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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Paying Respects
>> Off Kona
Aboard the Moku 'Aina, Sonya Chan heard another motor approach and refilled her glass. And because she'd already had one too many friends of Daren's come visiting with best wishes, not to mention wishful thoughts and even suggestions, she reached into the scuba gear closet for Daren's speargun. She'd cut any more propositions short.
But the speargun wasn't there. She swore softly, slurring.
Daren's 35-foot inboard fishing boat was anchored a quarter-mile out in the bay, still well inside the protection of the outer reef, but away from the sounds of civilization. Like an island. Green and red running lights and a moon two nights past full provided the only illumination.
But Cruz MacKenzie could see that the hatch door was open. The sound of music drifted faintly up from the cabin. Was that really Elton John singing "Love lies bleeding in my hand?" It was hard to tell above the sound of the motor on Mano Kekai's Zodiac.
Mano cut the engine, called "Aloha! Sonya, you there? It's Mano!"
Cruz saw the reflection of moonlight on glass first -- a wine glass, white wine twirling luminescent inside. Like a beacon, it led the shimmer of black silk up three steps from the cabin to the deck. Not until she was fully on the deck and looked up at the moon did he see her face and long black hair falling across the black silk robe that fell only to mid-thigh.
"Hey, Mano," she said in a thin monotone. "What's up?"
"I brought an old friend of yours."
Sonya lifted the glass above her eyes, shading the moonlight as she peered into the night.
"Hey, Sonya." Cruz tried not to sound too effusive, apparently succeeded.
"Who is it?"
"Cruz."
He heard a little gasp in the night and saw the swirl of golden liquid reflecting the glow of a harvest moon draining away as she big-gulped. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
"I heard the news. I'm sorry. I wanted to pay my respects."
"Paying respect -- that's a first."
"What?"
"No, not you. I mean earlier -- oh, never mind that." She waved the thought away with her glass. "You're working."
"Yes."
"As usual."
She saw him shrug in the moonlight.
"Don't you reporters care about people's feelings? This isn't just news happening here, Cruz! This is a man's life! And now my life just got shot to hell. Do you know that? Do you have any idea?!"
Cruz meant it when he said "I really am sorry, Sonya."
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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