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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
What rendezvous?
>>Waters off Maui
Daren was scattering whatever might be incriminating, and so he was far from Kona. This part of Maui's north shore was rural. Lights on the shore, few and dim, were just blinking on as dusk slipped into dark.
He wasn't using the downrigger because tiger sharks are nocturnal nearshore foragers. He didn't need to go deep, he only needed to avoid the rocks. The luxury yacht's on-board GPS combined with sonar made that relatively easy.
The moon hid behind Haleakala and the sea was dark, so it was hard to tell exactly how many sharks hit the body that he'd tied at the ankles. But in the frenzy of their feeding the sea flashed fluorescent. And when it was calm again, he turned the yacht's searchlight on the surface and saw only pulpy blood quickly diluting and disappearing.
So thorough was the feast that they had cut the line and this time there were no feet and ankles to toss.
There was just this other half of his own nylon neon lime board shorts to dispose of -- mate of the half that had been recovered back at Kona, an image of that had flashed around the world on cable TV. The fabric landed lightly and drifted with the pulp and blood.
His plan was working very well. Now he needed to talk with Sonya Chan. Soon. The wind was up, clouds hid the rising moon, so he risked raising the tell-tale pink sails.
God, this was a beautiful boat. He'd hate to give it up, but there was no other choice. This would soon be a wanted boat. In the plan that was developing in his head, he would need the boat only a short time more. Just long enough to lure Sonya.
"Calling Pet Shop, calling Pet Shop," the radio blurted out, the blue light blinking. "This is Tuna Maru, over."
An accented voice, he noticed. Asian.
"We are on station for rendezvous. Please advise as to your position and estimated time of arrival." The voice from Tuna Maru repeated the message.
Rendezvous? What had those two dead guys gotten him into?
>>Off the Big Island
The big ship would cross into U.S. territorial waters right on schedule and, as they'd arranged, Sushi Leclaire radioed the frequency for the yacht Pet Shop. Paul, the skipper, and one who was posing as his new crew were supposed to answer and set up a time and a place for their rendezvous.
And there had to be a rendezvous. The captain of the Tuna Maru could not bring Sushi's shipment of 12 beautiful Filipinas into any port. If there was no rendezvous, the girls would have to go over the side -- right after Sushi did. He tried to remember how to say fish food in Japanese.
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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