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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
LAMA ON THE LAM
Riding shotgun
>> Liliha
HPD Officer Quinn Ah Sun, astride his big BMW with blue light flashing, led the official motorcycle escort for the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa from his Waikiki hotel to his parents' home. As a Buddhist, Quinn was proud to again serve the young lama. Last night at the Blaisdell, he'd even asked Quinn if he could get a ride on the bike. Sure, he replied, gave him a card.
Well, there wouldn't be time for a ride today. After the ceremony to dedicate a shrine on the spot where he'd realized his Buddhahood 16 years ago at the age of 2, there was a trip to the Capitol where he'd speak to a joint session of the legislature.
Which, like the motorcycle escort, was being roundly protested by the Chinese government as an intrusion into Chinese affairs and a slap to its sovereignty. Quinn had seen "Seven Years in Tibet," knew there'd been some trouble for Buddhists 50 years ago, but had no idea the Communists were still on the offensive. Good thing then that he and his fellow solo bike officers were riding shotgun, so to speak.
Heading up Liliha Street now, Quinn was pleased to see people stopping and waving, honking horns as the lama's limo passed. The little community was welcoming home the holy boy who was blessing them all with his return.
Quinn turned left on Judd, right on Mahalo and, as he'd been advised, a large crowd was awaiting the young lama. An HPD security detail had already blocked off the street in front of the small woodframe house and cleared a path to the gate in the lava rock wall. Quinn swung off the bike, stood ready as the rear door opened and the young lama exited in saffron and crimson robes, and a shout went up from the crowd like this was the return of Elvis, not a living Buddha. The lama smiled at Quinn, held both hands in front of him as if gripping handlebars, made an engine-revving wrist flick. Quinn smiled, nodded, waved, went back to scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of a threat, noted a couple of Asian guys, what he called hard types.
"Eh, Quinn, howzit."
He recognized the baritone voice of Detective Sherlock Gomes.
"Yo, Sherlock. See those guys over there, two of 'em?"
"Tan suit and green aloha shirt?"
"Mm-hm. What are they doing at a deal like this?"
"Good question. They were also at the Blaisdell event last night."
Quinn shot Gomes a quick sideways glance. Only he would pick up on that. Sherlock Gomes at his best, and Quinn was glad to be here for it.
News cameras caught the lama's mother hugging her baby at the doorstep. Quinn and Gomes caught the two guys making eye contact, moving closer to the waiting limo.
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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