My Kind of Town
>> Arizona Memorial How do you spell relief?
The moment that Muhammed, Sandy, Rosalita and Elizabeth locked up the van and started across the parking lot toward the visitor center, Navy intelligence officer Lt. Martin Luther Washington gave the go-ahead to Commander Chuck Ryan.
"They're on the way in."
"I'm about 45 seconds away."
Dressed as a tourist, complete with camera, Martin followed Muhammed and the three females from the parking lot, staying close because he wanted to be sure of getting on the same boat to the memorial they were on. Sure, he could flash a badge, but better to low-key it all the way.
But suddenly Muhammed was stopping. Martin paused for a heartbeat, but he had to keep walking. Reading body language and hand motions, he guessed that Muhammed left something in the van. Martin held his breath as he passed so close he could have reached out and punched Muhammed. Maybe later he'd get the chance.
It was one thing for Sandy to know that Martin and his partner were shadowing her. It would be quite another test to see how Sandy reacted when she saw him. And Sandy was awesome! She glanced up, saw Martin approaching, and turned to the little girl, took her by the hand and led her to pick a plumeria and smell its sweetness together. Beautiful.
Martin wanted to sweep the little girl into his arms and carry her to safety, far from Muhammed Resurreccion and his evil plans. But so far, Muhammed hadn't done anything illegal.
So far all they had was the tale of impending treason and perhaps terror that Sandy had blurted to him at the Hale Koa. All they could do was wait and react.
>> Honolulu Soap Co.
Lily Ah Sun had no idea how good she could be at procrastination! An inveterate maker of lists who followed through until each item was checked off, she returned every call ASAP.
But now Lily was finding excuse after excuse not to return her cousin Quinn's call, fighting the urge to run to him at Queen's, to forget what she saw in his room, and fall into his arms.
She'd been there, and no place, no person, ever felt so right.
The phone carved in the shape of shama thrush chirped. Lily held her breath.
She was waiting for a call from a ginger farmer. She should answer.
But what if it was Quinn? On the third ring she picked it up. "Oh, hi, Greg."
Lily never would have imagined that she'd spell "relief" m-y-b-r-o-t-h-e-r-'s-g-a-y-l-o-v-e-r.
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