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

sleeves,” she muttered. She watched as he went by, waiting to see the back of it. “Oahu Cable. That’s the same windbreaker.”

Gina hung around outside the restroom waiting for the man to emerge. She never heard the toilet flush or the water run before he came out. He stalled when he saw her and took a corrective step before he got started again. He gave Gina a clumsy but polite salute, before struggling to walk in a straight line.

Gina went after him. “Hey, bud, I want to talk to you.”

He kept walking when she caught up with him. He gave her another smile that was more related to what he’d just inhaled, consumed, or smoked in the restroom.

“How long have you lived here at the park?” she asked him.

“You another one of them homeless…what’re they called?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“They come here sayin’ they’re on our side. Wanna protect us.”

“Church people?” she asked, trying to make sense of what he was going on about.

“Nah. Wanna be our voice. Young people, most of the time women. They wanna find a better place for us to live. That kind of people.”

“Advocates?”

He snapped his fingers but without creating a snapping sound. “That’s right.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” When he caught his toe on something, she steadied him. It took a little effort but she had him stop walking aimlessly. “You alright?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Fine’n dandy.”

“Looks like it.” Gina knew anything he had to say to an official investigator wouldn’t hold up in court, simply because he was high. He also might be high enough to let loose some information that could be useful to her. Since rules didn’t apply to her because she wasn’t an official investigator, Gina proceeded with her interview. She got out her phone and brought up the image of the dead man. “This guy look familiar to you?”

“Danny boy.”

“You know him? His name’s Danny?”

“Danny boy no more here.”

“Where is he?” When the man began to drift away, she patted his cheeks, maybe a little too hard if she’d still been a cop. “Where’d Danny boy go?”

“Danny boy gone dead.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Maybe she was getting somewhere with the guy. She still had more questions, but he was almost gone to his alternate lonely world by then. “Where’d you get this jacket?”

“Danny boy…”

“Hey, I asked you a question. Where’d you get the windbreaker?”

“Danny boy…”

When he looked close to collapsing, Gina helped him to a picnic table and sat him down. Watching his head drift down until his chin rested on his chest, she knew her interview was done. Wondering what he was high from, she slid the sleeves of his thin nylon jacket up to his elbows. Sure enough, he had a pinprick in one forearm.

Someone crawled out from under the tarp that was attached to the other side of the picnic table with thumbtacks. With only a glance at the woman who came out, Gina discovered how the tropics were unkind to freckled complexions. A bad perm and dye job mostly grown out sat on the top of the woman’s head, and the few pieces of clothing she wore needed discard more than laundering.

“What’re you doin’ to Jon-Jon?”

Gina slid the man’s sleeves down again. “Nothing. Just making sure he’s okay.”

“He didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Except inject himself with heroine.”

“You the new social worker the city sent?” the woman asked.

“No. Just asking a few questions.”

“You’re a cop?”

Gina positioned the man so he wouldn’t fall over. “You guys don’t like cops here, do you?”

“Every day, they come around and bust someone for doing nothing. Nothing, you know? Then just as soon as we get settled, they come with trucks and move us out to somewhere else, saying stuff like Honolulu gets a lot of visitors and the place has to look nice for them. What’s wrong with us? We don’t look nice?”

“Maybe they want a place for families to come, a safe place for their kids to run around and play?”

The redhead curled a lip. “We got kids around here. They play. Our kids can’t play in the park?”

Gina needed to change the direction her new interview was going back to her agenda. “Know anything about Jon-Jon’s windbreaker?”

“Why? Are you taking it away from him?”

“No. I’m just wondering how long he’s had it and where he might’ve got it.”

“Girlie, get your own windbreaker.”

“I would, if I knew where to find one just like Jon-Jon’s,” Gina said.

The redhead lit the stub of an old cigarette. “What’s so special about his?”

“I like the colors. You know where Jon-Jon got his or not?”

The redhead burned the stub down to the filter in one long drag. “I don’t care about that stuff.”

Gina didn’t bother thanking the woman. Instead, she walked a few steps away and made a phone call. She positioned herself so she could keep an eye on stoned Jon-Jon while she waited for the call to be answered.

“Detective Kona, this is Gina Santoro. Sorry to call on a weekend.”

“Miss Santoro, good to hear your voice.”

She chuckled. “Why?”

“It means you made it home safe and sound last night. Please don’t tell me you’ve found another body?”

She watched Jon-Jon on a tour in his personal netherworld. “Not yet. Tell me, what happens in Honolulu if someone is found stoned on heroine? Does anyone care?”

“I’m not going to ask why you’re asking me that. Is there a problem?”

“I’m at Kapalama Park and have come across someone that looks more stoned than necessary.”

“Why are you there? When I suggested that you visit some of the tourist sites, looking for addicts wasn’t what I had in mind. There are nicer parks in Honolulu to visit.”

“Just learning my way around the city. What should I do with this guy?”

“Is he breathing?” Kona asked.

“Yeah.”

“Leave him alone. How do you know he’s high on heroine?”

“Needle mark on his forearm, slurred speech, staggering gait. I had to sit him down before he fell down.”

“You didn’t go through his pockets, did you?”

“I know better than that. I’m not getting