Read Online Children of the Street by Kwei Quartey - Free Book Online Page B

analysis, Inspector,” he said.
    O n his return to CID, Dawson stayed in the car park to call Daramani. There was no answer. He waited a few minutes and tried again. Still nothing. He sucked his teeth with impatience. His need to talk to Daramani was eating him alive. Not only did Dawson need to question him about the lagoon boy but he wanted to ask Daramani to keep his mouth shut about their friendship and, above all, their mutual vice. As he went back upstairs, he heard the words conflict of interest reverberating around his head. He felt himself getting into trouble. Just like in quicksand, his every move was drawing him in deeper, making it impossible to pull away.

11
    Midmorning the following day, Thursday, Dawson got a call from Christine. He knew at once from the tremor in her voice that something was wrong.
    “I’m going to pick Hosiah up from school,” she told him. “They just called me to say he’s not feeling well.”
    “What do they mean, ‘not feeling well’?”
    “They said it’s his breathing.”
    Dawson’s stomach swooped. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”
    “No, wait for me to call you back. I’m much closer to the school than you—I can be there in twenty minutes.”
    “All right.”
    Chikata walked in drinking chocolate milk. “What’s wrong, Dawson?”
    “Hosiah. His school says something’s wrong with his breathing. I’ll have to leave soon.”
    “No problem, boss. Take care of the boy, I’ll handle everything here.”
    Thirty anxious minutes later, Christine called back. “I have to take him to Korle Bu, Dark. He’s okay when he sits or lies still, but he’s short of breath when he moves around.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    T he outpatient pediatric waiting area at Korle Bu Hospital was a hall open on two sides and filled with rows of long wooden benches. With space cleared for future laboratories and treatment areas, the lobby was both expansive and crowded. Mothers and fathers sat with their crying babies, waiting the obligatory eternity before they would be called into one of the three consultation rooms.
    Dawson spotted Christine and Hosiah sitting at the end of a middle row. Hosiah’s eyes lit up when he saw his father approaching. They simultaneously reached for each other, and Dawson lifted his son up into his arms.
    “How you doing, champ?”
    “I’m okay.”
    “Is the breathing better?”
    “A little.”
    But Dawson could see and hear how rapid his respiratory rate was.
    “Here,” Christine said. “Let’s change places. I can stand for a while.”
    They switched, Dawson sitting down with Hosiah on his lap. “Lean back against me. There. Comfortable?”
    Hosiah nodded.
    “How long will we have to wait, Daddy?”
    “I don’t know, Hosiah. I hope it won’t be long, but there are a lot of people.”
    I t wasn’t until three hours later that they were called into the consultation room. Dr. Asem, the pediatrician, was a youngish male who was managing to look cool and unflustered even under the sweltering, stressful conditions. He went quickly through Hosiah’s medical record.
    “So,” he said. “Short of breath today?”
    “Yes,” Christine said. “With exertion, but not at rest.”
    Asem listened to Hosiah’s chest and lungs with his stethoscope, nodded, and folded it up into his jacket pocket.
    “Moderately fluid overloaded. Have you been salt-restricting him?”
    Dawson glanced at Christine. “Trying.”
    “Need to do more.” Asem pushed back on his mobile stool, putting his head out the door to call for a pulse oximeter.
    He returned to Hosiah to check his hands and fingernails. A nurse came in with the pulse ox, and Hosiah automatically extended his right third finger for her to attach the device. He knew the drill.
    “Ninety-three percent, Doctor,” the nurse said.
    “Not terrible,” he said to Dawson and Christine, “but not good either. I think if we admit him and diurese him overnight, he should be fine by tomorrow.”
    Hosiah looked