My Kind of Town
>> Ala Moana Bach Park Oh my goddess!
It was the damndest thing Jimmy Ahuna ever saw. But at least it proved the Pearl Harbor Shipyard retiree hadn't been imagining things. The WWII mini-submarine with the Rising Sun painted on top of the hull was real. It had come up out of the water with a gorgeous Asian woman in an electric blue swimsuit riding it like a cowgirl at the rodeo. Yee-ha. And there the sub lay now at the Diamond Head end of the park, half out of the water like a beached whale.
Jimmy, who'd seen it all from the seawall above the channel that leads from the sea to the quiet waters inside the reef, grabbed his cell phone, called the Star-Bulletin, asked for Cruz MacKenzie. MacKenzie had all but laughed at Jimmy when he'd called after seeing the sub surface off Queen's Beach two weeks ago. MacKenzie's voice mail answered.
"Eh, mistah big shot reporter, you nevah believe me befoah when I tell you about seeing one Japanese sub, remembah? Hah! I hate to say I tol' you so, but you bettah get your okole ovah to Ala Moana, bruddah, an' PDQ. We got living proof heah."
>> Actually, the proof was not alive at all.
Dr. Laurie Tang, the woman in the blue swimsuit, helped HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes climb up on top of the sub. As she did so, the sub's engine shut off. Both of them dripping wet, they shared a what-the-hell-does-that-mean look.
Gomes tapped a message on the hatch in Morse Code: "We're friendly, but come out with your hands up, pally." There was no response.
As a crowd gathered on the beach, Gomes twisted open the external locks on the hatch, wishing he had the Glock 9mm he usually wore in an ankle holster. Laurie watched Gomes straining at the locks, the muscles on his bare chest, back and arms bulging, and her heart fluttered.
Gomes lifted the hatch, peered inside the sub. "Oh my goddess!" he whispered.
"What did you say?"
Laurie knelt beside Gomes. The opening was so small, they had to press bodies and heads together for both of them to see inside.
Laurie gasped, and not from the sensuous jolt she felt from touching Gomes. She saw the back of a naked, brown-skinned woman leaning over a figure in the pilot's seat, appearing to kiss his head. She turned to them, glowing, floated up out of the hatch. "Shinjo Eiki is a good man," she said, her voice ringing like sacred music.
Gomes and Laurie looked inside the submarine again. The figure in the pilot's seat was a skeleton. And the woman was gone.
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