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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Ghost town
>> Above Kahuku
HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes, having connected Shauny Nakamura and her twin Fawn by cell phone and later telling Shauny to stay behind cover until the chopper arrived, was back on the phone with Lono Oka'aina.
"So the ladies look all right?"
"Yeah," Lono said, "scared and tired, but physically, yeah."
"I'd appreciate it if you could stay with them until the chopper arrives, then hang around and keep an eye on the bodies."
"No problem, this is where me and Raydean was coming anyway."
"Hasn't been any traffic coming out of your place for a while now," Gomes said. "I think it's time to pay a visit to the Rockin' Pikake." He heard Lono choke. "Normally I'd wait for back-up, but every available officer on this side is out on the road rounding up members of the hunt club, so here we go."
"Be careful. From what I saw out here, these boys play for keeps. Eh, why don't I just stay on the line."
"Shoots." Gomes and his '71 Barracuda were soon pulling off the road, driving beneath a wooden arch that proclaimed this to be the Rockin' Pikake Ranch and featured the ranch's distinctive brand, a pikake blossom riding above a quarter circle and tilting at a slight angle. It led down a long drive between two rows of ironwoods, the ride smooth on the cushion of fallen needles. The drive opened up to a big ranch house with a small lawn, and behind it stables and storage sheds. Gomes parked in front of the house, noted the rail for tying up horse reins.
Only a screen door guarded the main entrance to the house. Gomes knocked, called "Hello! Anybody home?" No answer, not even a radio or TV. He backed away, walked around the side of the house. "No people. Not a sound. But there's another big refrigerated semi-truck, couple of pickups and SUVs parked around, including a black Escalade and ... Merciful Mary Mother of God!"
It was Victor Primitivo's vehicle, the one in which he'd kidnapped Shauny! Chances were he was one of the dead ones. But Gomes couldn't be certain, or too careful. He slipped his mini-Glock 9 mm from the ankle holster, fingered the safety, headed around back. Gomes hated guns, but he felt even worse about dying.
"It's like a ghost town, like there was a lot of activity recently, but nothing now." Gomes turned the corner, came nose to nose with a big, black horse. "Oh, jeez!"
"What?" Lono said, anxious over what had happened at his home.
"Horses, a dozen of 'em, just standing around, still saddled. Looks like nobody watered 'em or anything, just dismounted and ran."
That's all Lono, who whispered to his horses in Hawaiian, needed to hear.
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com