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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
The survivalist
>> Around Oahu
HPD Detective Sherlock Gomes saw the big palomino, a magnificent animal and, following instructions of Lono Oka'aina, was about to call out "High-Mucka-Mucka!" when he heard a single, muffled gunshot. With his mini-Glock 9mm drawn, he went to investigate.
Behind the stable, Gomes found a man slumped over the wheel of an Humvee, dead of a self-inflicted shot to the mouth from a Sig Sauer 9mm. He would later be identified as Tets Nakajima, founder of the hunt club.
In all, when the arrests of fleeing club members were made, when the disposal truck was stopped and 18 dead bodies were discovered, when the CSI guys were finished at the Rockin' Pikake Ranch, when Gomes interviewed the two survivors Shauny Nakamura and Imelda Iglesia, Gomes had uncovered the evilest plot he'd ever come across. Gomes the good Catholic boy crossed himself, thanked God for allowing him to be a cop.
And while he felt a great sense of satisfaction at putting the hunt club out of business and bringing its members to justice, he also felt frustration that he'd been so close to Sen. Donovan Matsuda-Yee-Dela Cruz-Bishop-Kamaka. He'd slipped away again. But at least they knew where to start looking for him, and Letha DeCaires had put him at the top of CrimeStoppers' most wanted list. They'd find him.
After escaping on an ATV borrowed from a dead guy, the senator survived for nearly a week on the three cases of Bud and homemade jerky he'd taken from the cave. If he could limit his consumption to a six-pack a day -- no easy thing -- he could survive for another week.
In the hills above Turtle Bay, he found a small pool where he swam and bathed, and nearby a shelter for sleeping in a tight cluster of ironwood trees. And so he stayed.
By day, with the Glock 9mm he'd taken from Isaac Kunia's band of idiots, he explored the surrounding area and discovered a guava grove with big, juicy fruit like he'd never tasted before. Late one afternoon he was on his way there when, because of shadows cast by the setting sun, for the first time he noticed a break in the tall grass. He parted the blades, peeked down a narrow path.
Patting the Glock, he followed, holding his hands in front of his face to shield his eyes from the sharp blades.
Note to readers: This week we're tying up loose ends from the two previous books, "The Honolulu Soap Company" and "Hunt Club." On June 9 we begin the third, "False Teeth."
See the Columnists section for some past articles.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com