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

“He made trouble for you?” Gina asked.

“More like I made trouble for him.” Finishing his job of breaking down boxes, the man shoved his sleeves up, got the broom that was leaning against the dumpster, and began sweeping cigarette butts into a pile. “After a while, he wised up.”

Just the act of exposing his arms brought a new world of information to Gina. On his right forearm was a long, skinny scab that was flaking off in places. Looking at his hands again, she wondered where the box cutter went.

“I bet he did. When was the last time you saw him here?”

“Couple weeks ago. Why’s a dead homeless drunk so interesting to the police?”

“The police have been here asking about him?” she asked.

“They are right now, aren’t they?”

“Just me here right now. I don’t see anybody that looks like the police.”

He chuckled. “I guess not.”

“What makes you think he was homeless?” she asked.

“Wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

The man flicked his pile of debris under the dumpster, ending his chore. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Yeah. I want to know how your margaritas are.”

“Best in town.”

“Prove it.” He led Gina into the building, where she took a stool at the bar, the one Detective Kona had used the night before. She watched as he washed his hands at the bar sink, carefully avoiding the long scab on his forearm. He assembled the bottles and blender on the counter. “You know what? Make it a virgin margarita. Still a little early in the morning.”

He nodded. When he flipped open the lid to the ice cabinet, he frowned at what he found. Grabbing a tool from a slot on his side of the counter, he began jabbing at the ice to break it apart. “If you’re not a cop, who are you?”

“You said his name was Danny?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“Yeah, Danny. He’d show up here about this time in the morning.”

The bartender continued to bust up the chunk of ice into smaller bits. Once he got what he needed, he tossed down the ice pick and scooped ice into the blender. Gina didn’t care about the ice, but took a long look at the pick. It was sturdy, with a heavy handle and long, thick stem. She wasn’t sure, and maybe it was her imagination kicking into overdrive, but it looked like it had a square cross section.

Once the blender was whirring with her drink, the bartender began to tidy up his counter, putting bottles back where they belonged. The last thing he did was rinse the ice pick in water before storing it in its slot again.

The margarita he served her was nothing to write home about. Even the salt around the rim was scant, in her worldview of margaritas. It wasn’t the coarser rock salt she liked, but granulated stuff that would be found in a shaker.

“Did Danny have a last name?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. What kind of beer did he drink?”

“Whatever was cheapest that day.”

“What’s considered a cheap beer in a fine establishment like this?” she asked. “American or foreign?”

“Bud, Miller, Pabst.”

“Nothing foreign?”

“We have some junk in back nobody likes. Can’t give the stuff away. How’s the margarita?” he asked.

“Good, for not having booze in it. Did he ever drink Tuyo beer?”

“Oh yeah, that’s why I remember you. You’re the one that had the Tuyo last night."

“I’m asking about Danny drinking the Tuyo, not me.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. I’m not the only bartender in this fine establishment.”

Gina was going to press her luck one last time that morning before going home to the weed patch called an estate. She got her phone again and found the picture she’d taken of the snapshot that had been in Danny’s wallet. “You recognize this lady and kid?”

“Can’t see nothing in that picture. Who are they?”

“Maybe somebody Danny used to know.” Gina had run out of things to ask him about, other than the scab on his arm. She’d also run out of interest in her drink. “How much for the drink?”

“Seven, if you’re paying cash. Ten if you’re sticking me with a credit card.”

“Seven dollars for a virgin margarita?”

“Would’ve been five if you’d got the tequila in it.”

“Keep the change. You answered questions without throwing me out.” Gina left him a ten, wondering why a real drink should cost less than a fake one. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Why? You think I’m gonna die pretty soon?”

“I hope not.”

Just as she was leaving through the door, he shouted out to her. “Hughes. I get off at five, if you want to have some fun.”

Gina went up the sidewalk to the Datsun.

“Yeah, fun. I wonder what fun is in that guy’s world?”

Chapter Sixteen

One thing Gina had learned during her landscape training was how to sketch. What she did that afternoon was sketch what she saw of the estate from the porch, and then sketch what she thought it could look like in a year’s time. It ended up looking not nearly as grand as the gardens at Kapalama.

She also had her yellow legal pad with all of her notes and timeline of what she wanted done with the various gardens. It was in the back of that pad of paper where she had her notes about her personal investigation, and the Venn diagrams she’d been drawing. That’s where she gravitated to.

In the middle of the page she wrote Danny. She drew a new diagram with all new circles. This time they overlapped with Danny’s name. One circle represented the Tuyo bottle cap. Along with that, she wrote Bunzo’s, the one place she knew Tuyo beer could be found. In the grass clippings circle, she wrote Kapalama Park, and noted the day of the week the grass had been mown was the day before Danny showed up on her porch with clippings stuck to his shoes, and how the clippings she’d collected that day were a very similar length