Friday, May 16, 2003
All the tourist bullshit aside, Dark had to appreciate soaking in the view of Diamondhead from the hotel’s beach that early morning. He’d purposely left the drapes open part of the way so the sun would wake him up. It felt good to stroll the beach, feel the sand between his feet.
A day off. That’s what he needed. Just to lollygag around all day, go swimming, and hit up the clubs tonight. See if he just couldn’t break off a piece of tourist ass. Dark threw his towel on the sand, dropped his key, and walked toward the water. Let the ocean wash out his sins, clear through the cobwebs. He floated in mother ocean, eyes glancing at the peak of the long dormant volcano crater, piercing through the sky. The sound of the water, the waves crashing in and sucking themselves back out.
Those dreams were staying with him. Even now he had a clear view of her face. Luckily he couldn’t much remember much of last night's neural journeys. Dark had woken up on the floor, hazy memories of psychotic laughter, ringing.
Better to envision that beautiful girl. Who was somehow real. He couldn't remember ever seeing her, ever, before that dream. She would still look about the same, the Westways had been printed about eight years ago. Had he seen her before, in passing, her image piercing his subconscious all those years? Or had he truly conjured her in his dreams, before ever seeing her, a phantom fantasy made real?
And the Robby Chan connection. The feared underworld boss standing proudly with the inner yearnings of his fantasy, scared, frightened, haunting, presumed figment of his imagination, in front of his Kahala villa in that damn magazine. His thoughts had drifted occasionally toward wishes that he'd never even seen it, but shit a case was a case and ain't no time to waste.
Suddenly Dark knew the Waikiki nightlife would have to go on without him, he had to get started on this, go check out that house. He seemed to have eluded the forces trying to kill him, but he knew to always assume you got people on your tail, despite any encouraging evidence to the contrary. Best to strike while the iron was hot.