Unknown Victim by Kay Hadashi (classic books for 11 year olds .TXT) 📕

she knew at home, or if it was a classier place. She suspected it might be on the lower end of things, if it served Tuyo beer, which was turning out to have a bad reputation, even with the Filipinos she’d asked about it.

She felt a little over-dressed in a silk blouse and a skirt as she drove the old Datsun across town. She had to remind herself that the real reason she was going to Bunzo’s Bar in particular was to see if they served Tuyo beer, and if not, where she could find it. She also had to admit that simply investigating something was giving her a minor thrill, once again allowing use of her old hard-earned police training, even if it was just for an hour or two. If someone happened to flirt with her, that would be icing on the cake.

“Can’t get stupid with this, Gina,” she told herself as she drove. She needed to peek at the map she had marked for where she needed to go. She was headed back to the same part of town she’d gone to the day before to check out Pinoy Boy’s Emporium, even the same street, only a few blocks away. “Not a cop, nor an investigator. I just want to get to the bottom of where that bottle cap came from. That’s it. Once I get my answer, I finish my drink and get out.”

Waiting for a traffic light to change, she checked her face and teeth in the rearview mirror. She was already getting more suntanned than she’d ever been in her life, even at the end of long Cleveland summers. The humidity was playing tricks with her wavy hair, and if it had been shorter, she figured she could tease it into an afro.

“Not trying to solve a possible murder, which is the direction Detective Kona is leaning with the dead man’ death. I just want to know who the guy was, and why he was sleeping on my front porch every day.” Giving the little truck some gas, she got going through the intersection. “The Tanizawa’s front porch. Somebody’s front porch.”

She drove past Pinoy Boy’s. Instead of a couple of punks hanging around out front, there were two young ladies that were trying a little too hard to ply their wares. They were just far enough from the lights of the store that Gina couldn’t get a good look at them, but their profession was unmistakable.

“It’s the same thing everywhere, I guess. A couple of streetwalkers waving to horny guys in cars are gonna be ignored by the police on New Year’s Eve.”

In a few more blocks, she found Bunzo’s Bar. The only tiki thing about it were the palm trees painted on the dingy windows. At least the windows hadn’t been boarded over, meaning it was still a bar and not an XXX dance hall. Otherwise, it was a simple wood frame building in need of a coat of paint.

If the sidewalk in front of Pinoy Boy’s was light in action, Bunzo’s was busy. Half a dozen young men of various races—apparently Honolulu’s version of Little Italy guidos—were hanging around chatting up young women. What Gina couldn’t tell was if they were on dates, or if the women were looking for dates. Whatever was going on, they were working hard to find some companionship.

Gina parked in one of the last spaces available in the lot. This time, she backed in, and as always with the old Datsun, left the door unlocked. As she walked to the front door of the bar, she scanned the other cars looking for unmarked police cars. There weren’t any, but she did notice more crappy cars than nice ones. That right there would’ve put off her sister Ana from going in.

Maybe because she was a new competitor in the game, Gina turned heads as she went past the guys hanging around the front door. A couple of them made what sounded like wise-guy remarks, but one at least opened the door for her. She could also tell she was being watched by the women, as though she was fresh competition for them.

1980s MTV generation music was being played a little too loudly on a sound system that needed new speakers. There was something that looked like a dance floor in one corner and was being ignored. Every chair at every table was filled by women, and men stood over them trying their best at projecting the machismo image. Almost all of them were dark-haired, just like she’d expect to find in a Little Italy bar back home, except this crowd was speaking a Filipino language, mixing in English from time to time.

The only places to sit were at the bar. She took a stool at the far end near the narrow hallway that led to the back somewhere. With any luck, it would lead to the restrooms and wherever Bunzo kept his stock of booze. She was hoping that if she were sneaky enough, she’d be able to take a quick look at his stock to see if he had Tuyo.

A middle-aged bartender with tidy hair and a comically large nose tossed a napkin on the counter in front of Gina. He was the only white guy in there.

“White wine,” she told him.

“House or the good stuff?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dollar a glass.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. I feel like splurging.”

Gina knew there’d be no difference, that cheap ‘Box-of-Wine’ stuff would’ve been decanted into an old bottle with a classy label. She watched as he made a show of pouring it anyway.

“Tab?” he asked when he set it in front of her.

“Why not?”

He made a note on a card and stuck that on his side of the bar where she couldn’t see. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“First time.”

“Meeting someone?”

“I hope not. Not tonight, anyway.”

He leaned across the bar. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for something better to come along. This is about as good as it gets in here.”

“I’ll remember