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?”
“Don't know, never seen it before- Some business over in Honolulu?”
“Check it out, find out if there is such a place, and see if they got a missing guy...” Hashimoto flipped the sheet back over Walter’s uncaring face, and tucked the note-pad into a back pocket. “Dammit, I hate it when this happens, especially on a Sunday. I guess we should check around and see if he's a local haole, or just a tourist.” Hashimoto gestured to the EMT’s to take the gurney away and sighed again, “C'mon, man, let's get to work- it's going to be a long day all over again...”
Chris gazed around the cramped interior of the flight deck, his eyes finally getting accustomed to the semi-dark space. “Geez, it's almost like sitting inside a Sherman tank.”
Buddy nodded, “Yeah, trus’ me, it's tight. That why I modify the plane…” He indicated the oddly shaped opening to the cargo hold behind him, “...to make room for me to get in. An' I put in a sunroof…” Buddy nodded overhead to the twin opaque plastic panels set into the roof, “...So I got some light. Before, it was like flyin' in a cave, ya know?” Buddy shrugged, smiled a lop-sided smile and continued, “So, anyway, you know da props, throttle, flaps-? What else?”
Chris raised one eyebrow with an impish grin, “Uh, gear- I kinda missed that one- things got just a little crazy right about then.”
Buddy winked. “Tell me about it.” He took a short, labored breath and continued, “Okay, gear- some of it straight-forward, some of it not…” Buddy indicated the gear lever, tucked just behind the prop module, “Raise 'em- lower 'em, right here. To check if dey up an' locked…” He turned to his left and flipped a random toggle among a set of three, but the indicator light above it stayed dark, “If da gear is up, da light comes on. If dey not, it stays off.”
Chris shook his head in confusion. “That's just plain weird. What if the bulb was burned out, you'd never know…”
Buddy considered this for a second, and then frowned with a wry chuckle. “Don' know, never thought of dat, it never been burned out before- but you gotta figure dat even if it was out, you got to assume you be flyin', right- so you'd know that they was up, cause otherwise you'd feel the drag…” Buddy pointed to a hatch just behind the gear lever, pulled a ring on its’ surface and opened it, revealing a crank wheel with a small knob protruding from it, “...if dey not, you have to crank them up by hand- You think the ailerons were heavy, these are worse. What else?”
“Uh- trim.” Chris cocked an eye at his new friend and ventured delicately, “I don't know how to say this, but I bet you have to correct a bit...”
”Not so much as you think, smart guy- I ain’t dat fat.” Buddy indicated the trim handles, set into the console just ahead of the props. “Rudder, some- never used the wing trims, flying this thing not the same like regular planes, it's more like- I don' know, more like driving a big truck, I guess. You find the brakes, ya?”
“Found 'em. Almost didn't.”
“Right. Anyway, so really, that's about it. But the best part is this…” Buddy pulled an anomalous lever set into the instrument cluster above the front windscreen. A panel slowly folded out, revealing a tray that was packed to the gills with a gleaming batch of modern electronics. Buddy smiled proudly as he leaned back in admiration of his work, “Killer sound system- CD, MP3, the works. It's all patched through the headphones, or speakers in da back- I even got a couple of sub-woofers back dere just for fun. Doesn't really interfere with radio- you don't use radio much anyway, just announce waypoints an' all, so I listen to a whole bunch of music-”
Chris interrupted, “Like that one Hawaiian guy, what's his name, IZ? Who is this guy? Is he like some sort of Hawaiian sound track? Seems like I hear him everywhere I go.”
“Who? IZ? Oh, yeah sure, I guess. But not always, it depend on my mood, you know? Sometimes I listen to old Stones, Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Beatles... I even got some Garth Brooks and Pussycat Dolls- you oughta hear my ‘shuffle’.” Buddy smiled and winked, “Anyway, dis one time, flyin' over Haleakela, on Maui? I put on ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ ya know? An' right at the first part, right before da crash, I buzz some Haole tourists climbin' the side. You shoulda seen 'em, they scattered faster than them pigs at the field!” Buddy laughed uproariously in remembrance, and then shrugged his immense shoulders an
d added, “I don' know man, I jus' love music- It's all good, ya know?”
Buddy turned to the tiny port-side window and slid it open, letting in a warm blast of fragrant tropical air. He looked a bit pale and beads of sweat dotted on his forehead, and Chris asked with concern, “Dude- you okay?”
Buddy struggled to get up out of the pilot’s chair, his breathing labored, but he smiled nonetheless and said, “Ya- jus’ tired, you know?” Stepping heavily over the threshold to the cargo bay, he turned to Chris and asked, “Hey, you thirsty? C’mon, let's go get something to drink, eh? I make you a special treat.”
Kanaka hung up the phone and rested his chin on steepled fingers. Hashimoto looked to him in askance and inquired, “Anything?”
“Yeah, maybe. Ever heard of Matthews, Incorporated?”
“No.”
“They're big players, in shipping, got offices all over the world.”
“Really? You try them?”
“Just about to- You know how hard it's going to be to track this guy down, even if we get lucky? It's Sunday, you know...”
Chris and Buddy entered the lush courtyard from a hidden rear entrance and Buddy gestured to a worn stone bench that surrounded a beautiful Chinese wisteria, its’ fluorescent pink blossoms almost glowing from within. “Hang loose bro, take a load off, I be right back wit' dem drinks.”
Chris looked to the stone bench as Buddy ambled off, disappearing into the courtyard jungle. The ancient stone bench completely encircled the tree, its branches meticulously ‘bonsai-ed’ into a delicate oasis of light and shadow. Chris sat wearily on the worn surface and sighed contentedly, releasing the tension of the past two days, and as he closed his eyes a thought drifted idly from the depths of his mind- This, is paradise.
A few moments later, Buddy emerged from around a hidden corner, a pair of tall, condensation encrusted glasses that clinked with ice and an odd, brown liquid swirling within. Candy-cane colored straws protruded above the rim, still topped with the tips of the paper wrappers. Buddy sat heavily down beside Chris and handed one over, taking a long slow sip from his own. Without even thinking, Chris sniffed at the contents, an almost involuntary habit that he had with everything he ate or drank. The aroma was strange, exotic, and smelled slightly of cinnamon, spice and coffee. He sipped at the straw, and a smooth, sweet taste tickled his taste-buds, running over his tongue and sliding down his throat like liquid silk. Buddy watched him with one curious eyebrow raised, and then asked, “So- what d'you think?”
Chris took another long, thirsty sip and exclaimed breathlessly, “Wow! That's amazing. What is it?”
Buddy stated proudly, “House specialty. Iced Kona coffee, sweetened with pure cane juice. I brew the coffee with a teeny bit of cinnamon, then put the whole batch in the fridge, get it real cold, and pour it over crushed ice. Kinda like a coffee slurpee. On a hot day like this, it cools you off, and perks you up at the same time. Mos’ days I’m flyin’- dis is what I drink.”
The pink blossoms of the Wisteria suddenly quivered in a gust of breeze, and a gentle tinkling of wind chimes danced around the courtyard. Buddy sat bolt upright and wrinkled his brows, a curious frown twisting his face. “Hey, you know what? I jus' had a thought- You wanna stay for dinner?”
Chris shrugged, the straw falling from his lips, “Sure- I guess. It's alright with-?”
Buddy interrupted with raised eyebrows and replied, “With momma? Dude, it's almost- expected. I'll be right back...”
The cube-farm of the Matthew’s corporate office was quiet and dark, a lone receptionist sitting in silent isolation at the front desk. She tapped several keys on the computer keyboard in rapid succession, and then depressed a key on the phone and said, “Thank you for holding... Yes, sir, we actually have several employees with our company living locally.”
Kanaka idly twirled a pencil as he held the phone to his shoulder, his attention divided between duty and the newspaper crossword on his desk. “I don't suppose any of them have been reported missing?”
The receptionist replied with matter-of-fact blandness, “Not that I know of, sir. I can ask around, and see if anyone knows. It might take some time, though, its Sunday, you know.”
Kanaka frowned and penciled in a word, and then scratched his head in contemplation of another, “Tell me about it...”
Chris finished his drink, and then stood and stretched luxuriously, sweeping his gaze slowly around as he took in the lush, pastoral setting. Native ferns, palms, flowers, grasses and trees were abundant, carefully arranged in Zen profusion, only allowing tiny glimpses of the surrounding house through them. At his feet was a gravel path, meticulously clean and neatly raked, clearly the work of a fastidious and diligent gardener.
The world was silent, but it was a silence that when you were quiet and still within yourself was replete with sound. The gentle breeze tickled the tops of the tallest plants, who whispered quietly among themselves as the faint tinkling chimes of a myriad of musical devices came and went on the wind, their sources hidden amongst the various nooks and crannies of plantings within the space. But it was the gentle musical burbling of water- likely a fountain of sorts- that drew the focus of his attention.
First looking left, then right, Chris moved off at random, seeking out the source, his feet crunching on the pea-gravel of the path as he wove along its curves. It was barely a moment later when he discovered his first wonder- an almost hidden Koi pond, the water disappearing into the landscaping, a tiny Japanese-style bridge spanning a narrow portion of the limpid pool. Chris mounted the low structure and leaned on the rail, looking down in admiration at the massive, multi-colored fish that swam lazily below his feet. Now on a personal adventure, Chris continued across the bridge, and a few yards further along the path, nearly hidden around a bend of a corner of the pond he was delighted to discover a smiling Japanese Buddha that sat in isolated serenity beneath a low hanging red maple, a few coins scattered in his lap, his serene countenance reflected in the soft ripples of the water that flowed around him.
Placing his own coin of gratitude upon the Buddha’s lap, Chris continued down the path, plunging into a mini-forest that now completely occluded his view of the house, the low hanging branches and vines creating a maze of green before him. Pushing aside a broad, leafy fern, he was rewarded with his second wonder- a large round space cleared of plants, an ancient looking Pagoda-shaped altar at its center, several more of the weathered stone benches ranged around the perimeter of the space. As he approached the curious structure, Chris saw the offerings and photos of remembrance- some old, some new, stubs of old incense and faded candles, an occasional charm and random something-or-other; and Kenji’s Derek Jeter Bobble-head, its’ plastic incongruity almost laughable in contrast to the other equally sincere offerings that lay scattered about.
Smiling warmly to himself, Chris continued about in his explorations, this time drawn to the group of Hawaiian Ginger and its accompanying flock of Bird-of-Paradise surrounding it. Bending to smell the fragrant plant, its’ intoxicating aroma making him slightly woozy, he suddenly stiffened and stood rigidly upright when he heard it- the sound that had he become all too familiar with over the last forty-eight hours. It was the dull thump of drums, the soft drone of chanting and the muted stamping of feet.
His eyes creasing in curiosity, he pushed through a pair of lush, green shrubs and stifled a scream of alarm and surprise as he found himself face-to-face with a fierce-looking Tiki, its defiant features right before his eyes. And as he did, the drums, stamping and chanting sharply increased in volume, not from without- but from within, the sounds now echoing in the corners of his mind.
Chris staggered back in confusion and more than just a bit of fear and turned to flee- only to crash into the massive bulk of Buddy, who had somehow just materialized through the trees. Chris stumbled back and exclaimed, “YOW!!! Shit! Oh, wow, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Buddy smiled sardonically and replied, “It's your turn. I had mine.” And then
he looked past Chris’ shoulder and grinned, “I see you found Kane.”
“Who?”
“Come here, check it out...” Buddy parted the branches, again revealing the fierce-looking idol. “There’s four main Gods in the old Hawaiian religion. This one- he's Kane. I guess you would call him- kind of like the god of creation, you know?” Buddy turned and pointed diagonally across the space, “Over there is Lono; he’s like the supreme god of peace.” Buddy turned slightly, and indicated the opposite corners of the enclosure, “The other two, Ku and Kaneloa, they over there. Each one guards his own corner, looking back de other way, dat way dey all got each other’s back’s ya?”
Chris was running his hand gently over the weathered surface of the wooden carving. “Where did they come from? Who made them?”
Buddy paused dramatically and raised a mocking eyebrow in amusement. “You mean, like- for reals?”
Chris replied, confused, “Yeah, but- what?”
Buddy chuckled softly, “My great-grandpa, Haku. He carved them over sixty years ago, back before dis place was even built. Dude was a master carver, bra, made boats the old-fashioned way. Anyway, they been here ever since. In fact, this whole place was built around them, since they was here first. C’mon, I show you da others…” Buddy held the leafy branches for Chris, who passed through with a final glance of awe back at the ancient one, who- for a brief illogical second, almost seemed to be- smiling.
Chris did a confused double-take and stumbled through the dense foliage as he shook his head trying to clear the anomalous vision, only to be greeted by another- it was the sight of Alani drifting silently through the trees, the sunlight behind her making her seem to positively glow, angelic, in the clearing by the altar. Chris could practically hear the soft songs of angels as he saw her, a tiny smile gracing her delicate features, and he resisted the urge to shake his head again, this time to avoid disturbing the magic of this moment.
Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' Page 19