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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
His real voice
>>Off the Big Island
Wearing a pink bikini, Sonya Chan was about to spread a tell-tale pink towel on the deck when the Coast Guard plane appeared, zig-zagging south by southwest, flying into the afternoon sun so it hadn't spotted the boat yet. He quickly ordered her below deck. Forcing himself to "act natural, act natural," Daren quickly rigged an ahi lure on a fishing pole and cast it off to the side, then placed the handle in a steel tube built into the stern.
Daren looked up as the two-engine plane approached. He'd never seen this particular Coast Guard plane on the Big Island before. They were pulling out all the stops to find this infamous boat. "Even more act natural."
He followed the plane as it flew overhead, and waved ...
And should have known better!
The plane immediately swiveled in air and swung back around.
"Dumb ass, they think you're in trouble, a sail boat without sails."
The plane slowed, circled.
"That's not it," the officer with the binoculars said. "Wet Spot. Out of Honolulu. I swear, somebody ought to do a book on boat names."
"Some of 'em make you wonder," the pilot agreed. "Bet I can guess how this guy came up with Wet Spot."
Daren raised the OK sign. The plane dipped low and he saw the Coastie in the passenger seat looking through binocs.
"Sonya, get up here now!" Again, not that hoarse whisper, but in a young man's voice, the one that suddenly appeared when he had yelled at her to get below. It was a voice she knew, she thought. "And pull a shirt over that bikini! Anything but pink!"
No pink? But of course! That would give the boat's real identity away, and for some reason the "old man" did not want it to be recognized for what it really was, the Pet Shop, owned by Cue Garbanzo, publisher of Pet Shop magazine. When they did a "Girls of Hawaii" pictorial, it included a topless photo of Sonya and her new store-bought boobs, shot aboard this boat. Guessing the truth, Sonya bounded up the steps onto the deck and threw herself at the old man, knowing immediately he was not as old as he was trying to look. He was too strong, too familiar.
Through the binocs, the officer saw an attractive young woman wearing a white tank top and not much more bound out of the cabin onto the deck and passionately embrace the old guy. With one hand he groped her uncovered okole, with the other he waved the OK sign.
"Jeez, that babe looks half his age," the officer said. "Must be nice having bucks."
"Looks like it's gonna be Wet Spot, the sequel. Let's go."
The plane dipped a wing and continued its zig-zag course.
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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
