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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Second chances
>> 10,000 feet, descending
This was Cruz MacKenzie's first trip to the Big Island since that night at the Hapuna Beach Hotel six months ago, when Cruz suggested over a moonlit dinner at the Coast Grill that Sonya Chang should move to Honolulu and in with him and she replied that she couldn't right now because she was moving in with the head pro at Mauna Puka, but Cruz was sweet for asking and maybe another time would be nice. Cruz had introduced her to the pro, a married man, during the MasterCard Championship at Hualalai.
He cracked the cap of the second little bottle of Dewar's, hoped Sonya was happy with the pro from Mauna Puka. Really. He also hoped that he could remember how to write while loaded. The '80s and wet lunches were a long time ago. And it was apparent that he would not be landing entirely sober.
If she wasn't Biggie Kanaka's daughter, Jasmine could have been Cruz's kind of woman. As she walked past collecting the last empty cups, she said, "Let me get that for you" and picked up the two empty bottles of Johnny Walker as she cleverly set a third in the middle of his lap, performed a graceful pivot and moved back down the aisle like slow water over smooth stones.
But she is Biggie's daughter, Cruz reminded himself. Dammit.
>> Waters off Kohala
Daren Guy kept the scanner on, partly for company, partly so he'd know which areas to avoid, mostly so he'd know when to start running. But it wasn't the scanner that brought him the alert. He was tying the ankles of the second body just as he had the first when the ship-to-ship radio crackled for the first time since he'd been aboard. A blue light blipped, indicating the call was for this boat's frequency.
"Calling Pet Shop. Calling Pet Shop. This is Free Delivery. Do you copy, Paul?"
There was a pause. He turned up the volume.
"Calling Pet Shop, this is Free Delivery. Hey, Paul, it's Roger, roger? Just wondering how the new crewman was doing." Pause. "Uh, and Ginny stopped by today, said she was sorry and wants to try it again when you get back. Actually, she's standing right here, wanted to talk to you herself."
"Hey, Paul," a breathy female voice cut in. "I miss you, baby."
Roger again: "Does this thing have an answering machine? If not, we're talking to ourselves. OK, I'll try you later. Maybe you're out diving or something. Or in port. Uh, later, over."
His heart raced. The boat had been gone too long. They'd start looking for him tomorrow.
He smiled darkly at the chilled corpse in the ice chest. "Hey, Paul, Ginny says she thinks you guys can still make a go of it. Whaddaya think?"
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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