It had always seemed ironic to Chan that the most mobbed-up pool hall in Honolulu sat a stone’s throw away from the Police Department. Every time he had played here back in high school, the island mafiosi were on full display, slouching around the shadowy, smoky tables in the dark rear.
Inside this largest pool hall in Honolulu, these men, always dressed in black, the uniforms of some not so secret army, pissed their lives away between stints at O‘ahu Prison. These were the Korean syndicate, men loyal to the Yu family.
This was Kalākaua Billiards. When Chan walked in, considering it was only late afternoon, the joint was jumping. Gi Yu might be moving the family business in the direction of legitimate enterprise, but her criminal crew still lurked in large numbers. Chan smiled, picturing them all as earnest realtors, or playing poorly at whatever career they pretended to pursue in this new Yu order.
He’d arrested probably half the people in the place, so Chan accepted he’d be recognized when he walked in. He felt fortunate then, because when he stepped through the doors, there was no one up front. Everyone stood grouped tightly in back, their attention focused on whatever was going on there.
Chan walked to the rear of the crowd unnoticed. Through the heads and the smoke, he could make out two men involved in a game of pool.
One, a short, pudgy Korean, his black hair slicked back with pomade, stood to the side, cue raised like a jousting lance. The other man was tall, over six feet, with a flat-top. He was indeed as thin as a beanpole, and he wore glasses that reflected the light as he bent to line up his shot. This, Chan knew instantly, was Wo Lai Chan, the Fat Man, Wo Fat in the flesh.
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterMonday, I wish you a good week ahead. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece somewhere I can read it. I would love to see it : )