"Chin Ho," I'll tell them. "Chin Ho, Five-O."
"Ho Five Oh?"they'll say. "That's an unusual Chinese name, isn't it? I know a Ho Fong Oh, and a Cho Kong Do, but no Ho Five Oh."
"No. My last name is Kelly. Chin Ho Kelly. I work for Hawaii Five-O." I point to my badge. "See, Kelly, Chin Ho. Detective."
"Hawaii Five-O?" They'll say. There will be a pause, and then they ask the question I hate: "Ey, you know the guy? The good-looking haole guy? Oh, what's da buggah's name?"
They mean McGarrett. They all know McGarrett. Think he's the whole goddamn show. "McGarrett," I say. "Yeah, he's my boss."
And I hate him. Driving around the islands in that big black Cadillac while I have to bum a ride off Kono or Duke or whoever the other guy in our little foursome is. Been working for the Honolulu Police Department for over twenty years and I never even get my own car. Have to share a ride in a blue-and-white or tag along with whoever else is going. The only time McGarrett will let me ride in his car is when he needs someone to hold all the sodas and saimins when we go through the drive-thru at McDonalds. Even then, I'm in the back seat.
And this Five-O bureau. I mean, they create a special crime unit. Reports to the governor, they say. A major-case squad for unusual crimes, they say. So guys like me, years of service, first as a beat cop, then as a detective—us guys who've paid our dues—we thought we would try out for this. I mean who knows the islands better than us, right? We have families here, lived here all our lives et cetera, et cetera. And what happens? The State's Attorney hires some ring knocker from his days at the Naval Academy. Some haole guy who had never set foot in these islands, makes him the luna, the big boss. Damn Naval Intelligence nepotism.
So what's the first thing this McGarrett guy does? Pulls a new recruit out of the police academy and makes him second-in-command. Of course, this guy is a haole, too. Drives around all day with this Danny Williams. Even has a special name for him, a term of endearment: Dan-O. Like he owns him, Dan-O of Five-O. And what does he call us? Chin and Duke. Chin and Kono. Chin and Ben. This collective identity. As if we're always in groups. Like a couple of his own dobermans. Even when he is feeling close to us, his nickname for me is “fatso.” "You okay, fatso? Jump left next time, fatso," he tells me after I took a bullet in the shoulder for him. Fatso. Like it's some kind of virtue starving yourself like he does working 24 hours a day.
And so now we have the kid Danny Williams, second-in-command, ten, fifteen years my junior and why? Because no one can kiss McGarrett's okole like Dan-O. Always acting dumb, letting McGarrett come to the conclusion even though it was obvious to Duke or Kono or me long ago. I mean, the guy is just another dumb blonde. If you ever heard the talk in the squad room about the fair-haired Dan-O and his man, McGarrett, well. Not a healthy working relationship. Let me tell you, you aren't the only one who wonders why we never see a Mrs. McGarrett or even a girlfriend. For either of them.
So despite all of this, I decide to apply for this Five-O section. I mean it is a lot more money and prestige, and I think, well, maybe some good can come of this. High profile and all. Get my face on TV, get a little exposure, work regularly with the governor. Who knows, maybe one day, Police Commissioner Chin Ho Kelly. But the first day I step into the office McGarrett tells me, "Bring us all coffees, Chin."
I look around for the secretary but don't see her. "Yes, sir," I say.
"No," he tells me. "I don't want to hear you do it. I want it done."
And all of this wouldn't be so bad if I got any action on these exciting cases. But what does he have me do? Coordinate with the press, Chin. Question every taxicab driver on the island, Chin. Talk to all your informants, Chin, let me know what's going on at the docks. Tell the lab boys I need the results now, Chin. So I'm the one who gets my ass chewed out by Che Fong, the director of the forensics lab, about flouting regulations, that the world doesn't revolve around the needs of Five-O, and don't we know that they're busy with other murders, blah, blah, blah. So one day, I tell McGarrett, "Ey, boss. Maybe we can wait little while for the results, eh? Give someone else a chance."
And he tells me, "Chin, I don't like that attitude. From now on, when I tell you something, I want you to say, 'Good as done boss.' Just like that. Good as done."
“Kay'den,” I mumble.
"What?"
"Good as done, boss," I say.
Like me, I set everything up. I'm the one who gets all the witnesses and experts together. I contact the suspects and their lawyers. And then, in he waltzes, asks a few questions, gets a few answers, and feels done. Leaves me to do the follow-up. And you know why? He can't talk to the real local people. No can talk pidgin, ass'why.
On top of that, since he hasn't lived on the island for very long and has no contacts, he wants me to find everybody. Everytime a criminal escapes, he tells me, "You get on the horn and tell everyone in your family and hui to lookout for so and so. Armed and dangerous." Like my family needs more to do. Like our whole family belongs to HPD. So then I got to call my wife at work and tell her that she has to wait a little while before I can pick her up because I have to call all our relatives first. Then I got to listen to her complain while she tells me I should see somebody about this. But who can I turn to? McGarrett's boss? The governor?
And the guy expects me to know everything about the islands, especially if it relates to the Chinese community. Got upset with me one day when a fugitive escaped into a cane field and I couldn't tell him if the sugar cane was ready for harvest or not. I mean, our family hasn't worked in the cane fields for about three generations, and he asks me, "Is this ready to burn?" How should I know? Just because I'm part Chinese? I wouldn't ask McGarrett if he knew how to knit a kilt. Although knowing that jughead, he probably would.
I know I shouldn't complain. But sometimes I just get fed up, you know. Just sick of all the political okole kissing that goes on, and I just say things. Like when McGarrett wants us to "Run it down from the top." None of us has anything new to report, but he'll snap his fricking fingers at us—snap, snap, snap—and so we have to repeat the things we told him already.
"What does it add up to?" he'll ask.
"Nothing," I'll say.
Then McGarrett gives me this look and then launches into a new flurry of finger snapping along with his, "Just suppose…" or "What if…" and proposes one of his cockamamie theories about a Red Chinese communist conspiracy or a hippie takeover. And Danny? Dan-O will be right beside him, beaming like we're supposed to agree with McGarrett's lolo ideas.
Let me tell you, he was one unhappy cop when the kids started cutting their hair again.
But you know what really burns me up? It's this pension issue. Me and Kono and Duke and Truck, we're beat cops first, right? So we joined the union. Sometimes we have to play tough with the city, threaten to go on strike, make everyone uncomfortable, just to get what we deserve at the end of our thirty: the standard union annuity. But McGarrett? Works for the government. Part of the governor's staff. Gets one of those cushy upper echelon government pensions that tracks for inflation, even though both Duke and I have ten times more years of service to the force.
But I know who's pulling my chain. Who's leading the leash. So I don't act up. I try and stay out of the office, run all of his little damn things he's too stupid or too pretty to do. Because I got a family like everyone else, and I only need a few more years before I'm fully vested in the pension.
Don't tell him I know this, but I've actually heard him telling people, "I'm The Cop Who Cares." So what does that make the rest of us? Canned Spam? And what's this with the "Book 'em, Dan-O, murder one." The first time I heard that, I thought he was telling us to murder one of the suspects. I've never seen McGarrett arrest anybody but he's still the one who gets all the credit: golf with the governor on Wednesday afternoons, the time-share on Kauai with the state prosecutor. He probably can't even memorize the Miranda, which is why he makes Dan-O book everybody. All I can say is that it's a good thing he never told me, "Book 'em, Chin Ho." I'd have stepped on his white shoes and told him, "You go and book yourself. Just book off." 
Illustration by John Calvin
