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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Hitting the road
>>Kaneohe
Off-duty cop, Quinn Ah Sun thought, was a total nonsequitor. Sure, there were times he was out of uniform, off the clock. But once he took that oath, Quinn became a cop, and he didn't stop being a cop when his shift ended and the next guy took over. Just didn't work that way when you cared about the job, and the people you swore to serve.
That's why even now, as he helped the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa strap on his helmet and gave him a few tips on how to be a good passenger, Quinn wore an ankle holster under his jeans. In the holster was his mini-Glock. Same one he'd used to shoot the creep who was trying to rape Rosalita that night when Quinn took a .22 to the thigh. That off-duty night.
"This is a beautiful machine, but it is not the same bike you rode the other night," the lama observed, sounding disappointed.
This BMW was bright red, not HPD blue.
"The chief has a problem with civilians on police bikes," Quinn said, "but this is basically the same bike I ride on duty, including police radio." He hit a switch and blue lights popped from the ferring. "Got a siren too, but we'll spare the neighbors. Oh, and we do have some insignia."
The lama was pleased to see small HPD badge decals on the sides of the tank and a SHOPO decal on the tail.
"OK, your holiness, we're not doing anything fancy today," Quinn said as he mounted the bike.
That made Bodhicita Guzman, the lama's eternal consort who was standing nervously by, feel a little better about this crazy adventure. As the tall, muscular cop swung onto the big bike, he reminded her of John Wayne swinging onto a horse, so probably Jey was in pretty good hands. This Officer Ah Sun didn't seem like the "cowboy" kind of cop. Still, motorcycles didn't come with airbags.
"Remember, don't lean when we turn, the bike leans."
"OK! Let's hit the road!" the lama said and hopped aboard.
"Uh, no offense, your holiness, hitting the road isn't that much fun, based on my experience."
"You've crashed before?"
"Had to lay it down one time to avoid a drunk who ran a red light."
"Wow," the lama said, impressed.
Oh lovely, Bodhicita thought, thanks for those encouraging words.
Quinn turned the key and the engine purred to life, smooth, far from the rough ka-plop-plop of a Harley, but none who heard it doubted the power there. Smooth was the key -- BMWs didn't get the shimmy-shakes and crash while escorting the president of the Philippines at high speed. Quinn was riding behind the officer on a Harley who crashed, and it was grim.
Bodhicita waved until they were out of sight, then went inside to worry.
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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