel?! Rr-rrr!" Shauny the tigress.
"You're going to have to keep your hands off the hot buns. It seems he and Fawn are now an item."
"What?! Fawn?!"
Unlike Shauny, who'd worn a virtual path going "to the beach and back," Fawn was still a virgin at 27. Every guy she'd met bailed when Fawn said she intended to remain a virgin until her wedding night.
Shauny didn't like it, but she was beginning to think of her twin as an old maid. She'd never find a guy willing to wait until marriage, and Fawn was not going to give herself to a man before she was a missus. Shauny also didn't like this sudden jealous feeling. But, hey, it was Shauny who invited Chuck Ryan to lunch when they'd met him working out at the Honolulu Iron Works yesterday. And when it came to men, Shauny was accustomed to getting what she wanted. And she'd wanted Chuck Ryan.
"All I know," Lily continued, "is that Chuck looked totally in love last night."
>> 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. Gomes said he was training for a triathlon, and as long as she was swimming, he would too. Problem was, while Gomes was a good runner and strong on the bike, he swam like a chunk of lava. Really, he was just hoping 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 swimsuit. 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 staring bullets at him.
>> Out on the sea wall, fisherman Jimmy Ahuna was keeping an eye on the channel inside the reef for another sign of the mystery sub. Jimmy had gotten down to Ala Moana this morning when it was still dark and set up his pole brackets. And then it appeared, the same mini-submarine he'd seen recently out at Queen's Beach. Jimmy was preparing to cast when the mini-sub glided past. Same faded red circle painted on top of the hull. Jimmy walked quickly along the sea wall, following the submarine, watching it clear the reef and submerge out of sight.
A shiver ran down his back. Jimmy, retired from the Pearl Harbor shipyard, knew what he'd seen. It didn't make sense.
>> Dr. Laurie Tang loved Ala Moana. It was convenient, protected inside the reef and you can swim for 500 meters without turning. But the term "water quality" was a euphemism. That's why she wore a mask and snorkel to keep her from swallowing the murky water. There were days you could be swimming 10 feet from someone and not see them.
There were also mornings you could be swimming 15 feet above a WWII Japanese submarine and not know it.
>> Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka's fascination with blow guns started innocently enough. He'd hosted a conference of indigenous peoples and one of the attendees, a member of a Native American tribe from the Southwest, had presented him with a hand-carved blow gun and some darts. In olden times, his people had hunted deer and other species with blow guns.
How, Donovan wondered, could such a small dart bring down a big deer? The answer was rattlesnake venom on the dart tips. You just had to be careful not to prick yourself. Since then Donovan had collected blow guns from around the world. And until last night blow guns were just a hobby -- a hobby at which he'd gotten good enough to nail a papaya-thieving mynah from 30 yards.
But then last night Donovan decided that HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes had to go -- partly because he might tell Donovan's girlfriend Dr. Laurie Tang that Donovan had fathered the child in the woman who crashed Donovan's car yesterday, partly because of Gomes' promise that if Donovan didn't go that drug rehab center in Portland that Gomes would arrest him. The latter would end Donovan's dream of being governor, the former would cost him the best First Lady candidate he'd ever met.
So Donovan had turned his 18-inch, shotgun snorkel into a double-barrel blow gun and soaked two dart tips in poison available at any garden shop. The basic poison was strychnine, which when introduced to the blood stream produced stiffening and convulsions. The label said there was a little arsenic too for good measure. This morning Donovan inserted one dart into each barrel.
Watching through his mask from 25 yards away, with just his shoulders and head out of the calm water, Donovan saw Gomes tentatively wade out to where the water just reached his knees. Taking deep, nervous breaths, he pulled on his goggles. The great Gomes didn't know how to swim and was obviously scared. How is it that a kid born and raised in Hawaii doesn't know how to swim?
Donovan tilted the snorkel toward Gomes, inhaled slowly and was about to blow when a Japanese newlywed couple ran into the water and stopped between Donovan and Gomes.
Donovan took two steps to get a better angle.
>> And so here he was, the ultimate sleeper, lying silently in wait in his one-man submarine, at last fulfilling his mission that began in 1944.
Shinjo Eiki was the little-known bastard brother of Tojo Hideki, the Japanese dictator and warlord. The general provided for Shinjo's education, and he dreamed of being a military man. It was in his blood too. But because he was illegitimate, Shinjo was not allowed to attend the Military Academy. Instead, he learned banking. But Tojo often spoke to him of military affairs, and after WWI they discussed Tojo's developing theory of "total war," and later his plans to draft the first general mobilization of the Imperial Army. And it was Shinjo who convinced Tojo that military might must be based on a strong, developed, industrial-based economy.
In June of 1944, Shinjo's brother gave him a chance to not only save Japan, but to give Shinjo eternal honor. Problems arose with the sub. And then there was the woman on Molokai. But here at last Shinjo was 57 years later at Ala Moana Beach Park. He still had a mission to fulfill.
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