Remembering Jack Lord

May 2013

 

Some Enchanted Evening

Written by Vrinda

Steve McGarrett stepped into the apartment on the seventh floor. He was tired and it had been a long day. The living room was in darkness, but that soon changed once Steve turned on the lights. The first thing he saw was Samantha, his beloved Burmese kitten, a gift from Danno five years ago. That made her hardly a kitten now, but a full-grown molly. To Steve, she was still his baby. Samantha meowed loudly, as if in disdain towards her master for leaving her alone. Burmese are very social cats who love attention and hate to be alone.

“I’m sorry, Sammie,” Steve replied. “Let me make it up to you.” Just a few strokes of Samantha’s thick, velvet black coat and a bowl of her favorite chicken livers would soothe her temperance. “Here you go, Honey.” Steve placed the bowl in front of her.

Samantha let out a more cheerful, “Meow,” as if to accept Steve’s token of apology. She stepped forward and started chomping on the chicken livers. The sight warmed Steve’s heart, and he kept running his hand along Sammie’s back. After a few minutes of that, Steve got up and went into the living room.

The walls were painted a light, creamy orange. The beige curtains covered sliding glass doors that led to a lanai. The carpet was the same shade of beige. The wall on the right, as Steve entered, contained bookshelves fully-stocked with modern and 19th-century fiction, reference books, legal volumes, and other non-fiction. It was an ever-growing collection, which made Steve was glad he still had space left on those shelves for more books.

Steve was not in any mood to read tonight, though. He took off his jacket, hung it on the coat rack by the door, and then stepped onto the lanai to bask in Hawaii’s sunset. Despite seeing it every evening since he first came to these islands in the late fifties, Steve never tired of the brilliant, flame-colored orb as it slowly drifted downwards in the sky. The sight filled him with peace, which he needed after a day of chasing criminals and being exposed to the sleazy underbelly of the world.

The last glow of pink sunset faded, dimming the Honolulu skyline into a mass of differently-sized gray blocks. Steve went back inside, slid the glass door into place, locked it, and pulled the two curtains so they met in the middle. He lumbered into the kitchen to see what was in the refrigerator and found yesterday’s spaghetti and some garlic bread. After warming them on the stove, placed them on a plate, and carried it the living room. 

As Steve was eating, he mulled over a case that Five-O started investigating that morning. When you’re the chief of police, you have crime on your mind all day and night. It never goes away. You eat, sleep, and breathe crime. He stopped himself, realizing that when he entered these doors, his life was his own, and no one else’s misfortunes should permeate here. Let the gumshoeing wait till morning,  the top cop thought.

Steve wasn’t going to solve a murder tonight. He twirled the last of the spaghetti onto his fork and into his mouth and nibbled the remainder of the garlic bread. He went into the bedroom, painted an ocean blue in contrast to its opposite color in the living room. Taking off his clothes, he tossed them onto the yellow comforter that covered his bed and went into the bathroom.

The warm water from the shower soothed and warmed him. It was a welcoming feeling, which seemed to literally as well as figuratively wash away all of Steve’s excess baggage from the outside world. He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, then headed back into the bedroom. He wanted do something fun tonight, but didn’t know what. He didn’t have long to plan his next move when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hi, Steve,” came the familiar male voice. “Are you free tonight? We can really use your help.”

“Sure, Admiral,” Steve replied. “I’m on my way.”

“See you then.”

Steve changed into a white shirt, emerald green ascot, forest green cardigan, and khaki pants, stepped into a pair of white walking shoes. 

“See you in a few hours, Sammie,” Steve said. “Love you!” Sammie’s only response was an indignant meow at being left alone again.

The Admiral was Steve’s former commanding officer when he was in Naval Intelligence. Now retired and devoting his time to charity work, he could always count on Steve to lend a hand. As Steve pulled up to the building, he could hear children laughing and music playing. The Admiral came out to greet Steve, shaking his hand vigorously.

“Glad you could make it, Steve,” he said. “The children were asking if Uncle Steve was coming tonight.”

“I didn’t think we’d be doing this again,” Steve said. “The orphanage is on limited funds. Hosting a party for the kids each month must be a strain on their wallet.”

“Not with the money you and Five-O raised with that car wash and bake sale. You make a great cheesecake.” The Admiral opened the door and ushered Steve inside. When the kids saw Uncle Steve, their eyes lit up and they ran to and jumped on him, nearly toppling him over.

“All right, kids, I missed you, too.” Steve took as many of them as he could and wrapped his arms around them. Steve picked up the youngest child, a little girl with black hair in a pink dress, and carried her to a chair. Seating her on his lap, with the other children filling up the rest of the space on Steve’s lap, the armrests, and the floor, Steve opened up the story book the Admiral handed him and started reading out loud.

“Once upon a time …”

 

 

The End of the Day?

Written by Barbara

Steve walked briskly through the door of his beachfront cottage, and then slowly leafed through the mail. Transitioning from the breakneck pace of a typical workday to the slower step of private life required a conscious process. As part of that effort, Steve inhaled deeply and then expelled his breath gradually. He glanced at his answering machine, but no light was visible. He managed a wan smile. He couldn’t help it! As head of Five-0 there really was no such thing as down time. He had to be prepared to jumpstart his adrenaline at a moment’s notice. Not that he minded; he simply knew no other way.

Steve poured himself a glass of iced tea, and then move out to the lanai. The palm trees swayed gently to the rhythm of the ocean breeze. Steve drank his iced tea as he took in the view, allowing his mind to drift along with the soft wind. When was the last time he had gone out to the dinner? When was the last time he had invited a special lady to join him? It was so long ago that even he did not know. Steve shook his head, yet smiled. It was sometimes a lonely life. He felt something like a rock star. He moved swiftly upon the stage of his life, playing to the masses. Late in the day would find him alone again.

He needed to turn his mind off and give his brain a rest. It was still too early to retire, but too late to go out. No tennis or sailing. A run along the beach at dusk. But first a sandwich or stir-fry -- he was an accomplished cook, although he kept this a hidden trait! -- and then he would change into jogging clothes.

Then the phone rang. “Hello,” Steve answered. “Boss? This is Chin. Big trouble.” “I’ll be right down,” Steve replied. The end of this day would have to wait until the early hours of the next day!

 

 

Lasagne

Written by Jean

Steve opened the door of his 9th floor apartment, the aroma of a home made lasagne wafted out, "mm that smells good" he thought. May had been his housekeeper for 15 years, she always prepared him something hot or cold, when he was actually at home. Whether or not he ate it was another thing. This evening he would relish a good dinner. The first thing he wanted was a shower, it was good to be home after the harrowing week he'd had. He went to the window to look at the magnificent view of his beloved city, He never tired of looking at it. He closed the drapes, then took off his suit and hung it in the closet, He took off the rest of his clothes and placed them in the laundry bin for May to deal with next day. When he had showered he dressed in casual slacks and colourful shirt.

He padded through to the kitchen in his bare feet to get himself a cool drink, checked the lasagne was not overcooking, Does May think I need to put on weight? he thought, smiling. The lasagne was huge. He took his drink into the living room and sat down on the comfortable sofa, his apartment was beautifully furnished, although manly it wasn't heavy mostly light wood with a highly polished finished to reflect light. The only dark piece of furniture was an antique bureau which had been his father's, which he treasured above all things. He had an eye for art and had two original paintings one of which was a beautiful Japanese garden scene, which he had acquired whiltst in the navy. It made him feel tranquil when he sat and looked at it.

He needed to be tranquil now as he had been in Singapore for nearly a week. He'd had a call from a woman he had encountered on a case last year, but she had refused to testify at that time, Her name was Nicole Freyer and she was hysterical, she had said she was now willing to testify. She insisted Steve go and get her as she knew she could trust him. The criminal involved was a drug smuggler and murderer, Steve badly wanted to get him. So he flew over and found Nicole hiding at the back of a run down hotel, He had asked the help of the local chief inspector, who turned out to be in the pay of the crook, so Steve and Nicole had to run, they ended up in a ship and travelled as husband and wife. Steve had found he was attracted to Nicole, as he had the year before, and she had, in fact, made a pass at him in their shared cabin, but he had found out that there was an enemy aboard and daren't be distracted, he was on duty after all. All the same it took a lot of his will power to resist.

Well he wasn't on duty now and he couldn't get the thought of her out of his mind. She was in a safe house now, but he could bring her back to his apartment. He picked up the phone and dialed HPD and Yjey put him through to her.

"Hi Nicole, Steve here, are you o.k. getting over your ordeal, "it was your ordeal as well. she whispered. " I was thinking as I am not on duty and my housekeeper has made a lasagne big enough to feed an army, would you like to come over and share it with me, and maybe we could pick up our discussion we had on the ship, don't worry I will come and pick your up, you know you will be safe with me." she sighed "Oh Steve I thought you would never ask".

 

 

Not An Omen

Written by Steve's Girl

"Too far, too far," Stephen J. McGarrett, captain of the British East India Company, muttered.

To avoid the southwest monsoon, he had chosen the so called "Eastern Passage" to take the packet ship Antelope of which he was commander from Macau back to England.

The strong gales with heavy rains to match had pushed Antelope too far in the easterly direction. Night had fallen hours ago, and Antelope was at the mercy of the elements and drifting towards the coral reefs of Ulong Island, part of Palau in the North Pacific. There was a sharp crunching noise as she finally collided with some submarine rock.

 

Steve suddenly awoke, trying to focus and to remember where he was and what had happened.

That noise – and then it came back to him. He had come home after a hectic day at work, taken a quick shower, changed and sat down on his lanai, taking with him the book the governor had given him as a present on his fiftieth birthday three months ago: 1788 Keate's Pelew Islands Book Maps. Steve had not had the time to go through it thoroughly, but had browsed through it now and then as he had done tonight.

"Where is the book," Steve mused. Then, he saw it lying in front of his chair, on the floor. Sliding from Steve's lap and falling on the floor of the lanai was the noise he had thought to be the Antelope shipwrecking on the rocks off Ulong.

Steve chuckled inwardly. That dream certainly was not an omen. My ship Five-0 won't be brought off course by whatever winds will be blowing. At least not if I can help it.

He picked the book up from the floor, stepped inside, closed the doors to the lanai, and went to bed to catch a few hours of sleep before he would return to the bridge of Five-0.

 

 

Friday Night

Written by H50 1.0 FOREVER

Steve McGarrett never left the office before his detectives, unless he were en route to carry out a function of his job. And, so, it was after 6:00 before he descended the koa wood staircase and made his way out to his car. It was not the black Mercury, which was in the shop for routine maintenance. Rather, it was his personal car, a sports coupe – royal blue with mag wheels, white-wall tires, front bucket seats, and automatic transmission on the console.

Steve placed his briefcase on the floor of the back seat, shed the coat of his suit and his tie, and stepped in behind the wheel. The car started easily and soon glided onto South King Street in the direction of Waikiki. There, the chief investigator lived on the third floor of a small, less well known building.

After claiming his mail in the lobby, he took the elevator upstairs and let himself into his apartment. He carried his mail and his briefcase into the second bedroom, which he had furnished as a study. It featured a handsomely carved desk, a legacy to him from his last commanding officer; several bookcases, which were filled to capacity; and pictures of the USS Arizona, on which his father had served, and the USS Enterprise, on which he had served.

Continuing on to his bedroom, he closed the louvered shutters over the windows. The room was furnished in a mid-century style with a double bed, matching nightstands, a triple dresser, and a chest of drawers. He shed his suit and, after showering, donned a white cotton turtleneck sweater with matching linen slacks, navy double-breasted linen blazer, and black oxfords. He donned a pair of rimless glasses, placed his wallet and keys in his pockets, and left the apartment.

Taking the elevator up to the seventh floor, he rang the doorbell to the penthouse apartment. It was home to a retired Army general. Steve was admitted by a houseboy, who led him into the general’s sumptuous library. There, gathered around a large, felt-top table, were four other retired officers. They were a diverse group, representing both genders, all five branches of the military, and the ranks of lieutenant colonel, commander, colonel, general, and admiral. Steve was the commander.

Steve removed two bills from his wallet and exchanged them for a like sum in poker chips. As he took his customary seat facing the windows overlooking the Ko‘olau Mountains, the houseboy placed a glass of beer before him.

“Good of you to join us tonight, Commander,” the general said. “I plan to clean you out within the first hour.”

“The best laid plans of mice and men, General,” Steve replied.

The others chuckled but said nothing as the colonel began dealing the cards.

The men had played five hands – two of which Steve had won – when the houseman served plates of Oriental delicacies, which could be eaten as the men continued to play.

“Did you remember to slip a sleeping powder into the commander’s egg roll?” the Air Force colonel asked through a wicked grin.

“What’s the matter, Colonel? Do you need help winning?” Steve asked in reply.

“Actually, the colonel could win easily if he would stop humming ‘off we go into the wild blue yonder’ whenever he has more than two face cards,” the admiral remarked.

“Quiet, man! How else are we supposed to know what he’s holding?”the general erupted.

 

Shortly after 11:00, when the game disbanded, Steve made his way down to the fourth floor and let himself into an apartment. Making his way quietly to the bedroom, he shed his clothes and slipped into bed. As the delicate aroma of her perfume wafted forth, the figure beside him rolled toward him and gave him a kiss.

“Did you win?” her soft voice asked.

“A few hands,” Steve replied as he drew the figure into his arms. “You win the raffle?”

“A big one, too. A 20-pound turkey.”

Steve gave a low chuckle and said, “You’ll be eating turkey until you’re old and gray.”

“Silly! I donated it to the shelter. It will go to help feed the homeless on Thanksgiving.”

“You always did have a kind heart. Now, why don’t you show some of that kindness to this old cop and marry me?”

“Careful, McGarrett. One of these nights, I just might accept.”

Steve sat up and turned on the light. “Miss Wylie, did it ever occur to you that I want you to accept?”

Nicole studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. “It would never work. I like my freedom, and so do you.”

“Oh? Do you have two or three other boyfriends hiding under the bed?” he asked as he lifted the dust ruffle and looked under the box springs. “Oh! Hi, Joe! This isn’t your night, so give us a little privacy, why don’t you.”

“You silly!” Nicole exclaimed. “You know I don’t see anyone but you.”

“Then, let’s make it official.”

“For the umpteenth time, no!” she insisted.

“You know what the other detectives say about me, don’t you?” Steve asked her. “That I’m unlucky at love. Do you know what that means? That I can’t get and keep a woman. That’s an insult.”

“It’s also a lie,” she replied.

“Is it?” he asked as he arose.

He took up his clothes, ducked into the bathroom, and dressed. Leaving the apartment, he went downstairs to his own apartment. As he made his way across the living room, he took a cigar from a drawer where he had put it after Chin Ho had given it to him. He walked onto his lanai and lit it. He stood at the railing and stared off, into the night.

 

 

Kono Kalakaua Hits Waikiki

Written by H50 1.0 FOREVER

It never took Kono long on a Friday night to shed his workday suit, climb into his aloha threads, and make his way to Waikiki. Each Friday and Saturday night, he and his best buddies, Moki and Keoni, performed at a dive located off Kuhio, Mr. Bojangles. Once upon a time, a haole owner had named the place after the ‘60s song. The haole was long gone, but the name remained.

Moki, Kono, and Keoni called themselves The MKKs. Kono had wanted to call the group The Kalakaua Strip, but Moki and Keoni had objected for obvious reasons. The new owner of Mr. Bojangles had, too; his venue wasn’t strictly on the Kalakaua strip, after all.

When the group was announced, the drums rolled, the lights grew dim, and the MKKs darted onstage. Those unfamiliar with them might have expected them to break into an Elvis-like rendition of a hard-driving rock-and-roll song. Instead, the threesome cracked wise in Pidgin’ English, then crooned sleepy, moonlit Hawaiian love songs, some from the modern day and some from days gone by. Always, the surprise came at the end of the performance, when the non-haole owner of Mr. Bojangles introduced the threesome and explained that they were detectives with the HPD and Five-0.

The audience would laugh merrily. Invariably, someone could call loudly, “Book ‘em, Danno!”

Kono would step forward, feigning a frown of intense disapproval, and demand to know, “Who you callin’ Danno, brah?”