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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Real or fake?
>> Kona
While the cops handcuffed the pair who had attempted to rob Cruz MacKenzie and read them their Rodham rights -- "You don't have to say anything. We understand that society has failed you ..." and so forth -- Nick Ornellas, the former Honolulu cop turned Kona insurance salesman, wiped blood and skin from his Glock 9mm, set the safety, slid it into a black holster and closed it inside an alligator briefcase. "So what can I do for you. MacKenzie?"
"Other than save my life, you mean?" Cruz said, still trying to regain normal breathing. "How 'bout I buy you a drink?"
"I'm a Miller man."
"Sounds good to me."
Ornellas led the way inside, called "Howzit, Kimo! Send over a couple MGDs, eh?" to the bartender and walked through the dining area to a table outdoors on the lanai. The sun was beginning a quick dip toward the horizon, turning the sky and even the sea that uniquely Hawaiian golden hue.
"Kind of romantic, eh?" he said and set his briefcase down. The sound of waves on the rocks below were just load enough to cover their voices. Which is why he chose that particular table. "Enjoy the view."
Cruz sat squinting into the setting sun while Ornellas had a view of activities inside all the way to the front door. Once a cop, always a cop.
A young haole woman with immense breasts held snug by white Spandex brought two beers. When she left Ornellas winked, said "Real or fake?"
"Gotta be fake."
"You think so?"
"I'm an expert in this particular field."
"I'd like to be."
"Here's to experts, of all sorts." Cruz raised his glass, tilted it at Ornellas. He drank deeply. It was one of the five best beers he'd ever had in his life. "Thanks for what you did out there."
Ornellas held his glass up to the light and watched air bubbles rising through the golden brew. "Life is timing, eh. Course, so is death."
Cruz nodded at the briefcase, which held the Glock Ornellas had just used. "Most insurance agents I know don't travel like Dirty Harry."
"My former line of work, some people don't forget. But what just happened, it's between me and you. Not a word in print, understand."
"No problem. What I really want to know about is Daren Guy's policy. I understand you sold a short-term policy to him just before he died."
Ornellas raised his eyebrows. "Talk about timing, eh?"
"How's the company feel about that?"
"Oh, they're happy as ..." He stopped, leaned back, frowned at Cruz. "You mean to say you've made a career as a journalist asking lame-ass questions like that?"
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
