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Authors: JoAnn Bassett
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in his massive brown hands.
CHAPTER 8
Machete Man growled, “This is private property. You got no business being here.” His pronunciation of the word business made it sound more like bidness , but I was in no position to offer an elocution lesson. I raised my open palms to shoulder height in an effort to appear cooperative.
“ Aloha ,” I said. My voice quavered. Even though I’d offered no resistance, he still hadn’t relaxed his grasp on the menacing blade. “I’ve come from Maui to check out Mr. Bustamante’s property. A business associate of his is getting married here in a couple of weeks.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’ hear nuthin’ about no wedding.”
I wanted to point out that I doubted if the wealthy property owner felt obliged to disclose the social happenings on his private estate to his gardener, or security guy, or whatever this guy’s job was. But, once again, I took the high road and kept my mouth shut.
“It’s true. Mr. Bustamante’s colleague, Mr. Richard Atkinson, is getting married here on the twenty-seventh. It won’t be a large affair, maybe fifteen to twenty people, tops. They’re keeping it casual, you know, buffet dinner, open bar—”
“Stop,” the guy roared. “I tol’ you I never heard nuthin’ about it.”
Well, I thought, I’m not surprised. You’re not an easy guy to talk to.
We stood there, facing each other, him flexing his fingers on the machete handle, me wondering if I was wearing Emergency Room-worthy underwear. Wouldn’t you know, at that moment my cell phone went off.
“That’s my phone,” I said. “Can I answer it?”
He glared at me as if accusing me of telepathically arranging to receive a phone call just to complicate things for him.
“It’s probably just my fiancé calling to check up on me. He’ll get worried if I don’t answer. And then he’ll come looking for me, or call the police or something.” I didn’t think it wise to mention that my fiancé didn’t have a car, and had no real knowledge of where I was. I hoped the thought of a worried guy calling the cops might give Machete Man something to think about.
And, apparently, he was thinking. He stayed silent while the phone continued to chime. Then it stopped. About ten seconds later, the phone chirped a bright ping, indicating the caller had left a message.
“How’d you get back here?” Machete Man finally said.
“I walked through the opening in the wall over there in the corner. I thought that’s what it was there for: people coming in on foot.” I turned and nodded toward the wall behind me. “Look, I appreciate you being so attentive to private property rights and all. But seriously, I’m simply here to see where the wedding will take place and to get a few ideas on how we can set things up. I’m the wedding planner.”
“You’re a wedding planner?” he said in a perky voice that was light years removed from his previous growl. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already mentioned the wedding at least twice before. Maybe the guy was slow on the uptake.
“Yes,” I said. “From Maui. And I’m here to check out the venue.”
“Why didn’ you tell me that before?” he said. Now, he was all smiles. He transferred the machete to one hand, bringing the point down and shoving it into the dirt like a conquistador claiming territory.
“Ya know, my mom does weddings, birthday parties, stuff like that. She’s good at it, too. You should call her. She can pro’bly hook you up with everyt’ing you need.”
I slowly lowered my hands, sticking my right paw out for a handshake.
“Pali Moon,” I said. “From ‘Let’s Get Maui’d.”
He allowed that to roll around in his cavernous skull for a few seconds, and then said, “Oh, I get it. Yeah. I’m Lono. I work here. I live here, too, but mostly I’m here working.”
“Nice to meet you, Lono.”
“You come wit’ me,” he said. “I’ll get you my mom’s numba. Right now
CHAPTER 8
Machete Man growled, “This is private property. You got no business being here.” His pronunciation of the word business made it sound more like bidness , but I was in no position to offer an elocution lesson. I raised my open palms to shoulder height in an effort to appear cooperative.
“ Aloha ,” I said. My voice quavered. Even though I’d offered no resistance, he still hadn’t relaxed his grasp on the menacing blade. “I’ve come from Maui to check out Mr. Bustamante’s property. A business associate of his is getting married here in a couple of weeks.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’ hear nuthin’ about no wedding.”
I wanted to point out that I doubted if the wealthy property owner felt obliged to disclose the social happenings on his private estate to his gardener, or security guy, or whatever this guy’s job was. But, once again, I took the high road and kept my mouth shut.
“It’s true. Mr. Bustamante’s colleague, Mr. Richard Atkinson, is getting married here on the twenty-seventh. It won’t be a large affair, maybe fifteen to twenty people, tops. They’re keeping it casual, you know, buffet dinner, open bar—”
“Stop,” the guy roared. “I tol’ you I never heard nuthin’ about it.”
Well, I thought, I’m not surprised. You’re not an easy guy to talk to.
We stood there, facing each other, him flexing his fingers on the machete handle, me wondering if I was wearing Emergency Room-worthy underwear. Wouldn’t you know, at that moment my cell phone went off.
“That’s my phone,” I said. “Can I answer it?”
He glared at me as if accusing me of telepathically arranging to receive a phone call just to complicate things for him.
“It’s probably just my fiancé calling to check up on me. He’ll get worried if I don’t answer. And then he’ll come looking for me, or call the police or something.” I didn’t think it wise to mention that my fiancé didn’t have a car, and had no real knowledge of where I was. I hoped the thought of a worried guy calling the cops might give Machete Man something to think about.
And, apparently, he was thinking. He stayed silent while the phone continued to chime. Then it stopped. About ten seconds later, the phone chirped a bright ping, indicating the caller had left a message.
“How’d you get back here?” Machete Man finally said.
“I walked through the opening in the wall over there in the corner. I thought that’s what it was there for: people coming in on foot.” I turned and nodded toward the wall behind me. “Look, I appreciate you being so attentive to private property rights and all. But seriously, I’m simply here to see where the wedding will take place and to get a few ideas on how we can set things up. I’m the wedding planner.”
“You’re a wedding planner?” he said in a perky voice that was light years removed from his previous growl. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already mentioned the wedding at least twice before. Maybe the guy was slow on the uptake.
“Yes,” I said. “From Maui. And I’m here to check out the venue.”
“Why didn’ you tell me that before?” he said. Now, he was all smiles. He transferred the machete to one hand, bringing the point down and shoving it into the dirt like a conquistador claiming territory.
“Ya know, my mom does weddings, birthday parties, stuff like that. She’s good at it, too. You should call her. She can pro’bly hook you up with everyt’ing you need.”
I slowly lowered my hands, sticking my right paw out for a handshake.
“Pali Moon,” I said. “From ‘Let’s Get Maui’d.”
He allowed that to roll around in his cavernous skull for a few seconds, and then said, “Oh, I get it. Yeah. I’m Lono. I work here. I live here, too, but mostly I’m here working.”
“Nice to meet you, Lono.”
“You come wit’ me,” he said. “I’ll get you my mom’s numba. Right now
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