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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Shark food blues
>> Kona
Jasmine Kanaka was past tipsy, Cruz MacKenzie realized. She was drunk. But a beautiful young drunk, wearing a yellow bikini top and floral lava-lava tied hip-hugger low. She leaned on him on as they walked back from dinner, and with an arm around her waist he held her up, helped her along. And couldn't believe how good she felt, her body pressed against his, her skin so soft to his fingers.
Any other woman and it would be a done deal already. But she was his niece, hanai kine, but still niece. Dammit. He didn't want to be her uncle right now. But he was, had been for over 15 years. He would not take advantage of his buddy Biggie's little girl.
She kissed his neck moistly as he opened the door to his room. Inside he was glad to see the phone message light flashing. A blessed diversion. He called the hotel operator while Jasmine turned on the radio, found a Hawaiian music station, dimmed the lights and lit the votive candle provided by the hotel for emergencies or romance, whichever came first. The message, relayed from the city desk, was "Call Lucien on Maui."
He heard Jasmine turn on the shower. "I'm gonna take a quick rinse, I'll leave it running for you!"
Turn on was the right term. Images of the showering Jasmine danced in his head. But he would not take advantage. No way. No how.
He called Lucien Charbonnier, an old friend who runs Chez Paul at Olowalu.
"Ah, Monsieur MacKenzie, it is very nice to hear your voice again, my friend, but another friend, B.B. King, just walked through the door and he tips better than you. He pays the cost to be the boss. So I must be brief."
"B.B.?!" Cruz got absolutely and unjournalistically worshipful when it came to the king of the blues. "Oh God, I wish I was there!"
"Every day we have the blues," Lucien said. "But the reason I called is this: You have heard about the guy Steven Pak? The missing fisherman?"
"Saw it in the paper today."
"There's more to it than that."
"Oh?"
"His son cooks for me. He just got a call -- they found his father. Well, they found half of him."
"Shark?"
"Oui."
"What's his son's name? Is he there now?"
"Sampson, but no, how could I make him work tonight? He just left. But you may feel free to quote me, monsieur. Anyway, I thought you'd like to know. If there's anything else I can do, buzz me."
Cruz got Sampson's cell number, hung up, stunned. That was four fatal shark attacks in barely a week, on three islands. What's going on here? He heard the shower curtain flung open, the water still running. "Your turn," Jasmine called.
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
