New Chapters 16-23 For Aloha's End: But Not As Sweet As You

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Entry for September 20, 2007 New Chapters 16-20 For Aloha's End

Aloha’s End by Michael F. Zangari
(c) 2007 with all rights reserved.

Aloha’s End
by Michael F. Zangari
© 2007 With all rights reserved.

Aloha’s End
by Michael F. Zangari
© 2007 With all rights reserved.

Chapter 16: Like peanuts at honky-tonk happy hour.

True West waits at a bar on the beachside at Waikiki.
He sits outside on the lanai at a small table overlooking the beach. The umbrella over his head is cream colored like a big Stetson hat. He is lost in the moment, watching a red catamaran tethered in the water bump against the sand as the tide comes in. The blue-greens of the sky and the sea are as intense as neon. The ocean goes to the horizon where the sky takes over. The colors are as lurid as a dime store postcard with the brights turned way up. Diamondhead, the wet black volcanic crater is off to the left, as unchanging as the ocean and as present.
The breeze is nice. The trade winds flicker the palms.
It’s calm.
The waitress brings another drink and sets it on the table in front of him.
“Here’s another one for you Mr. Ku.”
He looks up and says thank you.
“Good timing” he says, “I’m just a suck away from rolling ice.”
She laughs.
True West looks her over. She looks good.
She’s blonde, in shape and looks good in her uniform, white shorts and a lime green t-shirt. She’s got the alignment of a dancer, tall, good shoulders and hips, and poised. She is comfortable balancing the tray in her hands.
“Continuity is important in your business, isn’t it?” she says smiling.
“Yes.” He says. “It is. In life too.”
She looks out over the beach. “I was talking to an optometrist from Chicago the other day” she says, “He was telling me that there is too much blue in the spectrum of light here. It’s bad for the eyes.”
“Too much blue” says True West considering it. “There’s too much of everything. It’s like a color wheel gone crazyspin.”
“My name is Sandy” she says, nodding down at the name tag that says Sandy. “In real life I’m a videographer.”
“Really?” says True West.
“Yes” says Sandy, “I’ve done some work here for ESPN.”
True West is interested and in.
“Really?” he says. “What do you do?”
“Reaction shots” she says.
True West thinks about that. “Reaction shots?”
“Yeah. When a player fucks up, the director usually cuts to a picture of his wife, girlfriend or family for the reaction shot. That’s my job. Bummer shots.”
“I see” he says.
“We don’t have to worry about that in the news wing” he says. “When you screw up they don’t cut home for the girlfriend smacking her forehead.”
“Good thing” she says.
True West does a reaction shot.
“Only kidding” She says.
Chapter 17: Like Peanuts at Honky-Tonk Happy Hour
True West talks to a little digital recorder he holds in the palm of his hand. He puts the silver mesh next to his lips as he speaks.
“Its late afternoon on the island of Oahu in Hawaii and I’m sitting bar side in Waikiki. We are way down in Hula town, in a Tiki bar called “Duke’s Dive” A little lanai set-up beachside of a swanky pink stucco hotel.
“I’m feeling a little stuccoed myself with all this suntan lotion caking on my nose. I’m toasted and rank with the smell of coconut oil and pina colada suntan lotion. It clashes with the Mai Tai on my breath. I am almost drunk.
The colors are so intense here they keep sobering me up. It’s a postcard from a daydream, blues and greens against the cream of the sand. Diamond Head, the crater of the big extinct volcano is off to the left. I can’t believe I’m here. Nothing prepares you for it. It’s surreal.
I had to drink through Happy Hour to dull my senses enough to be here.
My eyes aren’t use to this kind of color.”
He presses the pause switch and looks around.
True West notes the bartender and the busboy looking over at him. It gives him a sense of camera. He brings himself up to his full height like cobra.
He is feeling like a Dashall Hammet detective.
He releases the pause switch on the recorder.
“I’m completely overwhelmed and slightly snockered. I’m feeling the excitement of the place. There’s a crowd building for the band, local act that plays a mix of Hawaiian Reggae, Latin and H & B. Hula and blues. 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.” True West nods to himself in irony. “At least not in the bathing suits. There are local people here and lots of tourists and honeymooners. It’s a happy place.”
True West bites into a piece of Mai Tai soaked pineapple and listens to the band tune up. ‘The only place you can hear falsetto singing like that with a steel guitar is the West Texas panhandle and Hawaii” he notes. “It sounds a lot like Tex Ritter, with big Hawaiian whammy twang. There's about the same amount of oil too between the skin and the pampas too. All that’s missing is the derricks.”
True West catches himself leaning into the tape recorder like a sports announcer at a football game with ten seconds left to play and the underdog with the ball on the ten yard line.
“The mystery of Aloha’s End haunts me. It’s been haunting me for years; ever since I began picking up the Duck’s late night broadcasts on the fillings of my wisdom teeth. His pirate radio station has cost me a fortune in dental work.
“I am now waiting for Duck to arrive after intensive searches for him.
“I finally tracked him down. I have confirmed what he told me yesterday morning, more or less. He is in fact called the Duck. I’m not sure why. It might be his butt or the way he walks pigeon toed into a room, like his feet have gone panorama to take it all in through the toes. He is relaxed, but hyper-vigilant. He is a man running from ghosts.
True West feels guilty about his hyperbole.
The guys almost been killed after all.
There’s been an all out effort to discredit him and his witness. His enemies have emptied his home and his computer. They pass out his medical records like peanuts at a honky-tonk happy hour.”
True West researched the situation for about a week. He couldn’t believe the amount of information made available.
“Why all this effort to discredit a guy wearing a rubber Duck beak? That’s the mystery and pull of it. You know something is going on. It all sounds like bullwhip to me. It’s like a tour package brochure.
“But it’s a great read but there’s something missing.’
True West thinks on it.
“According to what I’ve read, he’s guilty of every kind of crime possible for one man to commit since 1956, the year he was born of Alien and Russian parents. He’s a sociopath, a chronic liar, a manic depressive, a child abusing rapist and drug addict who has extorted and robbed his away from the Mainland way across the Pacific to Hawaii. He is said to be an uncomplicated man whose main motivation is mayhem. He is an unpredictable man with a penchant for wearing rubber duck noses. He has an almost pathological grudge against his sainted, community serving former employer. It goes on to say that the only reason he has not been arrested is because of the lack of volunteers and militia people needed for his arrest. He is a violent and sick man.”
True West knocks on the table like it is a door.
It’s the traditional knock wood for luck.
Only He’d have to travel a far piece to find some wood.
Everything is plastic and concrete.
“I’ve interviewed a few people on the subject of the Duck.
The people I talk with all say it’s probably untrue. He’s too tall for an alien. They say he is a nice guy you’d invite to a first year baby luau. In fact many have. He usually brings smoked fish. They say they’ll wait and see. But I sense they don’t. The Duck has been helped by some and hurt by some.”
True West tries to sum it all up.
“All in all he’s the kind of source for a story I dream of, a guy in a rubber duck nose who is pathologically intent on killing everything in his path.”
True West takes a big breath.
“He has Instant credibility.”
The bartender and beach boy are comply rapt.
They keep drying the same glasses over and over again as they listen to him.
True West looks over to the archway.
“That’s him now.”
The bartender and beach boy whip their attention to the left as the Duck appears and surveys the scene. He wears the famous Duck nose like a brand of Italian sunglasses. He smiles at True West. The sun gleams in the dark lenses of his real sunglasses.
True West looks down.
Duck slides through the oily, sun-baked crowd towards the table.
He is holding a woman’s hand.

Chapter 18: Ain’t No Luck, I Learned To Duck

The Duck stands tall head above the crowd, skimming the room with his eyes.
He is relaxed. He nods at people and smiles as they take him in. He takes off the rubber Duck bill and rubs his nose.
He has on a red and gold t shirt that says DUCK in big letters.
True West laughs.
Good advice from someone who has survived three murder attempts.
He struggles for a few moments, and then comes up with that Grateful Dead song, U.S. Blues.
The lyric line goes something like
Give me five, I’m still alive.
Ain’t no luck.
I learned to duck…
True West raises his umbrella and neon straw festooned drink to him and nods.
There is a woman standing behind Duck. She scooches up beside side him tight and hooks onto his arm. She is small, about 5 feet 2, with classic Mayan features and raven black hair. It is long and kinky. It springs out from a black baseball cap with a white “Z” on it.
She has dark sunglasses on with black shiny frames like lacquered chop sticks and big, flame red colored lips. Her skin is pale.
The Duck takes her hand and holds it up as if getting ready to twirl her as he comes through the crowd.
The Tiki bar is packed. Some clap.
“Aloha” says Duck and True West says it back to him. “Aloha.”
“This is the Z girl” says Duck.
He is wearing a matching black hat and sunglasses.
‘Pleasure” says True West taking her hand.
Z girl does a diminutive curtsy and smiles.
True West can see himself in the twin monitors of her sunglasses.
She takes them off.
Her big brown eyes are open and on him.
The Z girl furrows her forehead and looks at Duck from the corners of her eyes. She waits for his lead.
“She doesn’t always trust her English” says Duck. “Even though she speaks four languages.”
Z girl nervously turns a ring on her finger and looks around. Her lips pout out, as if she’s thinking hard about something.
“I notice that there aren’t a lot of people wearing Duck noses here.” says True West, “You two are easy to spot.”
“That’s the idea” says Duck. “Sometimes you need a disguise. On the other hand, this is Waikiki. Nobody notices rubber noses in this crowd. Look around. People dress pretty casually here, casual and bizarre, like a hurricane hit a paint factory and splattered the crowd.”
True West looks around and laughs at the tourists.
His new, silk, neon aloha shirt features an Andy Warhol like hula dancer riding a barracuda Brahma bull style. The images repeat itself across the chest and back. On top there is a garland of red flame flowers on an orange background. The cloth shimmies, creating the impression of motion when he breaths. Most people are wearing as little as possible or are upholstered like couches or sundeck chairs in light fabric and shorts.
Z girl stifles a laugh until it bursts out musically.
“Alright” says True West. He is self conscious in the day glow aloha shirt and matching shorts. He knows they don’t go with his cowboy boots. That’s why he took the boots off when he got there.
They stand independently on the table. ‘I need to gets some huaraches” he says. “Or maybe some flip-flops.”
He is very aware of his pale feet.
True West sips his drink.
“Happy Hour” he says. “Two for one.”
The other pineapple sits off to the side looking lonely.
Duck and the Z girl pull out chairs
Duck rests his hand on the back of z girl’s chair and scoots it in.
He flips his around and straddles it, duck style.
Duck puts his rubber nose on the table.
He’s all business waiting for True West’s first question.
He knows its coming.
True West rests his pen in the corner of his mouth and wrinkles his forehead.
“What’s up, Duck” says True West like Bugs Bunny.
Duck looks at him. “The sky is blue, man.” He says.
“I have to admit it’s hard to take you seriously with that rubber nose on. I mean, this isn’t a game show you are pushing. It is hard news” says True West. “Frankly, if you are under the influence of drugs or alcohol it cuts into your credibility.”
True West takes another pull on his drink.
Duck eyes the boots on the table.
True West flags down a waitress and orders another drink. “Want something?” he asks.
The Z girl orders a mineral water with an extra lime and Duck gets an iced passion flower juice.
“The only thing we are under is a gun” says Duck. “I mean, we got the nose and the hats, sure, but we’ve taken our duck test for drugs if that’s what you want.”
True West notes the duck humor.
He hopes there is not more of it.
Duck says “What do you want, hair? Blood? We are as sober as a judge that’s sober” he says. “You have to be. The world is wacked out.”
The stuffed mushrooms wrapped in bacon arrive with the drinks.
“Compliments of the gentleman over there in the balloon hat” says Sandy. Her hair looks blonder than before the first drink. The bartender has been generous with the alcohol.
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.”
True West raises his mai tai in salute. “To your balloon” he says.
Duck and Z girl wave to scattered applause.
True West notes it. It’s the disaster guy in person. True Ku. The man with the news.
True West orders another drink before Sandy leaves, moving the other pineapple towards him. He figures it’ll be gone by the time she gets back.
He looks at Duck’s rubber bill on the table. It is luridly colored with the snake of string coiled next to it.
This guy is a goofy looking thing in that thing, he thinks, like he has to think about it.
Duck knows what he is thinking.
True West 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 True West’s eyes, perhaps some openness, some willingness to believe, some comprehension.
“I’m serious enough to wear a duck nose” he says.
True West can see that.
Duck squeezes the Z girl’s hand.
“We are in danger all the time” says the Duck.

Chapter 19: He Sucks the Pineapple Rind out of the Cracks of His Teeth

“Listen, if you’re in danger then I don’t want to have dinner with you. I’m on vacation” says True West, looking nervously around. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Nobody wants trouble Mr. West. But it seems to find you anyway” says Duck. “That’s all you talk about on the news.”
True West shrugs. Yes, it’s true. That’s the news.
He looks around carefully again, casing the place for evil doers, peg legs and eye patches. The atmosphere is more balloon head, Hawaiian shirts and lava lavas. It’s a party, dude.
The smell of pineapple and coconut is everywhere.
It hangs in a cloud where ever people congregate.
On stage the band is tuning up.
The kick drum thumps a couple of times like a heart. The guitar player hits a couple of sevenths and runs a scale. The bass player looks off into space, holding his strings to keep them from vibrating. The crowd is restless and excited. The anticipation is thick and tense like the sound in the climb of a roller coaster car.
The drummer clicks his sticks in four time and the band kicks in together in a even paced, bobbling blues. “Sweet Home Waimanalo.”
“Come on, Baby, don’t you want to go, to that same old place, sweet home Waimanalo…”
True West smiles from ear to ear. He goes into the groove to the Robert Johnson Blues. It has changed a little to fit Hawaiian time. He looks at the Ducks and laughs. “Sweet Home Chicago” he says. “You know when Robert Johnson wrote that song he didn’t know where Chicago was. He had just heard about it. Out there on the Mississippi delta he thought Chicago was in California. It’s in the lyrics.”
“You mean it wasn’t written by a Hawaiian?” says Duck, smiling back.
True West looks at Duck. He is being punked proper.. He laughs again. “Isn’t everything?” he says.
True West looks off onto the dance floor as people take it. It’s everywhere, in the aisle, on the beach and in the line to the bathroom, this funky-assed monkey walk crossed with the limbo. The waitresses and waiters dance in place while waiting for their drinks to arrive at the bar.
Out in the center, in the sunlight on the sand, True West looks at and contemplates the famine form dancing skanky and free form in bathing suit and sarong. “How do those things stay on?” he mutters looking over the Balinese lava lava that is tied at the tits and split down the middle. The sarong over laps itself and opens at the thigh. The flower batique print is sensual and suggestive with big open flowers on it with stamens that hang out like tongues. The breast bob, recoil and settle.
The Z girl laughs. ‘The way you tie the cloth is what matters. Other wise it falls off.”
She talks slowly, distinctly, with her eyes doing emphasis.
It’s not duck quack that’s for sure. The accent is soft and sweet. It reminds him of home. But like everything here there’s Hawaiian in it. Her accent is sensual and warm. Like the island’s breeze.
She checks out True West’s eyes to see if he’s listening.
When he turns his head to look at her, into her eyes, she says. “It is an art form you know,” her eyes are the sparkle of the diamond when the box is opened in the sunlight. “Tying the knots that hold things together.”
True West looks over at the Duck. Frank.
He is even more relaxed. He watches the crowd. He is cool and amused.
True West moves his eyes back and smiles at Z girl. He tips his pineapple at her in toast and takes a drink, going slow to avoid sticking the bamboo parasol into his eye. “To the quality of your knots” he says.
True West is not entirely comfortable but he’s getting there. He has to remind himself who Duck and Z girl are. They are like Batman and Robin. They are in constant brouhaha, trailed by jealous and vengeful super finks.
That’s what happens in these cases.
You witness a crime and your life goes banana cream pie on you, with nuts.
True West got his windshield bashed in with a baseball bat once. His producer got a bullet through her parked car’s windshield on one RICO story she did a while back. It was the same old message. Shut up.
He’s not excited about working another one of these stories someone somewhere desperate to hide something. It’s complicated reporting secrets. You have to watch your butt. He’d rather watch someone else’s butt. He’s on vacation.
He likes human interest stories, stories with simple descriptions and emotions, stories of the heart. He is interested in Duck, but not Duck’s doo doo.
Duck’s into his drama, all right, some super RICO tale about whatever evil he has fallen afoul of. He wants to blab about it.
As if his situation is not complicated enough.
True West looks around for suspicious characters.
You can usually spot them depending on your prejudices.
He’s a little nervous
They usually sit at the bar and harass the waitress about her tattoos.
You know bad guys don’t tip, except for the Peter Lorrie type of no-goodnic. They are shifty-eyed, always look They are very self conscious. Tucking the handkerchiefs into their pockets and pulling them out.
The Peter Lorrie type thinks everyone is watching them.
True West looks around. He spots one and watches him.
Now several people are looking back at him.
They watch each other.
One guy lips form a kiss and smacks the air at him.
True West smoothes back his hair and sucks at his teeth to get the pineapple rind out from between the cracks.
“What a nightmare” he says to himself.
The Z girl is smiling at him, almost laughing. “It’s not that complicated” she says. “If you understand the situation.”

Chapter 20 Godzilla!

The Z girl’s eyes speak oceans. She looks at True West and then at Duck.
Duck smiles and settles back into his chair. Here it comes, The Z girl ahem, the Z woman’s perspective.
“Suddenly we have thugs.” She says.
Z girl is a linguist. “They are like bugs. You can’t get rid of them. So you get to know them. You name the cockaroaches names. You understand how they live and what makes them go. How they survive.”
“You know your roaches?” asks True West.
“Better than most” says Duck.
“You musta have compassion for their situation” she says. “you see?”
“No” says True West.
“It’s like Godzilla.” She says.
True West crinkles his forehead. “Godzilla?”
“Yes. Godzilla, a very big gecko monster with long pointy teeth and bad breath. His breaths fire.”
“He’s the anti-Barney” says Duck. “He walks on two legs like a tyrannosaurs rex. The flaps along his spine light up like party lanterns on a yacht when he gets mad. Yeah. Godzilla.”
True West nods. “I got it” he says. “Godzilla. Hangs out with King Kong and eats little Hula dancers”
The Z girl looks at Duck. Her forehead wrinkles. “Does he do that?”
Duck shrugs. “You never really know anything about anyone” he says. “do you.”
True West looks back and forth between the Z girl and Duck.
“You see the movie? I saw it in Mexico, when I was growing up. In Mexico City. It is in aSpanish.”
“Yes. I saw it in Texas, in dubbed English. It was originally in Japanese” Says True West.
The Z girl nods. “Yes” she says, the lips don’t work with the words.”
“Yes.”
“When ever he comes into town, people are afraid. They see him wade across the bay like he is walking through the shallow end of the pool. They see him coming from miles away. They scream and run.”
“Some don’t” says True West. “That increases casualties.”
The people scream his name. “Godzilla! Godzilla!” and many run away.” Z girl nods, drawing True West in.
He reluctantly leans in.
Her eyes speak in tongues. Little Godzilla flames arc out of his eyes and burn his.
“He is a monster” She says, her eyes getting big and round. “But at one time he was just a little lizard, dependent on his mother for food. I do not know what happened, but he probably a much abused little lizard at one time. Something happened. His mom was also grouchy like big lizards get.”
“Yes” says True West. “At least that’s how they are portrayed.”
“They get gas” says Z girl. “That’s why.”
Duck sips his juice and watches the door.
“The only time he heard his name was when his mom or step dad yelled at him. That’s how he knew who he was. Because they yelled his name. When he heard his name he knew he was going to get it. He knew he was going to get it. That meant he was in big trouble.”
“You knew Godzilla?” asks True West.
“Maybe” says Z girl.
“Z girl knows Godzilla.” sighs Duck. “He follows us around. She wants us to have him over for dinner. She’s a Buddhist.”
“Yes.” She says. “So Godzilla comes to town and what is the first thing that happens? They yell his name, and they scream. It reminds him of growing up. He goes crazy and eats a train.”
“I see” says True West.
“Imagine being enraged at the sound of your own name.”
True West sighs. “It’s a lot like being famous, ma’am” he says.
Z girl leans on the table on her elbows and nods her head. “Yes.”
She is sucking his soul with her eyes.
“Are you a social worker?” asks True West.
“More of a curendada” says Duck.
“No, no, I do no social work. I work in food services. I work socially.”
He looks at Z girl again.
“That is why I believe the men who follow us are hostile. They were abused little lizards. When ever they come around people get nervous and angry. People never say, “Hello, que pasa, how does it go? They never say how you are to them. That gets to them. They get piss off and pull guns, They run away. They shoot them in the air. People call them more bad names, because they have no names. They have no friends here. They are feared and hated. In Mexico, the police would hang them from their feet and skin them from the ankles down.”
True West blanches.
“Yes” says Z girl “They are about this big” she holds out her hands, she is talking about the guns again. “They go bang and you dead.”

True West involuntarily pushes back from the table.
“Relax” says Duck. “They probably won’t pull guns out in public, unless they want to make a point. We’re safe here. We can usually talk our way out of uncomfortable situations. If they wanted us dead we would’ve been dead a long time.”
True West understands. People in trouble are in a picnic egg toss.
“People are aware of us” says Duck. “It’s the rubber noses I think. We have a certain amount of community protection as a result.”
“I’m not comforted” says True West. “You should be wearing a rubber room. Why would anybody do this?”
“You’re the news guy. You got nose.” Says Duck. “You understand the motivation to inform and getting at the roots of things. Sometimes you can’t sit still and do nothing. You have to communicate, especially when there is a public danger.”
“This whole situation is nuts” True West says. “What am I doing here? He picks up the hollow pineapple that holds his drink and fishes out the cherry.
He offers it to Z girl before eating it.
She takes it and pops it into her mouth.
True West looks at his empty fingers dripping with cherry juice.
“I’ll get you another one” says Duck.
True West shakes his head. “It’s coming.”
“Being chased around by gangsters and thugs with guns what kind of life is that anyway? What in hell’s holy hootenanny pie cake recipe did you do to them?” he asks.
He doesn’t want to know.
“I’m not crazy, paranoid or delusional Mr. West’ says Duck, putting on and adjusting his nose “Several people have been killed.”
“Great” says True West.
He checks his notes. “You maintain that your medical records aren’t accurate” says True West, “And that they have been released to the public in a twisted up form to make you look bad”
He looks at Duck.
“According to you they are trying to discredit you as a witness. But the rubber Duck nose has helped.”
“Yes” says Duck.
“Good nose” says True West.
“It hasn’t done much for my social life” says Duck. “You think your medical records can’t hurt you. But there is a reason why it is against the law to share them without permission. There is a wealth of personal information and opinions in every box. They can be interpreted. They can also be falsified. Peoples prejudices are endless. In fact the records going around are not even mine.”
“Whose are they?”
“They are yours.”
True West lets that one sink in.
“Don’t mess with me Duck” he says. “I’m nervous enough.”
Z girl laughs.
“Just kidding” says Duck.
“Go on.”
True West considers this.
What is the impact of opening up someone’s medical history and life?
“Look, its island style. You can be killed with rumors. They call it “stink talk” around here. It’s a very small community.
“Stinky talk” says Z girl nodding.
Stink Talk thinks True West.
His mom talked stink about stink talk. How bad it was back in Texas on the pampas. Mom said that on the Big Island, when you talked badly about someone it was called “talking stink.” She tried to teach him compassion and discretion so he’d fit in better. Like Z girl, she preached compassion.
Stink talk almost always had negative consequences. He learned that early. He was a tattle-tail in school.
Some things never change.
He’s still a tattle-tale. He just gets paid for it.
Mom gave him stink eye too, a real “you’re in trouble plenty” kind of stare when he did something wrong.
“People talk stink when they are evil, angry and jealous” says Z girl. “It’s a small island. You never know who is related to who and how” she said. “You better watch what you say. You have to live with the consequences of your words.”
That’s island talk.
People stink in general, thinks True West.
“Once the coconut wireless starts to throb like a turbine it’s a hard thing to stop. The stone drums begin to sound. The strings on beer can telephones begin to unravel and hum. The rumors go round. The message goes out over the phone lines and comes through the open louvers. On the coast, it doesn’t take long for rumors to become facts in the minds of people. It becomes a telepathic ripple that goes tsunami.”
‘Telepathic?”
“That’s literal” says Duck. “If you live on Islands or are aboard ship you know this is true. Hawaii is an interesting place to live with the volcanic magnetism and the negative ions of the wind and the ocean. We are surrounded by water. The water produces a lot of negative ions.” Says Duck.
“Ions?” says True West.
“Negative ions increase the audibility of thoughts.” He says.
True West makes a note and squinches up his eyes up in thought.
“I heard that somewhere” says True West. “Where’d you get that from? Star Trek?”
“It’s from the Berkley study on negative ions” says Duck. “It’s no joke around here. You hear things. If someone is thinking about you, you get it. Once you really get it you never think again.”
“I didn’t think I thought in the first place” says True West. “I’m a down to earth sort of guy.”
Duck shakes his head sadly. The rubber duck bill drifts left than right than left again.
“That’s how lives and careers are destroyed, by cocktail innuendo, pillow talk and beach and back door gossip. It doesn’t take much. And when it’s done as an organized, intelligent tactic, it can be a lethal thing.”
“Duck” True West says, “The rumors about your sanity have merit.”
“On the islands that kind of rumor spreading is against the law and punishable by death. I kid you not. To accept money to destroy someone with rumors is a form or sorcery. The blood cash you get for it is called wai’wai’ko’ko’ola. Receiving it is still on the books as a capital crime in Hawaii. Its dark, dark sorcery.”“Sorcery?” asks True West.
“Yes, says Duck, that old black magic called propaganda. It brings about death by innuendo. It can be worse than gunfire into a crowd.”
Chapter 21: The Dog That Did It in My Yard
Sandy brings a bowl of macadamia nuts and sets it on the table.
‘We are in real trouble here” says Duck.
“What you mean we, white guy” says the Z girl, looking around.
True West smiles at the Z girl, amused.
He looks down at the bowl of nuts on the table and says “They look safe enough to me” he reaches into the bowl and gets one. He holds it up to the light. “Poison?” he asks.
Duck looks at the nut. “Who knows” he says.
True West pops it into his mouth and chews.
He swallows.
They wait.
True West shrugs his shoulders. He stirs around the bowl of nuts with his finger and chooses another one. “They’re good” he says.
He puts it in his mouth and chews again.
“Will Rogers said that the only people who should say “we” are editors and people with bugs. You guys are all alone in this, aren’t you.”
“We could not survive without help” says Duck. “The Z girl works and people help out.”
“I can’t get work. The people who give me work are harassed and strong armed. We are being squeezed like an empty bottle of ketchup.’ Duck says.
The Z girl squeezes Duck’s thigh.
“Yeah?’ says True West swallowing.
Duck smiles sadly. “I don’t think he’s getting it.”
True West shrugs. “That’s what happens to whistle blowers” he says. “It’s a grand Yankee tradition. It’s what caused the revolutionary war isn’t it? That’s what they said to King George. Don’t mess with the cash flow. I think it’s one of the devil’s Ten Commandments. It cuts two ways, like most devil law. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Even if it’s feeding you poop.”
“I’m not whining about this” says Duck. “It’s my choice. Still, it’s hard to watch your life being torn apart from the core. It impacts the family first. I may have to leave my wife and kids so they can survive. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was important. Believe me.”
“I believe you believe it” says True West.
The Z girl smiles sadly. “Duck is the dog that did it in my yard’ she says. “I am angry at him.”
She looks at him and shakes her head. “Life was very simple before this happened. Now things are very complicated.”
She turns the ring on her finger.
True West looks at the piece of cheap costume jewelry.
He appraises it.
Two bucks,
Duck smiles and cover her hand with his.
The fingers slip in twine like puzzle pieces making a picture.
“I gave Z girl that ring. It’s a promise to come through. It cost me a couple of bucks to get it out of the machine with the wheelie claws. I liked the color of the plastic stone. A dark ruby garnet. It’s for focus. This whole thing has been like grabbing at Teddy Bears with a mechanical claw anyway. I think it has meaning. It represents the things that keep dropping from our grasp inches from the trap door. And the things that don’t”
True West imagines Duck at the machine, entirely intense and focused, wheeling right and left before the drop of the shovel, nudging a little right and hipping it to shake things up. He imagines the claw and snagging the ring.
“I had planned to get her a better ring before all this happened.” He says.
“I like it” she protests, looking aside and down, then up again like she’s been caught at something. “It’s my hoodoo ring. I call the spirits in to protect.”
Duck is embarrassed.
“She twists it when ever she worries. Lately she twists the thing like the steering wheel of a hot rental car taking the curves on the way down the volcano to Hana on Maui.”
“He is obsessed with this thing” she says.
She looks at the rubber duck nose.
“He will not give it up or wait until we are stronger, until we have more allies.”
Duck crosses his arms across his chest.
“It’s a very old argument between us. He doesn’t have to do it alone. He should organize first.”
“I want justice” Duck says, with a little too much emphasis.
True West takes it in.
Very dramatic.
They are a good couple. They’ve been through a lot together.
He likes them.
He dips into the bowl for a handful of nuts. He tosses them into his mouth.
He drinks his drink.
“In Mexico, making love is more important than ideas” says Patita. “Ideas change.”
“Everything changes” says True West. “Unfortunately.”
“And fortunately” says Duck.
He looks aside.
‘You are a dog, Duck” says True West, “Get another kind of job, any job, and forget about this crap. It can’t be that important.”
Dick gets tight.
Another round of drinks comes.
The band returns to the stage. The second set is begins.
Z girl makes it obvious that she wants to dance.
She’s doing it in the chair, making both Duck and True West nervous.
“She’s got more joints than other people’ says Duck, looking at her move in the chair and noticing True West’s interest as well.
“Musica Latino” says Z girl. “Katchi katchi. I like the Puerto Rican conga player.”
The congas and timbales ricochet off one another, before going smooth polyrhythm. The beat is moving fast like hula drum rhythms.
“That’s Hawaiian….” Says Duck.
“Enough gibble-gabble” she says.
She grabs Duck by the shirt, then True West.
“You gonna dance?”
“Do we have a choice?” asks True West.
“No” says Duck.
Z girl parts the crowd on the dance floor like Moses at the Red Sea. She’s about five two, but assertive. She’s in there fast, stripping off her blouse to the pueo underneath.
She’s into a hot little skank before True West and Duck can straighten their shirts.
True West looks at the sway of her breasts under the pueo. “How does she keep that thing on?” asks True West.
“She doesn’t always” says Duck as his duck nose slips down.
Z girl looks at them like they are dirt and then smiles them down to smile again. She sidles up to Duck and bumps his butt with hers.
“Knots” she says. “You have to know how to make knots.”

Chapter 21: Fish Don't Moo

True West is sweating like a gin and tonic in a frosted glass. He’s a little skunked from the Mai Tais. Everything is a little delirious like a carousel ride on a wooden donkey. He watches the dancers scuffle in the loose sand on the beach dance floor. He feels the bass thump in his stomach with dull precision, like a stone breaker breaking stone. He eats macadamia nuts.
“Can we have some?” asks the Z girl.
“Huh?” says True West.
He is deep in thought.
‘You’re a real role monster” says Duck.
That stings.
True West pushes the depleted bowl of nuts over to Duck and Z girl.
Z girl says “thanks.”
The sand pit gets crowded around the P.A. speakers as the band churns up a groove, a funky little number with a soaring lap steel guitar.
The crowd extends back around the table. People undulate in groups of twos and threes all around him. Heck, everyone dances in Waikiki, even alone. They ride the humping bass like buckaroo-de-toot breaking mustangs on a ranchero down in Las Puchas. Everything drives down, syncopates and comes up again.
Sandy bumps through the crowd holding onto her tray of drinks.
The sun prisms on the clouds and sifts through colors and shades as it goes down over the ocean. The sun is a bright highlight in the Duck’s sunglasses as he nods his big orange and pink rubber duck bill in time with the music.
At sunset everything stops.
The crowd moves towards the beach and sits on the sand.
The sun is a great orange ball on the horizon sinking into a flame colored sea.
“When the sun drops completely into the ocean there’s a green flash of light before it disappears. It’s only there for a half a second or so, but if you see it you are granted a wish.” Says Duck
The sun goes off like a road flare as Duck speaks.
The sun settles on the ocean.
“Damn” says True West. They is a pistol shot of green light as it flashes on the horizon. It’s quick, but it’s there.
It is a mighty flash and mighty wishes are made on it, all across the darkening beach. The ocean itself says “wish” as it comes onto the beach and withdrawls.
“What causes that kind of flash?” asks True West.
“Probably pollution” says Duck. “A toxic layer in the ionosphere that suffocates the light and reflects it off the phosphorescent mushroom clouds forming as it burns off the ozone.”
The Z girl nods and raises her eyebrows over her dark glasses. She toasts the green flash.
The real flash is in her eyes.
Her forehead is strained and sincere.
“Salud” she says.
The last light dissolves into an orange and peach fizz against the clouds. The sun goes down like the Titanic.
The sky blackens and one by one the stars wink on.
There is an unmistakable chill coming in from the ocean as the waves break gently on the beach.
“I’m hungry” says Duck. “Let’s eat.”
They head back up the beach tearing themselves away from the stars.
Duck has his arm around the Z girl.
True West carries his bowl of nuts.
Their bare feet leave intertwined foot prints in the sand.
True West stays with the stars for a few seconds, his bare feet trolling at the sand, then he turns and follows the Ducks back to the table.
They settle in.
The palm trees over head rustle as the trade winds take them and shake them gently like pom-poms.
Sandy comes to the table with a couple of folders.
She hands them to the trio like they are menus.
They are not menus.
They are Duck and the Z girls dossiers.
The medical records and psychological records look suspiciously similar.
“I hope this helps” says Sandy.
She hands the supplemental medical records to the couple. “I thought you might like to look at these while the drinks come.”
She raises her eye-brows suggestively.
True West puzzles over the cover and introductory page.
“Where are the appetizers?” he asks..
“Told you so” said Duck. “They’re going all out to discredit me. Look at this trash. None of it is true.”
Z girl is already engrossed in Duck’s psychological profile. She looks up from the record she is reading.
She looks around.
She goes into her purse for her dictionary. She looks up the word she is stuck on.
Her forehead furrows.
She looks at Duck from the corner of her eyes.
Duck shrugs. “It’s not true” he says.
They get menus next. They tuck the medical files away.
The Z girl takes hers out again and continues to read.
She puts her finger on the page.
And looks at the Duck. “We will talk” she says.
“You haven’t read yours yet” says Duck. “It’s all race and sex.”
Z girl knows exactly what that means. “I am a puta” she says.
“Lets eat” he says. “We can worry over this later.”
Duck orders the seared ahi, a bowfin tuna with mango salsa when Sandy comes back with the chips.
“It’s a red fish” says Duck. “It’s a lot like steak, only better.”
True West looks skeptical. “Don’t talk to Texas about meat” he says.
True West pokes at the menu with his straw. “As long as it’s dead, I don’t care.”
“There is a saying” he says.
“If it moos, shoot it again.” He nods significantly to the Z girl and Duck.
“Fish don’t moo” says Duck.
True West thinks about it. “Right.” He says.
They eat the chips with a hot Hawaiian salsa.
It’s good.
“You don’t know the half of it” Duck says. “You should taste the ahi right out of the net, cut up on deck and washed down with iced beer. The salt of the water stays on the tongue as it goes down. It’s great.”
True West imagines the scene.
He fishes around the salsa and comes up with a tiny pepper.
It looks like a museum miniature.
“What’s this little pecker?” asks True West.
He holds up a chili pepper about the size of the tip of his little finger.
“Pathetic” he says.
“That’s Hawaiian” says the Z girl.
“Go easy” says Duck. “They are really hot. They grow in volcanic soil that steams in the mountains.”
True West laughs. “I’m from Texas” he says.
He pops it into his mouth.
His face goes red and purple immediately.
The paper umbrella in his drink almost goes up his nose as he grabs his drink to put out the fire on his tongue.
“Hot, eh?” says Z girl.
“Yes.” He barks out.
“The wild ones from the mountains are so hot they are psychedelic” says Duck. “It’s the truth. You pop one of those peppers in your mouth and you see God playing hacky sack in surfer trunks.”
True West is as close to God as he’s ever been.
It is several minutes before he can speak again.
After a while dinner arrives. The dishes go around the table.
The Mahi Mahi is fresh and stuffed with crab meat.
True West got the nod of approval from the waitress on his order.
Most tourists like that. The Mahi Mahi.
Z girl orders the bakala. The shark with lime on thick Puerto Rican bread, the cheese melted over the shark meat.
Everyone is polite for a few seconds then they dig in with an intense, ravenous hunger.
It’s a long couple of minutes before they surface from the meal again.
“Hey” says the Z girl
True West and Duck smile.
“Yes.”
They eat quietly, making pleasant conversation.
As the meal is ending, True West says “I suppose I should ask a few questions.” He looks into Duck’s eyes. “So I can write the meal off.”
Duck and the Z girl smile. Here we go again.
He gets out his tape recorder and sets it on the table.
“What do you want to know?” asks Duck.
True West pauses and looks at the Duck’s plate.
“I want to know if I can have the rest of your ahi” says True West.
Chapter 22: He Bites the fish
Z girl finishes her meal. She scrapes at the plate for the remaining bakala with her fork. She pushes the plate back and picks up her water glass, sipping at it, embarrassed. She looks over the rim of the glass as she sips with big dark eyes that spark like Fourth of July sparklers.
She holds a soft amused focus on True West who leans back appreciating her.
The Duck has his hand on her leg.
He squeezes it softly, feeling the familiar tingle of contact.
Z girl looks over at him from the corner of her eyes and smiles. It is a soft and full look.
Sandy returns sweating to the table. There’s sand on her cheek and her cloths are rumpled.
“So that’s why they call you Sandy” says True West.
Sandy takes a deep breath and smiles.
“What the heck happened to you?’ asks True West.
“Break volleyball” says Sandy. “We lost.”
“Break volleyball” says True West. “Sounds fast.”
Sandy says “It’s fifteen minutes of hard ball whapping and net crashing. It feels good. Usually. It got nasty tonight. There must be something in the air.”
She looks at True West.
“Can I take your plates?” She asks.
“You touch my plate and I’ll kill you” says True West with a little too much force. “And that’s a promise.”
He looks at Sandy and grimaces. “Yikes” he thinks.
“Must be magnetic tonight” says Sandy. “Thermonucular fueges.”
“Slow down Tex” says Duck. “You’re not being rousted. The tables being cleared for desert. Eat. Enjoy.”
Sandy smile a strained smile. “Not done yet, eh?”
“No” says the Z girl. “I think he’s still eating.”
Sandy says “I guess so.”
True West is embarrassed.
“Shaka” says True West, “really.”
He does the hang loose sign with his thumb and pinky extended from his fist. He shakes it a little.
“Shaka plenty, brah” says Sandy, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Never mind. Eat your fish.”
Sandy curtsies and moves back from the table raising her tray above her head like an umbrella. She twists around is gone again.
Duck brings his rubber bill down over his nose again from where it rests on his forehead.
The Z girl leaves hers on her forehead.
True West plays with his food with his fork before spearing it and eating it.
He chews happily feeling the sting of the blackening in his mouth.
“I’m going to try again to be a good little journalist” he says. He pushes the plate away.
He goes again for the tape recorder and slips the pause switch off.
“You worked with kids, right?”
“Yes” says Duck. “And teens.”
True West considers Duck.
“You should wear a dinosaur suit or something” he says. “The duck thing doesn’t quite make it.”
“He was very successful” says Z girl.
“I don’t know. It might help with your credibility problem” says True West.
Duck squeezes Z girl’s thigh again.
“Great idea” he says. The enthusiasm doesn’t quite catch. It spuds out.
“You’ve made a point of saying that there has been a big effort to destabilize and discredit you” says True West. “You’ve gone as far as to say that ‘they’ve” True West pauses dramatically here, “tried to kill you.”
Duck nods, the rubber bill going up and down slowly, seriously. “Gunshots, Anthrax and Poison” he says.
“Why would anybody go to all that trouble to harass an ex-employee?”
“Money” says Z girl. She is serious too.
“I had a feeling there were some Yankee doodle buckaroos riding around and hooting in the background” says True West. “Let me get this straight. The whole rig-a-ma-roll is about Saturday night on the town, I mean, somebody taking money earmarked for children and diverting it to other things. Primarily into someone’s pockets.”
Duck raises his eyebrows and smiles. He touches the tip of the beak with his finger. “Bingo” he says. “You got it right on the beak.”
“Where exactly did you work?” True West asks.
“The roller rink” says Duck.
True West waits for the rim-shot that never comes.
“The roller rink?”
“Yes” says the Z girl. “The Rolling Donut Hole.”
Duck smoothes his hair back and raises his eyebrows sincerely.
Z girl and Duck nod together.
Waiting.
True West slides the pause switch on again and thinks about it. The Rolling Donut Hole.
He shrugs, and pushes it back on. What the hell.
“That’s one part of it.” Says Duck. “How services are funded and how the money is delivered.”
“In a bowling bag” mutters True West.
“It’s not a bowling alley” says Patita. “That’s next store. That’s another story.”
“More to the point” says Duck “The place is toxic. Kids keep disappearing”
True West looks at the duckbill on the Z girl’s forehead.
What kind of obsessive and crazy love drives her to these depths for her man he thinks.
True West looks at the couple. “I’m just here on vacation” he says.
Duck adjusts his bill indignantly.
“There’s a lot of money missing” he says. “It’s that simple and dull. To some wild eyed accountant out there with a fondness for finding crooked figures, these books would be better than sex.”
Duck holds his anger.
True West spears his last piece of ahi with his fork.
“Human life is cheap” he says. “Especially if the people are kids.”
“Better than sex, huh?” asks True West.
True West considers this. He lets the kid talk slide for a second. “Well kids are smaller” he says. “It’s figures they are cheaper. Still, I’d like to see those figures before we talk any further.”
He picks up his fork again and sucks the fish off it and then he uses it to go for the last bit of fish on his plate. The piece of meat is still red in the center with the outside blackened and seared.
“Yeah” says Duck. “A little hard core pulp accounting gets them in every time.”
“Pulp accounting?” asks True West, “What in God’s holy horny toad is ‘Pulp accounting?”
“You know what it is” says Duck, “You kill a couple of figures here. You kill a couple of figures there. Strange figures appear and disappear. The lights go out. When they come back on a few more figures are missing. And still the rollers in the rink go round and round.”
“Embezzlement is really boring as stories go” says True West. “Even if someone is stealing the money from impoverished Hawaiian children. Even if the kids are disappearing into a whirling vortex of evil without a trace. It’s tedious.”
“The vortex is on Kauai” says Z girl. “Things come out of there.”
“It’s where the money is going that’s interesting” says Duck.
True West fork pauses in front of his mouth. “Not into the vortex.”
He’s getting interested. Damn it.
“Ok” he thinks. He bites the fish. “Where are the cash and the kids going?”

Chapter 23: But Not As Hot and Sweet As You

“Thank you Mr. West” says the Duck. “That was a great meal.”
“Call me Palani” says True West. “’I’m not paying for it. It’s on the magazine.”
He nods at the Duck’s glass “Drink up.”
“Gracias” says the Z girl, smiling shyly.
She picks up her glass and toasts the host.
“Saluda” she says.
“Saluda” True West and Duck say clicking glass and pineapple with hers.
The pineapple makes a hollow sound when hit, like a blow dark shot out of the blow tube at a tire.
“That was a treat” says Duck. “You know the ahi the yellow fin tuna, are disappearing from Hawaiian waters. We’re getting fished out by the Japanese trawlers. They bring in the big company boats to net fish just outside the boundaries of the islands. They lay huge nets out on the water and catch entire schools. A lot of the fish we get here are farmed.”
“The little fish from down on the farm” says True West. “It’s a lot like the buffalo disappearing from the prairie under the skinner’s guns, or harpooned whales in the waters off Lahina.”
The Z girl offers Duck the last bit of mango salsa. She scoops it off the plate with her fingers. She holds it out for Duck to suck off.
It’s as red-orange as the flame flower in her hair and the lipstick on her thick lips. Her fingernails are sharp and red too. As are her shoes. It hangs thick on her fingers like pomegranate pulp.
True West looks in the Z girl’s eyes as Duck goes for the jelly-like goo on her finger tips and nails. Duck is ecstatic, like a kitten at her mama’s tit. His eyes are shut tight as he sucks off the salsa. His eyes as he feels the sting of the cayenne and the pleasure of it on his tongue.
“See?” she says nodding. “It opens the senses and sings the blood.”
True West feels a little pang of jealousy.
He’s just out of his five year thing with his side-saddling paramour, the glitzier-dish, supermodel Shannon Bang.
The Big Bang.
Shannon was six foot two with long spindle-like legs, big bosom and Italian dressing. Probably still is, he thinks. She was all business, that one. Not much for philosophy or mango salsa finger fed to her man. She would have handed him the spoon. Image darling, Image.
Not like the Z girl at all.
He pangs for something more normal, more heated, and more needed.
The Z girl has her eyes open and is smiling as Duck takes her hand, palm up and kisses it. The rubber nose scrunches up as his lips mash into the hand. There is great fondness when their eyes meet, and unmistakable heat.
True West winces at it.
“It’s so hot and so sweet” Duck says.
Z girl is smiling, hot flashing a little herself.
“But it’s not as hot or sweet as you.” Says Duck.
True West hears a slow burning Mariachi in his head.
He looks the Z girl over, the big boobs on the table as she leans in to kiss Duck. The cleavage is deep and loose and shadowed, like a volcanic valley.
He waits for her them to break seal.
True West leans back in his chair.
He rubs his stomach and waiting for the Z girl’s eyes to settle on his and then says in his deepest broadcaster’s band, “Dulche y desa, brido para alguien, que nunca lo ha probado…” He engages his full chest and lungs and rolls his rs as he trills them with his tongue.
He toasts the Z girl back, subtlety and sips at his hollowed out pineapple, looking through the fruit and umbrella with sultry eyes.
His eyes flow straight into her maple-syrup eyes.
The long black lashes go down shyly.
“Como?” asks Duck, “What was that?”
“Hotter and sweeter still” says True West, “To one who has not tasted it before.”

24 Rough Riders

“Sorry” says True West. The senorita is a very beautiful woman.”
“Oh, I agree” says Duck.
The Z girl also agrees. Her smile burns a little darker. “Yes.”
“It’s the na-nas.” She says. “I have very big Boobs.”
She pulls her tube top up over the breasts.
It slides down again.
“You speak a Spanish?” says the Z girl.
“Yes” he says. “Way down Texas ways, it helps get you where you are going. I grew up with the language.”
The Z girl smiles and nods. “Accent” she thinks.
She is a little surprised. “You have an accent.”
“Habla un poco Espanol. Portuguese es su idioma.” True West says.
He looks at Duck.
“I speak mostly Portuguese.” He says. “I learned it from my mother. She was as pure a Portuguese woman as they come, from an educated family. They were among the first families brought to Maui as laborers. The rest of my family is Hawaiian, except my grandfather. He was as tar black a man as you’ve ever seen. His family was from Florida and Louisiana. They say he was so black he was purple.”
The Z girl laughs.
“He was a marine,” says True West, “He fought with the Rough Riders in the Philippines and Cuba during the Spanish American War.”
“Ah” says Duck. “They stopped in Hawaii on the way to San Juan Hill. They were on boats in the harbor when the seven families who plotted the overthrow of the monarchy took charge. The marines came ashore. The role they played in the overthrown of the monarchy in 1898 is often misunderstood.”
“I know a little” says True West. “I know a small group of marines stopped the massacre of Hawaiians after the revolutionaries stormed the palace. The Hawaiians thought the marines were there to support the revolutionaries. Its part of the reason the Queen chose not to fight. The marine’s presence was daunting.”
“Yes” says Duck. “To say the least.”
“I also know the Africans solders tended to bivouac separately from the white soldiers. The Hawaiians noticed this and called them po’polo. Outcasts. They hung out with the local people on the sly and traded music. That’s how slack key and the hula blues were born, out of campfire jamming and moon light hula. There’s a lot of southern folk blues in Hawaiian music.”
True West gets chills thinking about it.
“That’s right” says Duck. “You’re Hawaiian seed. Those soldier boys evidently did a little more than play hula blues. You know the slide and steel guitar that came into being in country and Hawaiian music is Chinese. It came to Hawaii with the Chinese laborers.” Duck says. “Everything that comes to Hawaii changes.”
True West smiles.
“Z girl and I were talking about the color of your skin while you were in the bathroom blowing steam. How beautiful it is. They say that the skin color is unique from island to island throughout Polynesia. Your African roots rose the darks of your Hawaiian blood” he says. “You have a beautiful skin color. You should use more sunscreen. You’ll burn.”
True West looks at his wet, sand colored hands. “I want to be as dark as possible” he says.
His amber eyes light up and flicker like candle light.
“You know Portuguese were not allowed to immigrate if they could read” says the Z girl. “They wanted to keep people ignorant and controllable.”
“Yes” says True West. “May family is very proud of our literacy. They love that I’m a journalist and on television. It means a lot to my mom.”
True West looks at Duck.
“I grew up in Texas” he says “My family couldn’t afford to live in Hawaii so we moved. My dad was blacklisted for being a union activist in the 1950s. We got threats and all of us could have been killed. So we moved. Mom and Pop never looked back.”
The Z girl furrows her brow and listens.
Her hands are folded prayer like in front of her lips, her elbows covering her breasts on the table.
“My father learned to speak English. He dropped his Hawaiian pidgin fast. That’s what he had to do to make it in Texas. When he reverted to it at home, mostly when he was yelling at me, it was a delight. As a result, I don’t sound very Hawaiian,” True West searches their eyes “Do I?”
“I’m not one to say what Hawaiian is and what isn’t” says Duck. “I’m Italian. You’ve got the blood. That’s what counts. The eyes. To some that’s everything, not the way you speak your pidgin. You know the Hawaiian race was reduced by 90% after the missionaries came. There is a time predicted when the Hawaiians will be uda pau-- gone” he says.
The Z girl laughs. “The population is up again” she says. “Everybody is hapai.”
“Not everybody I hope” says Duck.
The Z girl looks at Duck. She shakes her head no. “But no promises” she says. “Get a job.”
“My father said that you never really get the salt of the Pacific out of your blood. I had to come here to find out what the Pacific salt smells like. I want to separate things out. I had to come here. I want to know who I am out side of the network biographies and profiles.”
True West looks off into space. “I’m just coming to terms with the tragedy of the history. I want to join the struggle for nationhood, by being a good role model and a knowledgeable spokesperson on the news.”
“You need to move out to the country” says Duck, “Out to Pahenuinui where we live. You’ll taste a little Hawaiian salt out there” says Duck. “It forms on the lips in the summer.”
“It’s very salty” agrees Z girl softly to herself.
She looks up at True West and says “Ud habla un Espanol muey bien. Es un placer eschar Espanola.”
The Duck gets it. She is complimenting his Spanish.
Duck looks at the Z girl “My Spanish isn’t very good.” He says. “Z girl refuses to let me learn. She is convinced that if I learn it, I’ll use it to pick up Latina in Honolulu. She won’t teach it to me.”
The Z girl grimaces. “That’s right” she says.
“You should come to dinner tomorrow. It would be nice for the Z girl to get a chance to speak some Spanish. There are not many Spanish speaking people where we live. She misses it.”
“Thank you” says True West. “But I have a surf date tomorrow with a hot babe. Maybe I’ll come out later in the week?”
“I would like that. Gracias” says the Z girl.
“How about Thursday night” says the Duck.
“That sounds right” says True West.
The date is set.
True West sighs. “To me” he says.
He tosses the rest of the juice in the pineapple straight down.
The Z girl and Duck tip glasses and drink.

Chapter 24: Lover’s Telepathy

The waiters come for the money.
True West takes them in from the corner of his eyes.
Sandy is gone.
In her place are three guys lined up like bowling pins. They are wearing white jackets like kitchen staff. They come in like fighters in formation, one in front and two in the rear.
They lead waiter fidgets with the bill.
There two guys standing behind him are the size of line-backers.
They have rubber shark noses on their faces, little gray pug snouts with sharp pointy teeth sticking out of them.
They have towels over their arms that to cover the revolvers in their serving hands.
Conversation stops at the table.
True West looks at Duck. He points to the guns and then hurriedly rearranges the hair on his forehead..
Duck knows what he is thinking without turning around.
He slowly lifts and moves his chair out so he has room to maneuver.
True West blanches.
Z girl moves a fork into her lap.
True West takes an exaggerated deep breath and shakes off the tension. He takes out his wallet and removes his credit card.
“That ought to do it” he says.
Shark number one, the one with the lobotomy scar across his forehead takes the card. He looks like Frankenstein in Mary Shelly’s book, nasty-assed and mean, through no fault of his own. The second looks peaceful like a sumo wrestler after dinner. He even smiles self consciously.
He takes True West’s credit card.
He looks at the name.
Slowly, a smile spreads out across his face. It pushes up the shark nose.
“You’re on the TV” the shark says. “On The News in the rubble.”
True West is on familiar ground here, talking to a fan with a gun.
“Yes…” he begins to say.
The shark in front, the one that looks like a transgender aces him with his eyes. He or she is stark looking and thin.
His eyes are marbled like purple agate with little electric capillaries lightening out from the iris. He looks wired. He has light makeup on his face. His upper lip is black, the bottom one red. His hair is too short for a pony tail but it’s in one. The hair is ketchup colored streaked with yellow. He has a diamond broach on his kitchen jacket of a dagger.
He’s unhappy with everything, impatient and jittery. He is exasperated like the world is just too much to bear and everything in it just spices it with shit.
“What are you doing here?” He asks True West.
True West smiles his TV smile. “Eating” he says.
“You should be more careful who you associate with” he says. He looks at Duck and the Z girl like they are slugs in the soup. “These people are being deleted. They have no future. No Past. They don’t exist.”
True West is taken a back.
He hands it to shark number one. He tears the credit card in half and throws on the table in front of True West like he’s dealing stud poker cards.
“You aren’t here either.”
True West eyes the two pieces of his credit card on the table.
“Hey” he says. “That’s extreme.”
The sharks smile and move forward.
“Leave him alone” says Duck. “He’s here on vacation.”
The sharks move in on either side of Duck.
Duck looks over at the Z girl, who is frozen in place.
“The Duck pays” the big one says. “Cash”
He nudges Duck with the barrel of his gun.
Duck smiles. “Cash?” he says, “What else is there?”
“Relax” he says. “I’ll go sell the car.”
He moves his chair back and makes to leave.
The sharks are really pissed off now. They stop him.
Duck puts both hands in the air in front of his chest and elevates them from the wrist like he is practicing his tai chi martial arts moves. “Only kidding” he says. “I’m familiar with this shakedown. I’m just getting out my wallet out’ he says.
The purpled eyed shark reaches out and tugs on the Z girl’s ear.
“”We could take it out in trade” he says, his smile going up on the opposite side as Elvis’. ‘The boys like the Z girl. We’ve been watching her through the windows at the end of the day. She’s quite the cupcake.”
Duck looks straight into the Z girl’s eyes. She looks back scared.
Duck looks at her with intensity and mouth’s and says the word “no” in lover’s telepathy. He inflates like a puffer fish.
I’ll take of this.
The Z girl’s eyes flash panic as the line-backing shark puts his hands on her shoulders, letting one stray down into her tube top.
Her eyes shift around to the shark and come up on him like twin machine guns.
They are black as ink.
Duck says “uh oh” as they flash red.
Z girl turns, bring her hand up fast.
The fork disappears into the shark’s trousers.
She twists it savagely.
The big shark spins around yowling, knocking the other shark off balance. He grabs at his upper thigh as the blood gush comes through his hands. Z girl holds the fork and twists again.
His scream brings the band to a halt.
The whole restaurant is on its feet.
“I like you” says the purple shark eyeing Z girl like the last piece of devils food cake at the orphanage. “You and I will play again. Count on it.”
The big shark is bleeding with the fork lodged deep in his thigh.
Z girl twangs the fork and yanks it out.
She’s on her feet.
The shark screams in pain and retches.
He reaches out to strangle her.
Duck and True West stand up, kicking chairs back.
The purple eye one whistles. Down and up.
The two sharks turn and run like hell out of the restaurant. The wounded one limps leaving blood in his steps. They push through the crowd and down to the beach, knocking tourists out of the way as they push towards the water.
The concierge yells “Let him go.”
They have called the police.
The wounded one recovers sense quickly. He hot eyes the crowd. Then he trails off after the other ones dragging his leg with him as he goes. He is furious and stiff. Tears roll down his cheek in pain.
He is grabs his crotch and whimpers. He turns back to the table, making savage eye contact with the Z girl before he turns and leaves.
They lock eyes.
True West is now on his feet and has straightened up like he is news casting. He is no longer crouched like someone who has to pee. He watches the sharks run.
Duck grabs the Z girl by the shoulders.
She knocks his arms away and starts after the guys running down the beach. She pushes him away, panting like a cat in heat.
She starts for the big one.
The crowd holds her back.
“Z girl” says Duck loudly.
She gives Duck a double dirty look, she looks forks at him.
“I’m just on vacation” mutters True West to nobody particular. He smiles at the crowd.
They know.
“Let’s get out of here” says True West
“That’s probably a good idea” says Duck “When there is blood in the water sharks get grouchy. More Come. The concierge will talk with the police. They know the problem.”
Z girl grabs her purse and heads for the door. He’s still got the bloody fork in her hand.
“That’s it” she says.
Duck sighs. “I’m sleeping in the car tonight”
He goes after her.
She waits at the entrance of the restaurant for him.
Duck doesn’t touch her, but paces her out the door to the car.
True West looks around “Please,” he said, “Enjoy your evening.”
The music has already started up again. People are slow to go to the dance floor, but they are getting there.
True West pulls the sword out of the cherry in his pineapple drink and puts it in his pocket as a place marker. He’ll remember detail better when he pulls it out in the morning and takes notes.
“It’s real” he thinks. “Really real.”