My Kind of Town
My Kind of Town
Good toss
>> Above Waialua
The Magnum .357 was floating through the air when everything slowed down for Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka, like slow-motion. The toss to Sam had been a good one, the silver pistol neither flipping nor spinning, and as it floated placidly along it's top side glowed in the moonlight, the underside in shadow. That's kind of cool, the senator thought, leaving the gun in midflight, pivoting, stepping back, turning his Glock 9mm on the other five members of the drugs-for-politics gang. Not his Glock, really, Moki's, foisted upon him with instructions to kill the snitch Sam. Who the senator knew was innocent.
"OK, boys, let's calm down," the senator said cooly.
"Sh--!" Sam said, fumbling. "Son of a ...!"
The senator heard the Magnum hit the ground an instant before it discharged. Still in slo-mo, he saw the other five hit the deck clutching their bottles of beer and various drugpipes. Turning, he saw that the round had grazed Sam's shoulder and he was bleeding like a pig-dog.
Things started to pick up speed then.
The senator quickly scooped up the Magnum, trained both guns on the five men on the ground.
"Let's move, Sam. And, boys, keep your hands on those bottles and bongs, right where I can see 'em."
The senator and Sam edged away from the banana patch toward the house. "What?!" Moki said, disbelieving.
"Sam's no snitch, I tried to tell you guys that. And I'm not killing an innocent man. Well, not innocent exactly, but he didn't rat you guys out. So I think a cooling off period would be in the best interest of everyone concerned," the former member of the senate Labor Relations Committee said.
"Lude, Moki, you guys, just consider yourself on timeout. There's plenty of beer in the fridge. No hard feelings, eh?"
Holding the Glock on the other five, the senator helped Sam wrap an old T-shirt around the wound.
"Can you drive, Sam?"
"Shoots."
"I'd rather not. Let's just get out of here."
"Follow me."
Sam hurried to the black Explorer, the senator to the gold van, still keeping both guns on the others.
The half-mile gravel path that led out to the main road was steep and rutted. Sam knew it well, but still a high-speed getaway was not an option. The senator breathed a sigh of relief when at last they reached the main road and Sam turned left. The relief lasted only until he glanced in the back of the van, saw it was loaded with plastic bundles of crystal methamphetamine and realized Sam was intent on making the connection for their deal.
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