“Damfino,” said the lieutenant. “Sounds Oriental, doesn’t it?”
Mike looked the man over carefully, but rapidly. “But you’re not Oriental—or at least, not much. You look Polynesian to me.”
“Hit it right on the head, Commander. Hawaiian. My real name’s Kekuanaoa, but nobody could pronounce it, so I shortened it to Keku when I came in the Service.”
Mike gave a short laugh. “That accounts for your size. Kekuanaoa. A branch of the old Hawaiian royal family, as I recall.”
“That’s right.” The big Hawaiian grinned. “I’ve got a kid sister that weighs as much as you. And my granddad kicked off at ninety-four weighing a comfortable four-ten.”
“What’d he die of, sir?” Multhaus asked curiously.
“Concussion and multiple fractures. He slammed a Ford-Studebaker into a palm tree at ninety miles an hour. Crazy old ox; he was bigger than the dam’ automobile.”
The laughter of three big men filled the instrument room.
After a few more minutes of bull throwing, Keku ground out his cigarette and stood up. “I’d better get to my post; Black Bart will be calling down any minute.”
At that instant the PA system came alive.