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The Hawskbill Bar chain was a local one, decorated in what my father called “Early Fishnet,” with colorful Japanese glass fishing floats nestled in old rope nets, pieces of driftwood serving as restroom signs, and other faux nautical décor. I directed Ray to the branch on Salt Lake Boulevard near the Aloha Stadium. Mike and I had been there many times, often taking advantage of their happy hour specials.
Ray parked next to a pickup truck decorated with the bar’s signature Hawksbill turtle, along with lots of slogans and bumper stickers, then walked inside. A guy with a Mohawk was up on a ladder, replacing a light bulb, and we waited until he was finished. “You Cinco?” I asked.
He turned around. “Oh, hey, you’re Kimo. I’ve seen your picture around Gunter’s. Nice to finally meet you.”
He pointed at the ladder. “Gunter called and said you were coming over. Let me just clean up my crap and we can talk. You want a beer? It’s on me.”
“Sorry, we’re still on duty,” I said.
“We’ve got Waialua root beer on tap,” he said.
I looked at Ray, and he nodded. “We could take two of those.”
We sat down at a table near the door, and the waitress, a petite, busty Filipina in a Daisy Duke top and hot pants, brought us our drinks. Cinco joined us a couple of minutes later, carrying a mug of the real stuff.
“You work here?” I asked, as he sat down.
“I work for the chain. I go around taking care of maintenance stuff. That’s how I met Gunter. He was sitting at the bar over in Waikiki and I had to ask him to move so I could get access to a hatch.” He smiled. “He’s been moving for me ever since.”
I was still thinking over the idea that Gunter could be monogamous with someone, and then wondering why he hadn’t told me about Cinco. We’d been friends with benefits for a few years, before I settled down with Mike, and Gunter usually loved to dish on his sexual conquests to me, trying to tease me about all I was missing by confining myself to one guy’s dick, ass and mouth.
Now he was doing the same thing, and bashful about revealing it. Interesting.
“You know a guy named Pika Campbell?” Ray asked.
Cinco nodded. “He used to work at the gym where I work out.”
“Any idea where we can find him? We’ve already ruled out the Iolani Palace.”
Cinco laughed. “Pika got a kick out of using that address. But yeah, I know where he lives. Or at least where he used to—last time I was there was about six months ago. He got plastered and I drove him home.”
“He gay?” I asked.
“Pika? No way. Hundred percent straight. Though he does have a bromance going on.”
I looked at Ray. There had been two guys in the limo with Fields and the elderly woman, and there’d been someone driving the limo when I saw Campbell on Saturday night in Waikiki.
“First things first,” Ray said. “You remember his address?”
“Couldn’t tell you the house number, but I’d recognize it if I saw it again. Run-down place, like a trailer without wheels. He was crashing there with these stoner cousins of his.”
“Not Leroy and Larry Campbell?” I asked. We’d run across them in a previous investigation, when they had come up as suspects in the murder of a woman who had complained about their drug-dealing activities.
“Yeah, I think that was them. Pair of fat Hawaiian types. One of them bald, the other with dreadlocks.”
“We know where to find them,” Ray said. “But about this bromance. You know the guy?”
Cinco shook his head. “Only met him a couple of times. Mainland haole from LA. They call him Tacky—short for something foreign, I think.”
We finished our root beers and thanked Cinco. “Try to keep Gunter out of trouble, will you?” I asked, as I stood up. “No more police involvement, at least.”
“Will do,” Cinco said.
As we walked out to the Highlander, I called the number for the prepaid cell I’d bought Dakota that morning. There was no answer, and he hadn’t set up the voice mail. “Fuck,” I said. “You mind if we swing by HCC on our way back in? I left Dakota there this morning.”
“My ride is your ride,” Ray said.
I called Frankie’s cell, and though he didn’t pick up at least he had voice mail. “I’m looking for Dakota,” I said. “If you see him call me.” I repeated the message in a text.
I hung up the phone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I never should have left him on his own.”
“If you love someone, set him free. If he comes back, he’s yours,” Ray said. “If he doesn’t, he never was.”
“Please, spare me the Rod McKuen sentimentality.”
“I’m serious. You have to trust the kid. If you him in a cage he’ll escape again.”
“He’s only fourteen, Ray. He needs a permanent home and a structure, not some pair of guys who are too busy to look after him.”
I started calling anyone I thought Dakota might get in touch with, saving Mike for last. “What do you mean he’s missing?” he asked.
“Well, not missing exactly,” I said. “I dropped him at HCC this morning. He was going to hang out with Frankie and do some studying. I thought it would be good for him. I even got him a cell phone so we could stay in touch.”
“Did you talk to Frankie?”
“Left him a voice mail and texted him. Ray and I are on our way to HCC now.”
“You want me to meet you there?”
“Hold off. If Ray and I can’t find him between us, then he’s not there, and there’s no use your making the trip.”
I hung up and stared out the window as Ray pulled into the HCC campus, scanning the kids I saw talking in small groups, sitting under the trees, or walking to their cars. Dakota wasn’t among them.
“What exactly did he say to you this morning?” Ray asked, as he pulled into a parking space.
I thought back to our conversation. I was in a hurry to get to work and wasn’t paying full attention. “I think he said he was going to do some studying in the library.”
“Then let’s go over there.”
We walked in the library. Dakota wasn’t at any of the computers, or in the comfy lounge chairs. We started striding up and down between the stacks.
I was moving fast, darting around students who were trying to pick books off the shelves. “Stay cool, Kimo,” Ray said.
“Haven’t they ever heard of the Internet?” I said. “Who uses real books for research anymore?”
“Julie does. Sure, there’s a ton of new stuff online, but sometimes you need something from the past. Now slow down and calm down.”
I took a deep breath and rounded a corner. There, ahead of me, was Dakota, sitting at a carrel, reading a book.
I walked up behind him. “What’s the point of my getting you a phone if you don’t answer it?”
He looked up. “Hey, Kimo. I put it on vibrate because of the library and all. Sorry. You tried to call me?”
I didn’t know whether to hug him or smack him. I did neither; I just took a deep breath. Dakota hadn’t done anything except what he’d said.
Ray came up behind me. “I’m Ray,” he said. “Kimo’s partner.”
Dakota looked from Ray to me and his mouth opened.
“Detective partner,” I said. “We work together.”
“Oh.” Dakota nodded his head.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said. “You feel like pizza?”