The Atomic Hula, Mike Marino [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

and Doc let him out. "Ok, kid, back where you started from, now don' go near no hotel street and keep away from the Beach of the Prince down the road. Got girly boys and tough girly boys want'n stuff. Stuff you don't want to know about, ok? No Prince Beach, hear?" Mickey nodded again as he jumped from the cab. "Got ya Doc and thanks for the tour. See you on the beach!" The cab roared off and left behind a kid with a cloud of exhaust and beach full of sand, now, his only possessions and they were fleeting.
He walked down the skinny walkway that divided the two large hotels as they do in Honolulu and emerged on the beach he was so familiar with. The scenery never changed, only the people populating it did. Weeklong vacationers seeking worship of the sun, tropical breezes, and maybe a little Polynesian romance. In addition to his affair with his landlady, he had managed to "date" the island visitors daughters, for a week or so at least. Life was good. How could it ever not be?
Today, the sun was out, cooler now in fall, but warm, Pacific caress warm to the skin, and the beach was ablaze with a carnival of bikini's and enough flesh showing that danced in his head and make him spin like a whirling merry-go-round. He noticed a group of young kids, his age and younger running back and forth to an older Hawaiian kid holding royal court under a shade tree in front of the Reef Hotel. These kids would run in pairs to this Emperor of the Islands, hand him something, he'd write something down in a little notebook, they would nod affirmatively, and take off down the beach at high speed once again and return again and again like obedient yo-yo's on a short string. Curious, but interesting. What was he writing down? Names? Proverbs? Haikus? Who knew.
Soon the hungry sun of morning was spent and decided to rest below the horizon, wrapping the Hawaiian beach in a blanket of first, twilight, then dark, but in a gesture of kindness, hit the celestial piñata with a stick and out spilled an array of stars that landed in the sky and along with one half of a moon, the Cracker Jack prize at the bottom of the box, to cast gentle ghost light bouncing off rippling Pacific waves. Reality began to sink in as the sun was sinking west and Mickey came to a conclusion. He had absolutely no plan for the night. Sleep. Shelter. Food. Nada. The beach was cleansing itself of it's bevy of beauties who went into their hotels to swap clothing from the day for clothing for the night to enjoy the nightclubs, restaurants and savage distant drumbeat naughty night scene of hot, hot, hot Honolulu.
Looking past the Reef he noticed Fort Derussy, the old army fort built in 1915 to protect the U.S. from foreign invaders from God knows what planet, yet probably more to have an excuse to house a visible military garrison to keep the local population in a continuous state of mind of colonial captivity and subservient tranquility. A missionary paradise of purity and plantations. As he looked he noticed a guard tower rising above the ground, a Trojan Horse waiting for invasion, and figured he could easily breach it, climb the steps to the lofty tower itself and sleep the sleep of old drunks on the wooden floor, unbothered, not yet bewitched, yet bewildered. He managed to follow this game plan and settled onto the floor of the phallic overlook. Once again he was a pirate, only a captain this time at the wheel overlooking the ocean, his command of men below swabbing decks and swearing and smelling as he suspected they all did. Soon he lay down and the gentle breezes lullabye'd him to sleep, drugged on the aphrodisiac of paradise and palm trees...when the bough breaks...until he was awakened by a blinding nuclear light flash that blinded him and gruff voices yelling, The guards...it was a guard tower after all and there stood two of them as he leaped to his feet.
"What are you doing here? Get up, now" barked the taller of the two GI's. "Man, you can't sleep here, that's goddamn trespassin' so you got to go." said the shorter one. Then they both started laughing and shaking their heads as they escorted Mickey down from the tower and off the property and sent him marching on his way to wayward Waterloo.
3 AM and the sun wouldn't be creeping above the horizon anytime soon. He to hold out and had to find some place to sleep. Custers Last Stand, suicide stand, outnumbered by hordes of hostiles he went down without a plan either. Mickey hiked down the beach past the vacant outdoor dining patios of the hotels as he headed westward towards Diamond Head. He came upon a hotel construction site and right there in front of him stood a small portable concrete mixer, small, but enough for him so he decided it would do as a nest for the night until better outdoor accommodations could be found. It wasn't exactly the Waldorf and it wasn't exactly comfortable either. He crawled in to share space with metal cold to the touch, hardened cement crust and blades in the bottom and immediately crawled out and walked to Kalakau Street and headed further down towards Prince Beach. He knew the warning Doc had given him about gender transitions of some of the denizens but the only thing worse than a good looking woman who was actually a man, was a beat cop, and one was heading his way on a collision course with Mickey on the sidewalk from the opposite direction.
"What are you doing out here son,? he said in his police voice. Mickey knew he had to think quick, this prick probably thinks he's an underground revolutionary for the Freedom of the Hawaiian Islands Committee or something wanting to restore the kingdom, throne and install the Pineapple Princess as rightful ruler of the realm. "Well, I'm here with my parents and we've been here for two weeks but have to leave for Minnesota, home, tomorrow and I'm really gonna miss it here. They're sleeping right now and I couldn't and the hotel restaurant is closed so I just wanted to go for one last walk along the beach and maybe find a hamburger or something to eat. Gonna miss this place, real bad. Maybe, I'll come back someday but have to just enjoy what’s left of my vacation,"..The cop smiled. Mickey thought, the fucking sonofabitch bought it! He couldn't believe it. "Well, now go down about five blocks and on the right is a place called Joe's of Waikiki and they're open 24 hours and have some of the best grub on the island. Just be careful out here now, and when you're done eating just go on back to the hotel before your parents wake up and find you gone."
Mickey hurried the few blocks, hunger hunkering down emitting a low growl and rumble spurring his quest for the immediate Holy Grail, a burger with fries and a coke. Money enough, barely, but that slab o' meat worth more to him than an ounce of gold right now, not that he could afford an ounce of gold. He ducked inside Joe's and grabbed an empty seat by the window on the street with flashing neon casting an eerie on-off-on again "Open" glow to beckon any passerby, of which there were none. The only other person there was an old man across the room staring at a cup of coffee in a lonely booth, reading his own fortune and future, of which there were neither. He ordered the burger and fries and sat in anticipation of the aerial bombardment of nutrition his stomach would soon experience and his stomach would satiate his hunger and expand his stomach like a birth control sponge absorbing little beasties of homicidal sperm racing like an army to the ovaries, the forward guard of the Impregnation Nation hell bent on visions of plunder and pillage of the Vaginal Village.
Suddenly, Joe's door opened and in quietly stepped a staggeringly gorgeous blond of obvious Hawaiian persuasion. Blondish hair, brownish skin tone, long of leg and large of breast who smiled at Mickey and motioned with a smile and nod and a flair and a flourish of hair if she could join him. Thinking he had hit the Mother Lode of Polynesian Princesses nodded yes, yes, of course, please, sit, sit, dance, do whatever you want but don't go back out that door. She sat across from him and extended her hand. "I'm Kimmy," she said in very humble manner, still smiling at him. "I'm, Mickey," he managed to stutter and stammer back and shook her hand. It was a larger hand than most women have he thought but soft and smooth. They're just bigger here in the islands he thought and attributed it as something born of healthy island living and loving. "You're kind of young to be out this time of the night, and near Prince Beach aren't you? You're not one of those kids who hang out on the beach down at the other end near the hotels are you?" He shook his head vigorously so there was no question in her mind that No, he was not one of them, and as he didn't even know who they even were did not want to be associated with them in any manner as this Goddess may disappear and go back to Coconut Olympus with the other divinities who watch over mankind. "No, Ma'am don't even know them." She smiled and leaned towards him, "You're not a runaway now are you?" Again the vigorous shaking of the head but her commanding presence called for honesty. "No, not exactly, I did leave home and my parents now know about it and where I am but had an apartment," he said proudly, "and then I ran out of money and this is my first night on the streets," he said more humbly, cancelling out the proudly to negative zero.
"Well it's not safe out here so tell you what, I do have a boyfriend but he's at the north end of the island until this afternoon. You come with me and get some sleep at my apartment, it's just around the corner and will fix you a great and wonderful breakfast when you wake up. Also get you cleaned up, take a shower and get your day started right later today so you can get your bearings, but, don't come down to this area late at night, ok?" He nodded again as his burger came and he remembered Doc's warnings about Prince Beach and Hotel Street and although something about Kimmy didn't seem quite Midwest normal, he felt safe with her around so agreed. Finished his meal and Kimmy picked up the tab and led him out of Joe's and around the corner and into her small tiki filled apartment.
Tiki gods and goddesses adorned Kim's apartment unabashedly plentiful. There was Pele and her consorts, bronzed warriors and warriorettes, standing silently as the incense burner on the table lifted sandalwood offerings to hidden thrones in hidden month to month temples, utilities included, above the clouds and just a little left of visual reality. Mickey had never seen so much statuary in miniature before. A tiny, minuscule movie set straight out of a Jap Godzilla movie where nuclear plants wait to get wasted in order to feed the uranium hunger of the beast. Kim handed Mickey a bathrobe, a long man's kimono really, with lotus blossoms and intricate temples on it, peaceful art like zen, and then she went to brew tea while