Aloha's End: Chapter 16 Like Peanuts at Honky-tonk happy hour

Aloha’s End by Michael F. Zangari

Chapter sixteen: Like peanuts at honky-tonk happy hour.


TrueWest waits at a bar on the beach at Wai’ki’ki.

A red catamaran is tethered in the water and bumps against the sand as the tide comes in.

It’s calm.

The trade winds are light in the trees and flicker the palms.

TrueWest talks to a little digital recorder he holds in the palm of his hand.

“Its late afternoon, and I’m sitting bar side on the beach of Wai’ki’ki. We are down in Hula town, in a place is called “Dukes.”

The colors are an intense, blues and greens against the cream of the sand. Diamond Head, the crater of the big extinct volcano is off to the right. I had to drink a couple of Cuba libres to dull my senses enough to be her. My eyes aren’t use to this kind of color. I’m completely overwhelmed and slightly snockered. There’s a crow building for the band. It’s a party atmosphere. People stand around dancing to each other’s conversation while the sun warms things up. There are lots of bathing suits and oiled up skin around here. It’s like a mud wrestling match at Virginia’s Secret. Only there are no secrets here.” TrueWest nods in irony. “At least not in the bathing suits. There are a few local people here and lots of tourists and honeymooners.”

TrueWest bites into a piece of rum soaked pineapple and listens to the band tune up. ‘The only place you can hear falsetto singing like that and a steel guitar is the West Texas panhandle and Hawaii” he notes. “About the same amount of oil too.

I am waiting for the duck to arrive.

I have confirmed what he told me yesterday morning, more or less. There’s been a general effort to discredit him. They are passing out his medical records like peanuts at a honky-tonk happy hour. It’s unbelievable the amount of information available. It’s like a tour package brochure. It’s got lurid pictures and graphics in it. It’s as lurid as a postcard.

According to what I’ve read, he’s a sociopath, a chronic liar, a manic depressive and a child abuser, a violent and unpredictable man with a penchant for wearing rubber duck noses.

All in all he’s the kind of source I dream of. He has Instant credibility.

The progress notes are extensive. The sex is great TrueWest looks up. “It’s a great read.”

“The duck says the records have been falsified to make him look bad and they do. Meeting in public in broad daylight seems to be the safest way to proceed.” He says.

“This weird scenario keeps popping into my head. In it he shows up with a large machete and hacks several tourists to death before he turns on me, “Here’s your story you bastard…”

The bartender and beach boy are comply rapt.

They keep drying the same glasses over and over again.

TrueWest looks over to the archway. “That’s him now.”

The bartender and beach boy whip their attention to the left as the duck appears. He slides through the oily, sun-baked crowd. He is holding a woman’s hand. She is small, about 5 foot 2, with classic Mayan features and raven black hair long , kinky and springing out from under a Balata “Z” hat. She’s got Big Island black Neptune sunglasses on, dark suckers with chopstick black frames. Her lips are big and sensuous and glistening red in the sunlight. TrueWest notes the tight jeans and the t-shirt tucked in with rolled up sleeves.

She has big breasts.

The duck bill she is wearing is identical to the Ducks.

“Noted’ thinks TrueWest, letting the detail go slowly as the trade winds come up.

The Duck holds her hand up as if getting ready to twirl her as he comes through the dancing crowd in front of her.

The Tiki bar is packed.

“Aloha” says Duck and TrueWest says it back to him.

“This is la patita” says Duck. He is wearing a matching black Balata hat and sunglasses.

‘Pleasure” says Duck, taking her hand.

Patita does a diminutive curtsy and smiles. He big brown eyes open and one him.

La patita furrows her forehead and looks at duck from the corners of her eyes.

“She doesn’t trust her English” says Duck. “She speaks four languages.”

Patita nervously turns an emerald ring on her finger and looks around. Her lips pout out, as if she’s thinking hard about something.

“There aren’t a lot of duck noses here” says TrueWest, “You two are easy to spot.”

“That’s the idea” says Duck. “On the other hand, this is Waikiki. Nobody notices beaks in this crowd. Look around. People dress pretty casually here.”

TrueWest does. Most people are wearing as little as possible or are upholstered like couches or sundeck chairs.

La Patita laughs stifles a laugh until it bursts out musically.

TrueWest becomes self conscious of the day glow aloha shirt and matching shorts he’s wearing. He knows they don’t go with the cowboy boots. That’s why he took the boots off when he got there. They stand independently on the table. The drink he is sipping on has a pineapple, twisty straw and umbrella in it. They stand out behind the boots. It looks like the fruit and the parasol are stuffed into one like a giant mai tai glass with tooled leather piping.

Duck and Patita pull out chairs, duck rests his hand on the back of Patita’s and scoots it in. He flips his around and straddles it, duck style.

Duck adjusts his nose and smiles at TrueWest, his sunglasses sparkling.

“I have to admit it’s hard to take you seriously with those rubber noses on. I mean, this isn’t a game show you are pushing. Its hard news” says TrueWest. “Frankly, if you are under the influence of drugs or alcohol it cuts into your credibility.”

Duck eyes the boots with the parasol in it.

TrueWest flags down a waitress and orders another drink. “Want something?” he asks.

La Patita orders a mineral water with and extra lime, and Duck gets an iced papaya juice.

“The only thing we are under is a gun” says Duck. “I mean, we got the nose and the hats, sure, but we’ll take a duck test if that’s what you want. We are sober as a judge that’s sober.”

Patita looks wryly at him. “Who’s dat?” she says.

Interesting thinks TrueWest, that’s not what I’ve heard. He supposedly favors a tab of LSD nestled in a psychedelic mushroom stuffed with cream cheese, heroin and cocaine. He supposedly breaths marijuana smoke out when he speaks like a dragon, whether he has a joint in his mouth or not. He says he’d drug test.

The stuffed mushrooms arrive with the drinks.

“Compliments of the gentleman over there in the balloon hat” says the waiter.

Balloon guy squeezes the rubber sausage he wears around his head like a hoku and smiles. “Pou Pous” he yells. “For the Ducks and the Cowboy.”

TrueWest raises his mai tai in salute.

Duck and Patita wave to scattered applause.

Interesting. Thinks TrueWest. He orders another drink before the waitress leaves. He watches the butt wiggle through the crowd in black shorts.

“Welcome to the tropics” says Patita. “The heat is hotter than not.” She speaks slowly, her consonants hard and separated. Hot-ter. He smiles at her eyes. The hot comes on hard and the ter comes softly on the second syllable. “Nice” He thinks.

He looks at Ducks beak.

This guy is a goofy looking, He thinks.

The alcohol is rubbing his goose.

TrueWest goes for his network interview style. “I’ll give you the benefit of the duck, er doubt” he says. ”You’re really serious about all this RICO stuff?”

The Duck hesitates before answering. He looks for something in TrueWest’s eyes, perhaps some openness, some willingness to believe, some comprehension. “I’m serious enough to wear a duck nose” he says.

TrueWest can see that.

He squeezes la Patita’s hand.

“We are in danger” says the duck.