My Kind of Town
by Don Chapman
The truest thing
>> Around Oahu
Lifeguards on jet skis sped toward the impact zone, but nobody in the crowd gathered on the beach for The Eddie believed they'd ever see Chookie Boy Kulolo alive and breathing again. Not after wiping out on a rogue 45-foot wave that crushed over him.
Nobody except Meg Choy Primitivo. She prayed as she'd never prayed, for there was something about this young man that had grabbed -- not just her mind and her heart but -- her very spirit. When she left home in Nuuanu this morning it was to come here and die, taking a coward's exit. Seeing her cheating husband with young woman turning into Turtle Bay had turned her death wish into revenge wish. But it was seeing Chookie Boy surf, so full of life and courage, that showed Meg how she wanted to live her life. And so she moved toward the surf line, her spirit calling his. Come to me, Chookie.
As if one human can will another to live.
The monster wave tumbled onto the beach, driving the crowd back, and as it receded Meg screamed and pointed: "There! There he is!"
A jet ski was already racing toward the lifeless form as it bobbed in he backwash, lifeguards gambling they could reach him before the next monster wave rumbled in. It would be close.
At the Honolulu Soap Co. on Democrat Street, Lily Ah Sun was being reminded of one of life's truest things -- you can never know enough cops. She was desperate, and HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes answered on the third ring.
She told him about checking messages at her home and playing a message from her friend Shauny's cell, and that it was very troubling because Shauny had gone on a date with a guy she'd never met before and had known for just two months after meeting him on the Internet. Lily made it a three-way call, dialing her home, replaying the message.
At first Gomes heard only scratching noises, then a metallic clink, like the phone was getting jostled around inside a purse, then the distinctive clacking of a seat belt being opened.
More scruffling sounds, then a baritone voice saying, "Let me get your bag." Then a loud thump, as if the purse had been tossed aside.
"She's a beauty." A second voice, Japanese accent, came from further away. Closer now, "Excellent muscle tone. Should be a good one."
"Spirited is the word," the baritone replied. "Where do we put her?"
"With the others."
A car door slammed. Silence then.
"What's this guy's name?"
"Victor. He didn't tell her his last name. Shauny thought it was because he was rich or famous."
"That could be an alias." Or maybe not. It was too early to rule anything out. One thing was certain, Gomes had a case.
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