Chapter 1
I remember the first time I saw her. it was 8:17 on the dance floor at Honolulu Harry’s. She was wearing one of those loud floral dresses the dames always go for when they first get off the boat. Her lips were the color of the big hibiscus sitting on my bar, except hers were real. Her arms were like ice cream, and the only thing wrong with them is they weren’t around me.
They were around a stooge wearing a cheap suit–Frank, the only Fuller Brush salesman in Hawaii. Apparently, the lines he used to get in the door selling brushes worked on women too. He was a terrible dancer, but she didn’t notice, because he talked more than danced.
I wasn’t the only one looking at these two. Stanley, my ukulele player, was staring so hard he missed the chords on the intro to Ke Kali Nei Au, a song he could play with a snootful of gin, which he often did after 6. The only thing he was drunk on tonight was a dame dancing cheek- to- cheek with door-to-door Frank.
I shoved a glass of gin down the bar and told Stanley to ease up a bit, but he had this weird look on his face I’d never seen before. I thought it was impossible to play bluesy music on a uke, but I started hearing songs I’ve never heard before. Tension oozed around the bar like a yellow- bellied sea snake sliding through coral…
Chapter 2
Frank eased the dame out onto the patio, looking very Fred Astaire all of a sudden. His eyes had that weird lidded look that the iguana has when he snatches the bugs off my hibiscus. We have a deal, the iguana and me: he takes care of my flowers and no one gets hurt except the bugs. The dame was the bug.
It wasn’t Frank I was worried about. I noticed the music was still playing, but it came from the record player behind the bar. Two things were missing: my uke player and the 25.00 Koa ukulele he still owed me for, the one with the hula girl decal that set me back an extra buck-fifty. I told Juanita to watch the bar for a few and slipped out the side door.
Chapter 3
It was one of those gorgeous Hono-lulu of a nights that make me glad I moved here. Like looking at a postcard, except for the smell of flowers and a full moon moving fast. But paradise has a dark side, something I have a theory about.
When life is too easy, there’s time enough for bad thoughts to grow inside people. And this place grows stuff fast; if someone has a bad seed in his head, it can consume him. I bet people who live in the far North don’t have time for this stuff—they got enough problems just keeping warm and fed.
I saw them on the patio bench, Frank was talking fast and low, making his move. I guessed they’d be doing the horizontal mambo in just a few minutes, but the dame wasn’t buying it. The smooth Brush Man had disappeared, and the iguana was ready to pounce. I started to interrupt, but Stanley tapped me on the shoulder from behind and put his index finger to his lips and then pointed down to a wicker basket.
I looked down and saw a yellow-bellied sea snake, one of the most poisonous reptiles in the world. I jumped back and made a mental note to keep snakes out of my metaphors for the rest of my life. Stanley picked up the snake, caressed it gently and placed it near Frank’s leg. The dame was trying to scream, but Frank’s hand was on her mouth. He pushed her down on the bench and moved the other hand up her dress.
I was worried for the dame. For Stanley. For my ukulele. I wasn’t worried for the snake, who held all the cards if he’d had hands.
Everything happened at once. The snake bit. Frank screamed. The dame screamed. I screamed. The snake remained calm, and as Frank’s arms drooped, I heard music. It was a ukulele playing an ancient Hawaiian song I’d not heard in ages. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard, and even Frank managed a smile as he drifted into unconsciousness and, within seconds, death.
“That’s murder, Stanley,” I said.
“No, that’s a snakebite accident,” he said. “What do you say, dear?” he asked the dame.
“I say that’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard,” she said. “Do you know any more?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “Lots and lots more.” She took his hand, and they walked down the beach, her other hand holding a hibiscus, his a ukulele that I’ll never get paid for.
I sighed and went back into the bar to ask Juanita for the shovel.