Barracuda by Mike Monahan

outdoor,
second-floor balcony. Micko sat out on the balcony and watched the
shoppers and tourists below. He was hungry since he had slept
through lunch on his flight.
    One of his favorite past times was people
watching, and this was an ideal spot. He ordered a BBQ sandwich on
a kaiser role will a beer chaser as he looked at the people passing
by, admiring the beautiful women below. He slowly nursed a few
beers until nightfall, and then headed back to his hotel.
Surprisingly, he had a very restful sleep.
    The receptionist woke him at seven a.m. as
directed, and Micko felt quite refreshed after his shower. He
looked out the window and saw that it was a beautiful day. He
noticed a line of people waiting to gain entrance to a rather
small-looking coffee shop.
    Since he was only on the third floor, he could
see the shop fairly well and saw that the name of the place was the
Sea Breeze. Let’s got see what they’re giving away there , he
thought.
    After dressing in a pair of black Dockers and a
white golf shirt, Micko walked to the small coffee shop and got in
line. A man wearing a bright blue shirt was walking up and down the
line, handing out cheap paper breakfast menus. Micko asked him,
“Why are there so many people here?”
    “Ah, you’re a new tourist,” he said with a
smile. “This is a small family-run business, and we have the best
breakfast at the best price. We are only open for breakfast and we
close at noon. My name is Frank, and my family and I are from
Chicago.”
    Frank had a good strong handshake. Funny, but
Micko could immediately tell if he liked someone by the first words
out of their mouths or their handshakes. With Frank, Micko liked
both.
    They shared some small talk until Micko entered
the shop and was seated at a solo window seat. He finally had a
chance to read the menu that Frank had handed him. Micko was amazed
at the cheap prices. He was quite content after breakfast, and the
tour bus was on time. It was the typical huge, fifty-passenger
monstrosity painted in local pastel colors to make it look
tropical. The bus made the rounds to all the hotels that had booked
passengers.
    The bus filled quickly, and a fat sweaty man
took the seat next to Micko.
    “Hi, I’m Buddy Burger from Raleigh, North
Carolina.” The fat man stuck out a sweaty paw in Micko’s
direction.
    Micko hesitantly shook it and said, “Hi, I’m
Mick O’Shaughnessy from the Big Apple.”
    “New York City? Wow! I’ve never been there. I
bet it must be very exciting living there.” Buddy went on and on
about New York then switched the topic to Raleigh, and his job as a
manure consultant. Micko smiled to himself as he thought what
shitty job poor Buddy had.
    He had never seen a man sweat so much in his
life. The bus was air conditioned, yet the sweat just poured off
Buddy. Micko felt that if the bus had not had A/C, he surely would
have drowned in a salty sea of the manure man’s sweat.
    The fat man was just beginning to explain how
important a manure consultant’s job was for farming when the PA
system came alive with the sound of a sweet young lady’s voice
announcing that she would be the tour guide.
    Buddy slithered into silence as the tour began
with a brief driving tour to the Indian Head Crater, with stops
along the way that included the Palti Lookout, the Byodo-In
Buddhist Temple, and Hanauma Bay.
    Micko was very pleased to have taken the tour.
He was very proud of his patriotism, and this tour of Pearl Harbor
buoyed his love for his country and fellow Americans. He could not
wait to begin diving on the historic wrecks in Bikini Atoll.
    On the return bus, Micko actually talked with
Buddy Burger and enjoyed it because the man was a fellow American.
Besides his proclivity to perspire, the chubby guy had a good sense
of humor and was a Vietnam vet. He had been in an artillery unit
and hadn’t seen much action, but he’d done his duty.
    Since they were fast becoming friends, Micko
asked, “Hey, Buddy, let me buy you a