My Kind of Town
Party tonight
>> 2002 Wilder
What residents of this luxury condo gained in security, they gave back in privacy. Within the first weeks that Jonah Pelekiko went to work as a security guard, he was amazed at how much he knew already about each of the residents and the nuances of their behavior patterns. After a year he knew how often they returned with shopping bags in the back seat -- Neiman's, Macy's, Ross's? He knew their regular visitors, the occasional visitor who left at 2 in the morning, the elderly gent who received visits from young women in short skirts every Thursday afternoon at 3 o'clock, a different girl every week. They always left at 4:15.
The dark blue Nissan he'd just checked through was driven by a new visitor for Dr. Laurie Tang. The gentleman was dark-haired, including mustache, handsome in a Mediterranean way. On a clipboard, Jonah had written both the car license plate and the number of the visitor parking pass the driver showed him, noting to himself it was the same parking pass Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka always used. The doctor had obviously taken it back. Well well. Jonah wondered how long this one would last. Either the doctor had a hard time hanging onto men or she quickly tired of them. The senator had been a world record, lasting several months. Jonah had to admit he wouldn't mind getting short-timed by Laurie Tang.
Another car turned up the private drive, Jonah stepped from the guard booth with his clipboard.
"Wow, what kinda car is this?"
"Barracuda," HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes said. "1971."
Jonah, Farrington High, class of 1997, had never seen such a vehicle. "Classic, brah." He peered inside. "Whoa, get 8-track and everything. Choice. Anyway, excuse me, sir, who will you be visiting?"
"Laurie Tang." He gave the apartment number.
"Party tonight, eh?"
As the guard wrote his license number on the clipboard, Gomes -- skilled in the art of reading upside-down -- saw that he was the second visitor who had recently declared apartment 1527 as his destination.
The guard waved him through and Gomes thought, party? Maybe Laurie was pressed for time and ordered from one of those grocery delivery services? Or maybe from a caterer? That would make sense.
Salvatore Innuendo, the driver of the dark blue Nissan, had parked near the elevator, backing into the space. Gomes would have to cross in front of him, right to left. He watched from behind tinted windows as Gomes parked, walked toward the elevator. He lowered the driver's window halfway, raised a blowgun to his lips, tracking, waiting for the open shot.
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