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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Pulling up stakes
>> Above Kahuku
Two of the hunt club's charter members, Gerhard of Germany and Luis of Mexico, old friends and occasional partners in the arms trade, had shared the rental Explorer when they arrived on Oahu, and now were leaving the Rockin' Pikake at just over the speed limit on this narrow, bumpy, winding road. The German was at the wheel and drove fast enough to get away, not fast enough to attract attention.
Ahead, an ugly green car was parked halfway onto the road, and the German had to steer around. The driver was talking on a cell phone, Gerhard noted and drove a little faster.
In his 1971 Barracuda, HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes said "Hold it a second ..." and wrote down the Explorer's license number.
"OK, I'm back. You know anything about a white Explorer, driven by two guys, a very white haole and a Latino looking guy?"
"No, like I said, I had to leave the ranch before members of the club arrived," Lono Oka'aina replied. "Only thing I saw was a semi-truck, and I couldn't see who was driving."
"How about a black Town Car?" Gomes wrote down the license number of the second car to pass, and of the third that followed close behind. "Or a green Toyota van?"
"Nope, but that's a lot of traffic, all going in one direction, and the only thing past where you're at is my place. Sounds like they're pullin' up stakes."
The KSSK report, Gomes was guessing, the one he'd heard, was probably monitored by the hunt club. They knew the law was looking.
Unfortunately, both HPD choppers were involved in S&R after the old Kailua dump blew up. So he'd have to do reconnaissance the old-fashioned way, by cell phone. "And where are you right now, Mr. Oka'aina?"
"We're on my property, about a hundred yards to that place I was telling you about."
"We?"
"Yeah, me and, uh ... my girlfriend." It was the first time he'd used the term, and he said it hopefully. Raydean Gonsalves beamed. Girlfriend was good, for a start.
"Be careful. Let me know what you find." Gomes rang off, called HPD Dispatch, got Gwen Roselovich, asked her to check the license numbers. A minute later she came back. "Rental cars, all of them."
"APB 'em. They'll reaching the highway in about five minutes. Oh, and here comes another one, red Mustang." He gave her the number. "Just in case alert the airlines."
"Based on what, Sherlock? The major's gonna want a reason."
"More things than I have time to explain now. Hey, I got another call."
"We got a problem," Lono whispered. "Two bodies down. Another one standing around like he's waiting for somebody. Uh-oh. Couple of ATVs heading his way, in a hurry."
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com