The Weasel

The Weasel--a name that perfectly captured the man. Skinny, with a complexion like sunbaked earth, this Hawaiian in his 40s was a fixture of Waikiki’s underbelly. He lived a transient life, his van doubling as his home when the waves weren't calling. Tourists were his bread and butter, easy marks for the pot he peddled on the sun-drenched beaches. Nights found him smoking ice, mesmerized by Bonnie Lim, a Chinese girl who danced on a stage bathed in colored lights. I’ve known the Weasel for over 20 years, and he has never changed since the day that I met him. A couple of days ago, the Weasel, ever the picture of decorum, was arrested while urinating on a palm tree in front of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Kalakaua Street. It wasn’t his first brush with the law, but this time, things were different. Passed out in the drunk tank, he'd become an unwitting victim of identity theft. A parole violator named Mike Dana had appropriated the Weasel's name to secure his own freedom, because there is no bail for a parole violation. So, when the shift changed, Mike said he wanted to bail out using the Weasel’s name, thus leaving the real Weasel holding the bag. My name is Daniel Huna, I’m the Chief Inspector for the Hawaiian State Police, a nickname born from my impressive stature. Three-hundred and thirty pounds, topped with a head the size of a small pumpkin--I wasn't exactly built for subtlety. My demeanor, however, often surprised people. Sweet, even gentle, leading some to question my sexual orientation, but at my size, I answer to no one but myself--and act however I damn well please. This darkly funny crime novel is the fourth installment in the Big Huna series. It’s a wild ride you won't soon forget!