My Kind of Town
All in the ohana
>> Kailua
Waimanalo wasn't exactly on Sheets Ah Sun's way to work at the Honolulu Soap Co. in Kalihi. And he shouldn't have been going that way at all, his brother Mits the cop had said so when Sheets told him about driving past the illegal chemical dump site yesterday and seeing a dozen workers in space suits sifting through the pit's contents. But Sheets couldn't help it, he felt pulled by what had happened there 21 years ago.
On that night there was a card game in Waimanalo. Mits and Sheets were going to drive together, since in those days they lived less than a block apart in Pearl City. When Mits stopped by the Soap Co. on Democrat Street, Sheets was surprised to see their cousin Clarence "Bobo" Ah Sun, but acted like he was glad to see him. Bobo likewise seemed happy to see the two brothers. Sheets was betting that Bobo was betting that Sheet's wife Grace would never have told him about that night seven years before.
Mits changed out of his HPD blues into T-shirt, shorts and slippers, set his folded uniform behind him on the backseat, his holstered .44 on top of the clothes. Bobo rode shotgun, Sheets in back with the gun.
All the way over Likelike and into Waimanalo they made small talk, caught upon their lives. Bobo asked about Sheets' and Mits' kids and wives, told about his travels around the world performing aboardships.
"I'll bet you get plenny wahine, eh?" Sheets said as Mits turned mauka off Kalanianaole Highway.
Bobo, still buzzing after an afternoon of drinking beer and smoking doobies in Waikiki, missed the sinister tone.
"Oh, brah, it's like a candy store!" Bobo said with a chuckle. Mits slowed, preparing to turn onto the street where their old pal Moses lived.
"That's what I figured, you son of a bitch," Sheets said, jamming the gun barrel into the back of Bobo's neck.
"Sheets, what the hell are you doing?" Mits said. He thought he was the only one with a grudge against Bobo.
"Don't turn, just keep going straight," Sheets said in a voice that his brother had never heard before.
"Take it easy," Mits said.
"Since you asked about my kids, Bobo, the oldest one's your's."
"Oh Jesus," Bobo said.
"Lily?" Mits said. "No s---?!"
"No s---," Sheets said.
Bobo felt the pistol barrel quivering against the back of his neck. Sheets was shaking with rage. Bobo had danced out of ticklish situations many times in the past. But he'd never had a gun to his head. This time Bobo was too scared to boogaloo.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com