My Kind of Town
>>Manoa Nothing like a man
"I just can't believe it," Rayna Chang said. "A terrorist living here?"
"Is he home now?" FBI agent Steve Metz said.
"I'm sure." She took a cell phone from her purse, dialed a number, let it ring. And ring. "That's odd."
"Where're his quarters?"
Rayna stood, led the men into the kitchen, pointed out the window across the lighted lawn. "Out there. He lives in a loft above the maintenance garage. His light's on."
"If you'll excuse me for a moment," the G-man said, motioning for Rayna and her guest to return to the living area, reaching for his phone.
"Al," they heard him say. "Check the garage out back, upstairs ..."
While Metz talked, Rayna led David back to the couch.
"I'm sorry," she began. "You must think..."
"I think this must be very traumatic for you. I don't know what I can do to help, but ..."
It had been too long since she'd played the dating game. "Just being here," she blurted, rather too honestly. "Thank you."
Rayna realized what she had missed the past two years since Henry died. She missed having a man.
David, a widower for almost a year, smiled. It's nice to be needed.
>> Watching from the shadows beyond the mock orange hedge, Paul Omandam/Achmed al-Hazir saw his soon to be former employer, the widow Mrs. Chang, through the kitchen window with two men. Both wore jackets. Cops or federal agents, he guessed. He saw Mrs. Chang pointing across the lawn toward the loft he'd just vacated. And not a moment too soon.
This place would soon be swarming with American lawmen. His plan to simply slide between the hedge and the redwood fence, then through the gate and out to the road in front of the house was not going to work.
So it was on to Plan B. Behind the maintenance garage there was a loose plank in the fence. He'd loosened it himself. He'd also made friends with the neighbor's black Labrador Ralphy on the other side, bringing it snacks, so that it barked at everything and everybody except him.
Leaving Paul behind, Achmed slipped through the plank, replaced it. If the dog barked, there was always the machete. If police appeared, there was the belt around his waist.
>>2002 Wilder
It was such an ordinary thing. Dr. Laurie Tang did it every time she came up here to the pool or went to Ala Moana for her swim. But this time as she unwrapped her pareau, she felt HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes' eyes on her. And it gave her the tingles.
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