I closed the top of the U, converting it to an O. SOS.
Lo regarded my handiwork a moment, then reached for his phone.
I rotated the photo and drawing so Ryan could see.
PHONE TO HIS EAR, Lo HURRIED OUTSIDE. FITCH TRACKED HIM like a puppy hoping for a treat.
We waited.
I sensed Ryan assessing my injuries.
Three middle school girls giggled and elbow-shoved their way to the bathroom, each carrying a shoulder-slung pack.
The woman beside us finished eating and rolled off with her baby.
Fitch watched in fidgety silence.
Finally, Ryan nodded to someone over my shoulder.
“He’s back.”
We rose and joined Lo in the parking lot.
“My partner’s going to contact California, see what they’ve got on Kealoha, have them run the street name Logo through their database on gangs.”
“Remember, no blowback on me.”
Lo ignored his CI.
“Later Hung and I will haul Atoa and Pukui to the bag.”
“Look, I gotta go.” Fitch was shifting his weight from foot to foot. There wasn’t much to shift.
Yanking his wallet from a back pocket, Lo counted out five twenties.
Fitch grabbed for the bills.
Lo pulled them back. “Keep in touch?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Lo extended his hand.
Fitch snatched the money and skittered out of sight.
“Weird dude,” Ryan said.
“Guy’s a tweaker.”
“It’s all about the intel.”
“Yeah.” Lo bounced a glance off me. “SOS. Sons of Samoa.” The faintest smile played his mouth. “You’re right. The little lady’s not bad.”
“She has her moments,” Ryan said.
No way the little lady was getting sucked into that. I said nothing.
“A gang tat.” Lo slowly wagged his head. “I missed it.”
“Honolulu having problems?” Ryan asked.
“Until recently I’d have said no. We’ve got gangs, sure. The Samoans run together, sure. Everyone acts bad- ass, sure. But mostly the violence is Jets and Sharks type of crap.” Lo slid the John Lennons onto his nose. “Lately things have escalated.”
“How?” I asked.
“Not long ago a street tough named Lingo got capped in Chinatown. A week later, there’s a stabbing.”
“Retaliation?”
Lo nodded. “Both vics were Samoan. A witness to the stabbing claimed one of the doers shouted ‘KPT SOS.’ ”
“Kuhio Park Terrace. Sons of Samoa,” I translated for Ryan.
“Could be a turf war,” Ryan said.
“Two punks from Oakland are going down for the shooting,” Lo said. “We suspect West Coast traffickers are heading this way.”
“And the locals are opposed,” Ryan said.
“And not rolling over.”
“If that’s the case, Fitch’s intel skews pretty good.”
“Yeah,” Lo said. “It does.”
