My Kind of Town
Say good night
>> Makiki Heights
Machiavelli Wang did not receive a confirmation call from Salvatore Innuendo. There was no need. Machiavelli trusted Innuendo completely and had no doubt that HPD Detective Sherlock was discreetly dead or soon would be. So Machiavelli fell asleep contentedly, thinking of the press conference tomorrow morning and Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka's gubernatorial primary victory that was now just days away.
>> Portlock
Lily Ah Sun fell asleep in the guest bedroom, her own blood-stained bed having been hauled to the dump. She'd have to call the interior designer first thing in the morning. Now that Quinn was back in her life, she wanted a more masculine motif that would suit him. Maybe koa furnishings. Yes. She could just imagine her and Quinn in a koa bed. What had she been thinking earlier when she'd told the designer to make it look like a nunnery?
Second thing in the morning, she'd continue researching the Ah Sun name in the State Library newspaper archives, looking for some clue to the 27-year feud between her father and his brother.
>> Kailua
When her husband Sheets turned out the lights, Grace Ah Sun thought perhaps he might again feel frisky. Making love yesterday for the first time in, well, she couldn't remember how long, was so nice, she hoped he'd be in the mood again. She slid close to him, but got no response. Well, they had been under a lot of stress, and Sheets was tired.
"Good night, Daddy," she said, kissed his cheek again and rolled over. As she fell asleep, Grace said a prayer and thanked Akua and the goddess Ho'ola for bringing her son Lance back from the depths of a coma.
Sheets heard his wife's even breathing, knew she'd fallen asleep. But he could not sleep, not while his head spun with worries about what investigators might find at the illegal dump site in Waimanalo tomorrow, and what that could mean for him and his brother Mits.
>> Queen's Medical Center
Quinn Ah Sun fell asleep with the aid of painkillers, happy with the news that doctors said he would be released in a day or two. Nice as everyone was here, he was dying to get out. Anybody who liked being a patient really was sick.
>> 2002 Wilder
Dr. Laurie Tang awoke in the middle of the night and had to use the bathroom. Returning to bed, she saw the clock on her night stand read 2:27 a.m. She slipped off her nightgown, cuddled close to the sleeping Sherlock Gomes.
"It's tomorrow already," she whispered in the good Catholic boy's ear. "Can we start our second date now?" His answer was a kiss.
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