Julie and the Jungle Girl

The Wheels Turn

The cruise ship carrying Kimi's foster family made it to Hawaii.

Though  the storm was powerful enough to damage the ship, it wasn't powerful  enough to sink it. It just did enough damage to force the ship to anchor  off some atoll Kiribati while the crew worked on the ship. Luckily, the  repairs weren't extensive and it only took about a day for them to make  the necessary repairs until they reached Hawaii. It took them a few  more days, to finally reach Honolulu, but they were late. Unfortunately.  The company wasn't going to be happy.

But Capt. Turan had to  remind them that it was better they got there safe, sound and intact,  then sink. Imagine the Senate hearings!

But they made the  1,300-mile trip with a limping ship that would need a little more  maintenance before it could sail back to Australia. Hey, if it means  more time in Hawaii, then the passengers were fine with that! Especially  since the hotel was on the company!

Capt. Turan had a favorite  bar in Honolulu that he liked to frequent whenever he came here. Said  bar was popular with foreign nationals, tourists and even locals,  despite not being a tourist-trap kind of bar, like so many bars that  probably drive Hawaiian locals of all stripes (white, black, Asian,  Native Hawaiian) CRAZY. Whatever. It was on N Hotel Street, nestled in a  square-shaped block of businesses, just a bit north (west) of the  downtown office buildings.

The bar itself wasn't a dive bar, or  like mentioned earlier, a tourist trap. It was just a local,  neighborhood bar that just happened to be popular with a wide range of  clientele. Today, however, it wasn't hopping, which is a good thing.  Bars are usually better when they're not hopping with people, and thus  they feel more like a secret meeting spot instead of an open cacophony.  Then again, if the bar's popular, then they must be doing something  right.

And though he is a practicing Muslim, Capt. Turan enjoyed  the occasional drink, as he sat down next to a man wearing an FBI cap.  Drunkenness was forbidden. Consumption of alcohol was not. Seriously,  there's verses in the Quran that support this. And there's no verses  that threaten hellfire if anyone actually DOES have a drink. And  besides, Turkey's pretty lax when it comes to alcohol—SHOT

Capt.  Turan ordered a lager and looked up at the screen to see a news story  about his ship. He sighed in frustration and exasperation. "ONE  passenger falls off my ship and it's all over the news," he bemoaned.

"Who was it?" the man in the FBI hat asked.

Capt.  Turan cursed himself for speaking out loud. "I can't tell you," he  said. "Because that would violate my passengers' privacy."

"Fine," the man in the FBI hat replied. "By the way, I didn't expect you to lose a passenger, Omer."

Capt.  Turan rolled his eyes and turned to the middle-aged man sitting next to  him. "Jack Klinsmann," he said, shaking the man's hand with a warm  smile. "How have you been?"

"Been going great," said Jack.

"Are you still with the FBI?"

"No, I've got a private firm now," said Klinsmann.

"Oh,  so you're going the Private Eye route," Capt. Turan said with a smile.  "Any dames come into your office looking for the Maltese Falcon?"

"Not  yet, but I'm keeping my eyes out," he said. He turned to the TV and the  story about the overboard passenger. "First time that's ever happened  to you?"

"Unfortunately," said Omer. "And I know who it was."

"Who?" Jack asked.

"I  can't tell you who, but I know where they are. I got a call from my  friend John Tamou a few days ago who told me that our missing passenger  washed ashore on Greystoke."