The Butcher's Granddaughter (33 page)

It is suspected that the Newport Beach Police Department is using Waterston’s high media profile as leverage in their ongoing attempt to make a case against Ming, who has eluded conviction on prostitution and gambling charges for over fifteen years...

Honolulu Examiner

June 5th, 1994

HONOLULU—Two fishing boats emptying their nets late yesterday afternoon came across fresh human remains that were obviously the result of recent high shark activity along the Kakaako Waterfront. Shark attacks, though uncommon along the highly populated southern shore of Oahu, are not unheard of. Interesting to this particular case, however, is the lack of any missing person report regarding the victim.

The remains were transported to the Honolulu Medical Examiner’s office. Derek Kapaho, Honolulu City Coroner, stated that the remains were damaged to such an extent that identification would only be attempted in light of a court order. There is no indication that such an order is pending...

I let the three newspapers fall to the floor beneath the plastic cafeteria table in Honolulu International Airport, shuffling the consequences of my actions under my feet. My flight back to the mainland would leave in fifteen minutes. Del would be waiting at the terminal, my skeletal explanations of where I had been the past few days being just enough to bum a ride from LAX.

I wondered if she would notice that she was talking to a different person than the one who promised her dinner on Saturday—if she knew she was being lied to when I told her that I was fine, and that I would tell her everything when I got back to civilization.

I wondered if she could hear the gun blast that still reverberated in my head, the one that blew a yawning hole in Jay Ballesteros’ stomach, and pitched him into the waters off Kakaako Point.

Or the echo in my ears of the phone in room 1724 of the Hyatt Regency Downtown, as it rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Lion spent the bulk of his youth voluntarily associating with people of whom his parents disapproved, in places they would not have been caught dead, working jobs that required strange hours and the occasional violation of constitutional rights. He cannot explain his attraction to these darker elements of society any more than heroin addicts can explain why they enjoy throwing up. All he knows for sure is, if you want happiness, spend your time in the daylight. But if you want honesty, it’s to be found after the sun goes down.