My Kind of Town
My Kind of Town
Initiation rites
>> Above Waialua
The looks on their faces told him this was his initiation, something he must do to gain their trust. Their trust equaled his survival. And so when Moki said "You know what happens to a rat, Sam. And, Mistah Senator, you get to do da honors," and handed him a Glock 9mm, Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka took it.
The look on Sam's face was utter disbelief, turning to panic. "OK, you guys, this is not funny, enough already," he protested as the other five members of the drugs-for-politics gang roughly herded him outside. "I nevah did nothing."
As the evening had worn on, waiting to go sell some of their product, knowing he needed his wits about him, the senator eased off the beer, the buds and the ice. He could get seriously into all three, but he was a mere dilettante compared to these guys. And the higher they got, the more their collective paranoia and aggression grew. A dangerous combination. And although the senator argued, cautiously, that it was just a bureaucratic twist of fate that he'd replaced their previous leader Isaac Kunia at the last minute in the HPD van to OCCC, they weren't buying it. As they saw it -- through competing chemicals -- Sam was a snitch.
So they marched Sam out through the moonlight toward the banana patch, the senator trying to figure a way out of this. He knew Sam hadn't betrayed them. The senator was also realizing how brilliant Moki's plan was. Have him pull the trigger in front of five witnesses. After that, if he ever got arrested with these guys, the drug charges would an afterthought to Murder 1.
Between the glow of the porch light and the moon, there was enough light as they reached the edge of the banana patch to see an opportunity. The senator carried Moki's Glock. Lude, named for his mother's favorite drug, carried a Magnum .357. The others' hands were busy with multiple bottles of beer and various pipes.
Lude turned Sam around to face his executioner. Their eyes met. A plan had been forming in the senator's mind, but now a new fear arose. What if this was really a test for him? What if there were only blanks in the gun? If so, well, too bad. He'd screwed a lot of people, but never killed anyone. Why start now? With his eyes, he motioned to his right, where the gang's two vehicles were parked beside the house. Sam's eyes gave away nothing.
"Eh, Lude, gimme your gun. Let's do this western-style, two-fisted."
That drew a chorus of boozy hoots from the others.
Which was silenced when the senator tossed Lude's gun to Sam, turned his on them.
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