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datatime: 2022-09-30 17:16:15 Author:acRHbQiD

Pearl sure seemed like an all-American girl.

The slender, smoothly handsome nisei-black hair trimmed military short (he was in ROTC at the Manoa campus)-was casual at the wheel of his dark blue '38 Ford convertible sedan; his sportshirt was a lighter blue, his trousers white, his shoes the slippers so common on the island (Hully was wearing a pair himself).

Colonel, Sterling said, "I can't agree-I know nothing here can be clearly defined as manifestly dangerous to security ... but the general tone of the conversation, in light of suspicious activity by a German 'sleeper' agent, and the Jap Consulate burning their papers ... Wooch, damnit, man-I have a sick feeling about this."

The slender, smoothly handsome nisei-black hair trimmed military short (he was in ROTC at the Manoa campus)-was casual at the wheel of his dark blue '38 Ford convertible sedan; his sportshirt was a lighter blue, his trousers white, his shoes the slippers so common on the island (Hully was wearing a pair himself).

Hell, Sterling said with a laugh. The FBI man gulped down the rest of his rum punch. "I was just hoping I was full of crap."

Hully had gained his awareness, limited though it might be, through his friendship with Sam Fujimoto, the son of their maid at the Niumalu. Sam-a senior in prelaw at the University of Hawaii-had shown Hully the local ropes, when the mainlander had first arrived.

This afternoon, Hully needed his friend's help, for two reasons. First, he needed wheels-his father had taken the Pierce Arrow to the Shriner game. Second, he needed a tour guide-because, despite whatever scant familiarity he had with local Asian customs, Hully felt that would not be enough for where he needed to go.

You and I, we only knew Pearl through the Niumalu, Hully said. "The only people in her life that we know, too, are musicians, hotel staff and guests."

Maybe it is worth talking to him. Sam had never dated Pearl, but he knew her a littie, had spoken to her a few times. "But it'll probably be a dead end. My feeling is, she distanced herself from anything... overtly Japanese." He shrugged. "A lot of my generation do."

And boyfriends like Bill and that Stanton character, who met her there.

Coast haoles saw only the Orient, a nonspecific Asia crammed into a few blocks-sleazy storefronts and Shinto shrines, silk shops and tattoo parlors, bathhouses and Buddhist temples, live chickens and dead ducks, coffee shops and chop suey joints, incense and strangely aromatic spices mingling with the sickly-sweet perfume of the nearby pineapple canneries and the salty stench of the marshlands below the city.

Nodding, Fielder rose; the two men shook hands. "See you there."

Then I'll meet with him on his goddamn front porch. I have to insist, Colonel. These Moris are on my list of potentially disloyal Japs. I'm positive this call means something-something's definitely in the wind.

And Colonel Fielder headed toward the tavern and its parking lot. "I think you're doing the right thing," Burroughs said.

Still, much of mis eluded the average haole, particularly the typical tourist, because on the one hand, Hawaii worked hard at its Polynesian image-Waikiki wallowed in it-and on the other, Hawaii was insistent upon its American status, indignantly reminding forgetful mainlanders that they were in the United States, not some foreign land.

Coast haoles saw only the Orient, a nonspecific Asia crammed into a few blocks-sleazy storefronts and Shinto shrines, silk shops and tattoo parlors, bathhouses and Buddhist temples, live chickens and dead ducks, coffee shops and chop suey joints, incense and strangely aromatic spices mingling with the sickly-sweet perfume of the nearby pineapple canneries and the salty stench of the marshlands below the city.

Still, much of mis eluded the average haole, particularly the typical tourist, because on the one hand, Hawaii worked hard at its Polynesian image-Waikiki wallowed in it-and on the other, Hawaii was insistent upon its American status, indignantly reminding forgetful mainlanders that they were in the United States, not some foreign land.

Hully had gained his awareness, limited though it might be, through his friendship with Sam Fujimoto, the son of their maid at the Niumalu. Sam-a senior in prelaw at the University of Hawaii-had shown Hully the local ropes, when the mainlander had first arrived.

And Colonel Fielder headed toward the tavern and its parking lot. "I think you're doing the right thing," Burroughs said.

But despite the name, in Chinatown, the Japanese (and the Filipinos, too, for that matter) vastly outnumbered the Chinese, though the white tourists, coming and going from the main port at the foot of Nuuanu Street, rarely knew the difference, much less noticed how the Japanese and Chinese merchants kept their distance from each other, even when jammed side by side.

And Colonel Fielder headed toward the tavern and its parking lot. "I think you're doing the right thing," Burroughs said.

You and I, we only knew Pearl through the Niumalu, Hully said. "The only people in her life that we know, too, are musicians, hotel staff and guests."

Fielder sighed heavily. He finished off his rum punch and said, "All right, you stubborn s.o.b. Can you meet me at my quarters at six o'clock?" "Yes. Absolutely."

Fielder crushed his cigarette out in a little metal ashtray. He was nodding. "Fair enough. I'll tell General Short you want an appointment, Monday morning."

And boyfriends like Bill and that Stanton character, who met her there.

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