My Kind of Town
>> Waimanalo Glows in the dark
Sheets Ah Sun knew from his brother Mits that cops always look for a criminal returning to the scene of his crime.
But Sheets couldn't help himself. And so for the second day in a row he cruised his Cadillac slowly past the illegal chemical dump site, now surrounded by a dozen workers in space suits, one of whom operated a backhoe.
He hoped that all they found were illegal chemicals, that over the years the toxic stew had eaten away the evidence of a night here 21 years before.
He and Mits had planned to play cards at the home of their pal Moses that night. When Mits picked him up he brought along their cousin Bobo, his first visit back in seven years. Mits had changed clothes, lay his folded HPD uniform behind him, on top of that his holstered .44, on the back seat beside Sheets. Seeing Bobo in the passenger seat, the gun to the left, something in Sheets snapped and laid bare 28 years of hatred.
"Clarence," Sheets said, pressing the barrel of the pistol hard into Bobo Ah Sun's neck, "you raped my fiancee, now my wife. And it's gonna cost you. With interest."
"It wasn't rape. She wanted it. I could tell."
"No, she didn't. She fought you." End of discussion.
Sheets had directed Mits to drive here, to this very site, which he'd learned about from his mechanic Howard, who dumped used motor oil and other used auto fluids here. Sheets used it two or three times when things went very wrong at the Honolulu Soap Co.
He told Mits to park, wait in the car and kill the headlights. With the pistol still pressed to Bobo's neck Sheets walked him out of sight, to the edge of the pit that glowed lightly in the dark.
"I can't believe that's how you repay my family for taking you off the street," Sheets said, forcing Bobo to kneel at the edge of the pit. "We gave you your life, even gave you our name. But you're no Ah Sun."
Waiting in the car, Mits heard two shots from a gun he knew by sound was his.
When Sheets returned to the car, he was alone and empty-handed.
"Where's the gun?"
"In the pit too."
Mits swore angrily, said that if anybody found the gun it would be traced to him.
"No worry. The chemicals going eat away everything, even the metal. I seen it before."
Now Sheets looked in the Cadillac's rearview mirror, took one last glance at the spacesuits, and hoped that his promise to his brother was right.
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