Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (30 page)

Noelani replied with a warm smile and reassuring
squeeze of Chris’ arm, “Thank you. Its’ fun, but I'm not good
enough for anything more.”

“
Oh, yes you are. Trust me- I've
heard worse stuff at the Met.”

Noelani’s eyes opened wide, her brows arching in
puzzled bemusement. “You go to Opera?”

Chris leaned in conspiratorially, “All the time,
it's my best kept secret. My favorite is still, undoubtedly
‘Butterfly’- made me cry. I like the Italians the best...”

“
Yes, they sound
so pure, a lot like Hawaiian music.” Noelani sighed in contentment
as she reminisced, “I was good, but not
that
good. In the end, I just gave
it up…” She smiled and looked back over her shoulder, where Alani
was laughing brightly at something Buddy said, “…but look what I
got in return.”

Kenji winced as he watched the screen, muttering
curses under his breath as his Yankees continued to falter. This
was not their best year, and those infidels from Boston were
destroying their chances at another World Series title. With a
disgusted sigh, he muted the gloating commentary extolling the
virtues of his foe, and was immediately grateful that he did- for
the moment the television went silent, he heard the distinct crunch
of tires on gravel and his heart skipped a beat. Whipping the
stained and tattered hat from his head, he quickly clicked off the
TV, and hastily stuffed both the remote and the hat into a side
pocket of the worn leather armchair as his family burst through the
living room door.

Noelani addressed Kenji with gusto as she breezed
past him and disappeared into the kitchen, “So, Papa- your Yankees
winning today? Or losing?”

Kenji flinched, and then rose and followed the sound
of Noelani's voice.

Alani laughed softly and shook her
head as she sat on the bench just inside the front door, removing
sandals and replacing them with well-worn flip-flops as she leaned
in to Chris to explain, “Daddy's been watching the game. I don't
know why he hides it, we only went to church. I mean, church is
church- I don't think it really matters
where
you go, just that you
do.”
She paused and
smiled,
“Take Daddy, for instance. If you
go out to the courtyard, you'll find
his
altar, a holy sanctuary to the
Mighty Yankees.”

Chris gaze drifted toward the kitchen, a wry smirk
on his face. “Yankees, huh...?”

“
Yup. You're in enemy territory
now- so watch it.”

Chris replied with a start, “How did you know that
I-?”

“
Was a Boston fan? The day you
crashed on the road, I saw your hat. I waited almost five minutes
trying to decide whether or not just to let you drown.”

“
Really?”

“
No. Lucky for you, I was feeling
generous.” Alani sighed exaggeratedly and smirked sideways at him,
giving him a little nudge with her shoulder. “Now look what
happened.”

“
Yeah- lucky me.”

Alani smiled again and gave Chris’ hand a quick
squeeze, rising with a fluid motion that belied her grace and
beauty, and he rose as well, leaning in to her with his eyes
lowered, his intentions clear- only to be interrupted by the
entrance of Buddy from the courtyard, who pointedly shut the wide
shoji screen with a snap.

He grinned knowingly at the scene and addressed the
slightly reddened form of Chris, “Yo, Chris! You wanna gimme a hand
wit' da plane? I gotta tighten the cylinder heads on Number One- I
could use da help.”

Chris looked briefly to Alani, who smiled softly and
inclined her head towards Buddy. “Go. I gotta help with dinner.”
And with that she glided off, swaying just a bit more sinuously
than was probably necessary, to the droll amusement and a slight
shake of the head from Buddy and the open-mouthed stare from
Chris.

Buddy slapped Chris jovially on the shoulder, the
force nearly knocking him over and said, “She beautiful, huh?”

Chris replied dumbly, his voice a
dreamy whisper, “My friend, she passed ‘
beautiful
' a long time
ago...”

The fisherman stood up to his waist in the softly
swelling waves, pulling in his nets as several fish jumped from the
water nearby. He grabbed another double-handful of the net, tugging
against an unseen force that unexpectedly tugged back and hauled
him face-first into the water. As he rose, sputtering with surprise
and sporting a bit of kelp on one shoulder, he stifled a curse and
scrambled to his feet as he witnessed the bizarre occurrence around
him. Dozens of fish, a wealth and variety of a myriad of colorful
species were flashing in the air, frantically leaping and jumping
in apparent panic in the water surrounding him. As he stared in awe
at the extraordinary spectacle, a woman’s scream yanked his
attention to the shore-line.

The woman, the fisherman’s wife, was wading
ankle-deep in the surf, holding her skirts about her waist and a
hand to her mouth, a look of horror on her normally placid face.
She dropped the hand from her mouth and pointed shakily out to the
waves beyond the fisherman, where a rolling wave revealed an arm
entangled in his nets, a large gold watch encircling one hairy
wrist.

Chris perched cross-legged on the wing of the
‘Menehune’ as Buddy stood on a ladder below, his head buried inside
the wide radial engine. The sunlight fell in dappled patches of
light and shadow on the wing as it trickled through the faded and
torn camouflage netting that was still draped haphazardly over the
huge craft. After a moment Buddy popped out and pointed to the
brightly colored graphics on the side of the plane as he explained,
“...so that's why we name it the ‘Mighty Menehune’.”

Chris nodded his head softly in admiration, noting
the crisply graphic paint job of the lightning bolts that graced
either side of the nose cowling, the lightning appearing to have
been ‘thrown’ by a short, large eared, nearly naked individual
wearing nothing but a skirt of leaves and matching wristlets who
perched near the tail. The name above the windows was boldly
painted in a yellow and orange ‘Cliffhanger’-style font that read-
‘The Mighty Menehune’.

“
Absolutely amazing. I really dig
the artwork- lightning bolt on the nose, that's tight.”

“
That's original. Bobby worked
them into the rest of the design. Dude’s like an art-genius, man.
Hey, hand me the nine-sixteenths, eh?” Chris dug for a moment in
the greasy canvas tool-bag, fishing out the tool and handing it to
Buddy. “Mahalo, bro. Anyway, you gotta tune da valves kinda loose,
sorta like an old Volkswagen for flying here. It stay pretty warm,
so they heat up real quick, all dose take-offs and landings, you
know? But I go 'bout a hundred hours before I need to check 'em
again.” Buddy closed the panel and wrenched it down flush with the
engine cowling and said, “You wanna go inside? C'mon, I show you
some stuff...”

Chris peered nervously inside the open cargo door of
the ‘Menehune’, “Uh- sure.”

Buddy laughed and slapped Chris cheerfully on the
back, “If you worried about the spider, don't botha’- he don't work
Sundays.”

Detective Henry ‘Hank’ Hashimoto
sighed as he and his partner, Detective Darren Kanaka, waded
through the horde of villagers and cluster of emergency vehicles
that blinked and flashed like a carnival side-show. Hashimoto mused
silently as they ducked below the yellow crime scene tape,
Most fun they had all week,
he thought and crossed slowly to the fisherman and his wife,
who was still gibbering like she had seen a ghost. He flipped open
the obligatory pad and touched the tip of the pencil to his tongue-
an unconscious force of habit, and asked, “Sup bro? You find dis
guy?”

“
Yeah, all tangled in my
net.”

Hashimoto studied a note in his pad. “And you say
you put the nets out, when? Around twelve?”

“
Yeah, like usual, you know? Right
after church. Anyway, so I come to move them like always, 'bout
three, right? An' when I go haulin' them in, the fish, it was
weird- they all jumpin' like they was crazy an’ shit, and then I
get pulled in…”

“
Right. Anyway- so you called us
right after?”

“
Yeah, soon as I
calm down my wife enough so I
could
, maybe twenty minutes later?”
The fisherman laughed ironically, “All in all, pretty crappy day
fishin', ya know?”

Hashimoto flipped his pad closed and smiled, “Sorry.
I guess that's all... You hang loose, 'kay Bro?”

“
Thanks man, Aloha.”

Hashimoto wandered over to Kanaka, who was standing
beside a shrouded, sodden form on the gurney. The shroud didn’t
quite cover the entire form of the shape below it- one saggy,
dripping gray sock hanging like a rag from one foot, the other pale
and bare, and he asked, “Anything?”

Kanaka responded with a slight shrug of his
shoulders betraying his failure, “Nope. No ID, no nothin'. Not even
shoes.” He glanced to his notes. “Had a fancy watch, a Breitling,
but not much else… Oh, yeah, there was an inscription, on the
watch…”

“
What'd it say?”

Kanaka considered his notes, “'Walter- Thanks for
twenty-five years of bliss, A.'”

“
That's it?”

“
Yup... Watch like that, you'd
think they could afford a few more letters.”

“
It's a start.”
Hashimoto pulled back the sheet. A disgusted look, quickly
quenched, crossed his face. “So, Walter, you got a
last
name?” As his gaze
travelled over the inert form of beneath the sheet, his eyes
creased in puzzlement, “What's the logo on the
shirt?”