by Don Winslow
And would you like to have been there (and, much later, many would claim that they were), the beach denizens asked each other, when Mike Boyd launched himself into a Superman Punch to take out BD, and Boone stepped back, cocked his right knee, and cracked that surfing-strengthened-to-steel leg straight into Boyd’s junk? They say you could hear that bang from the bluffs, like a board crashing into the rocks. Like . . .
whump!
The beach-bongo telegram system spreads the story, and by sundown it’s made it all the way to Oz, where Sunny Day looks at her text message and smiles.
The Battle of Rockpile.
The “Fivers,” as they get glossed, expelled from the beach.
Which was rechristened “K2’s.”
Paradise Found.
Epic.
Macking.
Crunchy.
171
“Violence on the beach,” Dave intones through a swollen lip, “is very uncool.”
“Completely inappropriate,” Johnny agrees.
“No place for it,” High Tide concurs.
“East of the 5,” Hang Twelve says.
Boone just nods. He’s too busy grilling fish to engage in conversation, he doesn’t want to burn the fillets, and the drop-dead, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me, there-has-to-be-a-God show of a sunset is already distracting enough. Besides, his jaw throbs, as does his almost certainly broken nose, so it’s just easier to keep his piehole shut.
And enjoy the resumption of the sundown cookout on the beach.
Even Cheerful showed up for the party, though he stays carefully on the boardwalk away from the sand and will have nothing to do with a fish taco. Boone has a Stouffer’s in the microwave inside all set to go for him.
Pete looks good with a black eye.
She sure doesn’t think so, and she’s “horribly embarrassed” at her “unprofessional” behavior at Rockpile, but Boone knows that she got a rush from it. Even better, by virtue of her participation in the Battle of Rockpile—even if she never gets on a board—Pete is now and forever a fully accredited, completely accepted member of the Dawn Patrol.
As witnessed by the fact that they came up with a nickname for her.
Loco Ono.
It’s sarcastic, and rough, but she’s smart enough to know that they’re poking more fun at themselves than they are at her. So that’s a good thing, good for her and good for their relationship.
Because I guess that’s what we have now, thinks Boone, a relationship. Wow. Even though we’re still going to be SEI. I’m not going to law school, and head of security at Nichols’s is out, so what next?
Nothing, I guess.
Nothing new, anyway, and that’s just fine. The summer is coming to an end, and the more serious seasons will start. It’s going to be plenty, just dealing with what’s on its way. The Paradise Homes conspiracy is already unraveling, people are scrambling for cover or racing to be the first in the testimonial daisy chain, and both Mary Lou and Alan are issuing subpoenas like supermarket coupons.
But there will be an inevitable push-back. Half the power structure of San Diego is going to come charging, and the Baja Cartel as well, and Boone doesn’t know which is more lethal.
He looks around at the group of his friends as he takes the fish off the grill. Sliding the pieces into tortillas, he passes the tacos around. They are friends again, but it really isn’t over, he thinks. I have relationships to mend—with Dave and Hang, Johnny and Tide especially—and that’s going to take time.
It’s going to require some good surf sessions, some days hanging together on the beach, some nights talking story. Maybe it’s going to mean that we take a fresh look at ourselves. Like Sunny had e-mailed him.
Hey B,
Heard about all your craziness lately. Wow. Double wow. Sounds like the Dawn Patrol has gone through the washing machine. But you know how it is—if you make it through to come out the other side, the world looks a little different. Kind of fresh. I remember something Kelly used to say. “Your view is as much a mirror as a window.” It’s a pretty cool view, B, for you and all our friends. Enjoy, yeah? And take care of each other.
Mucho lovo,
Sunny
P.S. How’d the booty call go?
Boone looks out at the ocean.
The surf is beginning to build.
There are waves. They’re small, but they’re waves.
Not Kansas anymore.
Maybe . . .
South Dakota.
About the Author
Don Winslow, a former private investigator and consultant, is the author of fourteen novels, including
Savages, The Dawn Patrol, The Winter of Frankie Machine, The Power of the Dog, California Fire and Life
, and
The Death and Life of Bobby Z.
He lives in Southern California.
About the Author
Don Winslow, a former private investigator and consultant, is the author of fourteen novels, including
Savages, The Dawn Patrol, The Winter of Frankie Machine, The Power of the Dog, California Fire and Life
, and
The Death and Life of Bobby Z.
He lives in Southern California.
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FB2 document info
Document ID: c111b340-81c6-45ff-a959-fa412ff05775
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 19.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.51, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Don Winslow
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