Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (31 page)

“
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 and 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...”