My Kind of Town
>> Our Lady of Perpetual Succor Confessions
Confession hadn't been on his to-do list when the day began at Dr. Laurie Tang's condo, but HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes felt the need. So after his tour of the Honolulu Soap Co. and questioning of Sheets Ah Sun, Gomes drove straight to Our Lady of Perpetual Succor. That's where he found true cleansing, the kind even "the purest soap on Earth" couldn't offer.
Gomes couldn't help wondering if somehow Ah Sun's soap was an effort to wash stains from his life, like Lady Hamlet scrubbing away, "Out, out, damn spot." Or was it Lady Macbeth? English was not Gomes' best subject back at Leilehua High. In any event, Ah Sun had come clean about illegally dumping soap-gone-terribly-wrong at the Waimanalo site a couple of times back in the late '70s and early '80s. But there seemed to be something more that Ah Sun left unspoken.
Simply pulling his 1971 Barracuda into Our Lady of Perpetual Succor's parking lot brought a warm feeling to Gomes. Church had that effect on him since he was a kid going to catechism. And when his father died, the nuns and priests had surrounded him with such love and support. As had, in his own way, Gomes' math teacher and wrestling coach at Leilehua, Mr. Vern Matsuda, who taught Gomes to love logic.
From those days grew the duality of his nature, which the introspective Gomes well recognized. The man who insisted on logic, reason and just the facts, ma'am, in every other area of his life, especially in his work, knelt humbly before the cross, trusting in things unseen and promises uttered 2,000 years ago in a part of the world that then, as now, was a maelstrom of competing prophets and Gods. Gomes would not be Gomes without his logic; neither would he be without his faith.
Confession hours were over, Gomes knew, but his old friend Father Paul would see him. This would also give Gomes a chance to report something he'd chanced to see last week. Indeed, when Father Paul saw Gomes entering the church, the detective merely nodded toward the confessional.
"Father, I have sinned," he said through the dark lattice. "I took the Lord's name in vain today." When forced to let TheBus carrying the suspected Family Photo Burglar go while chasing escapees at the Capitol.
"Three Our Fathers, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be."
"But I whispered it, Father."
"Two Our Fathers."
"By the way, Father, just between you and me. You were spotted the other night in an area that can be dangerous." At least to a priest's reputation.
"The restroom at Thomas Square, Father, after dark it's not a good place for a priest to be."
"What kind of penance would you suggest?"
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