by Nancy Isaak
“My turn,” I said, quickly. “So—I don’t know what’s happened here but—one thing I do know—is that I’m thankful to have you all here with me. Weird as it sounds, you’re all my family now…my brothers.”
Brandon let out another large burp. “Dude,” he snorted, amused, “you sound like you’ve got a vagina.”
JOURNAL ENTRY #9
There were lights outside last night.
I could see them from my bedroom window. They were moving up and down about a half a mile away—as if people were walking around and carrying lanterns. Ian and Andrei say that it’s the Locals…that they’re living in one of the houses on the edge of the cliff overlooking Zuma Beach.
Frankly, that pisses me off.
The surf is starting to build and I’m still jonesing to take the board out of the garage and make an early morning run at Zuma—ride a few waves. But if the Locals have set up house over top of it, things could get a little dicey.
If it was just me, I’d probably throw caution to the wind and go for it. Unfortunately, I’ve got a responsibility to everyone else now. If somehow I lead the Locals back to the house and someone got hurt—I’d never forgive myself.
Responsibility sucks!
DECEMBER
MEMORANDUM OF UNDERSTANDING
As it was, I didn’t have to worry about leading the Locals back home.
They found us with no trouble at all.
* * * *
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
It took me a moment to understand what I was hearing.
A bell was ringing—and it appeared to be coming from the driveway.
I immediately jumped out of my bed and raced to the window, looking down. The sun was rising and there was just enough light to see the heads of two boys standing at the front door.
One was ringing a large bell.
The other one was holding a white flag.
* * * *
As I ran down the stairs to the second level, Porter skidded out of his room before me, almost falling over as he urgently tugged on his pants. “Who are they?!”
“They’re from the Locals,” said Ian, coming out of his room two doors over. Andrei was right behind him.
They both looked scared.
Across the hallway, Rhys’ doorway opened and he stuck out his head. “What’s going on?” he asked, yawning.
“Locals,” I barked. “Go get Ethan and Wester and take them out to the guest house. Tell Brandon and Kieran to get up here. Andrei and Ian will go with you. Porter, you’re with me.”
* * * *
As Porter and I reached the main floor, the bell suddenly went silent.
The back door to the house flung open and Kieran and Brandon rushed along a hallway toward us. They were both carrying guns.
“I’m sending the kids out to the guest house,” I called to them. “You guys go up to the third floor. Take a position, but don’t shoot anybody unless you absolutely have to.”
“Who is it?” asked Kieran.
“Looks like two guys from the Locals,” I said. “I think they want to talk.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Brandon.
I thought that was obvious. “Because they didn’t kill us in our sleep.”
* * * *
When we opened the front door, the two boys waiting stepped back, as if uncertain whether they were about to be attacked. Seeing that they were unarmed, I immediately put up my hands.
“It’s okay,” I said. “No one needs to get hurt.”
“Glad to hear that,” said a commanding voice.
A large, blond kid—about sixteen—came around the corner of one of the garages. He was muscular and good-looking, wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt. Slung over his back was what looked to be a shotgun and he was carrying a machete in a leather belt at his waist.
“I’m Ru,” he nodded. “And these are two of my guys—Samuel and Josh.”
Both boys looked like they were about thirteen or fourteen. Samuel was dark-haired and skinny. He had been the guy ringing the bell. Josh, meanwhile, had dirty blond hair and a face covered in bruises. It looked like he had been on the wrong end of a recent beating.
“You’re the Locals,” I said.
Ru grinned. “Yeah, we like that name. What about you guys? You got a name?”
“I’m Jacob…and this is Porter.”
We were both still standing just inside of the front doorway, prepared to shut it the moment we felt threatened.
“You got other guys here?” asked Ru.
“What do you want?” I said, ignoring his question.
Ru shrugged. “Just thought we should talk. Come to an understanding.”
* * * *
Samuel and Josh had been left outside.
It was just Ru, Porter, and me—sitting at the dining room table.
From where I was sitting, though, I could see the reflection of Kieran in the hallway mirror. He was standing just outside the doorway, back against the hallway wall, shotgun in his hands—eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Times are changing,” Ru was saying. “We’re seeing more guys coming up the Pacific Coast Highway from Los Angeles. Let’s face it, Point Dume is prime real estate. Goes without saying that tribes are going to want to take it from us.”
“Tribes?” Porter asked.
“Tribes, gangs, tea parties—use whatever word you want,” he said. “But know that they’re coming.”
“What does that have to do with us?” I asked.
“We’ve been watching you,” said Ru. “Let’s just say that you haven’t been the only ones who’ve come onto this Point lately. But you guys seem to be—well, let’s just say ‘respectful’—for the most part. And we know you’ve got guns. From what we can see—a lot of them.”
In the mirror, I saw Brandon join Kieran in the hallway. They whispered among themselves, then Brandon slowly withdrew. I worried for a moment that they might be up to something. Then, my attention shifted back to Ru.
“Other guys,” Ru continued, “they’ve burned down houses, beat up one of my guys, stolen food from Pavilions.”
“With all due respect,” I said, “Pavilions doesn’t belong to you.”
“And I respectfully disagree,” he said, politely. “We’ve claimed it. It’s ours. Which brings us to our MOU?”
“MOU?” I asked, confused.
Ru grinned. “Sorry,” he said. “My mom’s a lawyer down in Culver City. Picked up a bit of the language, if you know what I mean. MOU is a ‘Memorandum of Understanding’—like a truce between two parties.”
“A treaty,” said Porter.
“If you like,” shrugged Ru.
“What does this have to do with people coming up Pacific Coast Highway?” I asked.
“It’s simple,” said Ru. “If we make this place our home, we’re going to have to defend it. One or two guys, either of us can handle it. A tribe shows up, though—we’re gonna’ have to bust some balls and that’ll take manpower.”
“You want us to work together? To fight together?”
“Only to protect the Point. Other than that, we stay out of each other’s territory.”
“And I suppose you’re the one who’s going to be telling us what that territory is?” I said, leaning back in my chair.
Ru put out his hands as if that should be obvious. “The Locals will take everything from the north side of Heathercliff,” he explained, “along Dume Drive down to the Nature Preserve. From that line—straight west to Trancas.”
“And us?”
“You get the south side as far as you want.”
“But that means you get Pavilions—and the supermarket at Trancas on the other side of Zuma,” said Porter. “That doesn’t sound fair.”
“We were here first,” shrugged Ru. “Besides, you’ve got probably a couple of hundred houses on your side of the Point. There’s got to be at least as much food in them as there is in Pavilions.”
He had a point.
&
nbsp; “What about Zuma Beach?” I asked.
“What about it?” he responded. “Zuma’s ours.”
“Surfing?”
He shook his head. “You’ve got Little Dume in your territory. Surf there. We find you surfing Zuma, you become fair game. You got to understand. They see you out in the water, my guys won’t be wasting time figuring out what tribe you’re coming from. They’re just gonna’ start shooting.”
* * * *
We shook hands, standing outside in the driveway.
I didn’t trust Ru—but I thought he was right. If others did come to take the Point, we needed to be able to protect ourselves—and our homes.
Together—we just might be able to do it.
Ru motioned Samuel forward. The dark-haired kid came over quickly and handed Ru the bell he was holding. Then he scuttled back to where Josh was standing, farther down the driveway.
“Here,” said Ru, handing me the bell. “If you need us, you ring it. We’ll come with our guns. We’ve got one just like it on our side, so if you hear ours, you damn well come running with your guns.”
“Agreed,” I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Done and done.”
* * * *
The moment Ru and his guys had disappeared over the wall, I turned and looked up at the third floor of the house. Sure enough, Brandon and Kieran were at the windows, their guns resting on the sill.
Neither of them looked very happy.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Porter, beside me.
“Come on…let’s go tell the others.”
We started back toward the front door. As we did, Andrei and Ian suddenly appeared, coming out from the bushes—one on each side of us.
They were both holding shotguns.
Even more surprising—when we entered the house—Wester was standing just behind the front door, a revolver in his hand.
I quickly took it from him. “You were supposed to go to the guest house!”
“Lots of bad people in Haiti,” he said, grimly. “They make nice promises just like that boy.”
* * * *
“I still think we should clean them out,” said Brandon. “Shoot ‘em like rats in a nest.”
“Ian and Andrei have counted at least fifteen of them,” I said. “If they all have guns, it would be suicidal.”
The two boys quickly nodded. They were both shoving potatoes and canned hash into their mouths as we all sat around the dining room table, discussing the Locals and the MOU.
“We could go in at night,” suggested Kieran. “While they’re asleep.”
“Hell, yeah!” said Brandon, approving.
“For the last time, we’re not going to attack the Locals,” I snapped, irritated. “We’ve got a Memorandum of Understanding with them. Whether we like them or not, it makes sense to work with them.”
“Memorandum of understanding,” scoffed Brandon. “It even sounds dumb.”
“Well, no matter what you think,” I said, “we’ve got one.”
“So, we do nothing? We just sit on our hands and hope the Locals don’t attack us?”
“No,” I said. “We don’t do nothing. We keep watch—set up a rotation—so that they don’t catch us all asleep in our beds ever again. And we figure out a defensive plan—in case others come—or the Locals.”
“I can’t believe you gave away Zuma Beach,” grumbled Kieran.
“And there’s probably someone on the Locals’ side bitching about Ru giving away Little Dume,” joked Porter.
I grinned, thankful for Porter’s support.
Kieran, however, was not amused. “Waves don’t belong to anyone,” he insisted. “We’ve always believed that, Jacob. You believed that!”
“Different world now, bro.”
* * * *
“It’s perfect, Ian. Just perfect.”
He and I were standing on the roof—a small level section, about twenty-feet square, half hidden behind a four-foot high eave on three sides. There was an expensive leather chair sitting against one wall. Beside it was a mini-fridge containing warm beer and bottles of champagne.
“My step-uncle had it built when he moved in,” Ian told me. “He said that it was his sanctuary—where he’d go and think and smoke cigars. He said no women were allowed.”
I walked to the edge and looked over toward the west.
“Definitely perfect,” I repeated. “I can see right into the Locals’ territory and even part of Zuma Beach.”
“There are probably some binoculars in the house,” said Ian. “We can bring them up for whoever’s on watch.”
“Absolutely.”
I turned and walked back to the fridge.
“But we need to get rid of this, though. Last thing we need is Brandon up here with alcohol and a gun.”
* * * *
We finally felt free to walk around the neighborhood—as long as we stayed on our side of the Point, of course. Brandon and Kieran were still angry about losing Zuma Beach to the Locals. But they calmed down some when we went on our first outing to Little Dume—a ‘private beach’, only accessible for those rich enough to have a key or connected enough to know someone who had one.
Before the event, as ‘Valley Boys’, we had neither a key nor a connection. Instead, we would access Little Dume by getting on our surfboards at Zuma and slowly paddling around the Point—a long and often tiring distance.
Our first trip to Little Dume, we brought a big crowbar with us and simply jimmied the gate open. Kieran was ecstatic—finally entering through the ‘rich man’s door’. He danced down the stairs, hooting and hollering.
A laughing Brandon and Rhys were right behind him.
Meanwhile, I brought up the rear with Ethan, Wester, and Porter.
Andrei and Ian had remained behind. They had both volunteered for watch duty, high up on the roof. I wondered if maybe they were—even at this very moment—looking down upon us. But then I realized that their view didn’t extend in this direction. They would have to actually climb across the rise and fall of the roof to the other side if they wanted to see us.
It made me think—we needed a way to extend our rooftop ‘watch’ all the way around the house—360 degrees. It was something to talk to Porter about.
But not today—today was about actually having some fun.
* * * *
Once on the beach, I left the youngsters in Porter’s care and joined Kieran, Rhys, and Brandon in the water. We had all brought boards that we had found in the garages. They weren’t as good as the ones my brothers and I had left in Betsy—but they were passable.
Next time, I figured I’d bring the old wooden longboard. This trip, however—I just wanted to ride.
As we surfed the near break, I was surprised to find that Brandon was a pretty good surfer—better than Kieran actually. Later, when the offshore wind really began to blow, Brandon and I paddled to the outside point. The waves were hollow and fast there and we both caught our fair share.
By the end of the day, we were both exhausted, our arms like noodles. Struggling to shore, we planted our boards, and collapsed on the warm sand side-by-side.
“Damn, Jacob,” gasped Brandon, breathing hard. “That last hollow was fricking unbelievable!”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And no traffic! I’m stoked that we’ve got this place to ourselves. Usually Little Dume is so crowded.”
“Miss the chicks, though,” he sighed. “Especially the Gidgets.”
“It is weird not to see girls around.”
There was a yell from the surf. Brandon and I sat up to watch Kieran teaching Ethan and Wester to boogie-board down at the edge of the beach. Neither boy was any good—their footing was awkward and they lacked balance.
“Just curious,” I asked, turning to Brandon, “but do you miss Tray? I never hear you talk about her. Not really.”
He grinned at me. “Honestly…I would of broken up with her months ago, but that girl is crazy. She scares me.”
“Traynes
ha Davis?”
“Look man,” he said, confidentially. “I’ve got my own kinks, no doubt. But, Tray, man—she likes it rougher than rough. An hour with her, I come away bloody.”
“You play with a Fox,” I joked.
Brandon laid back down on the sand, closing his eyes to the sun. “She was fun for a while,” he yawned, “but I’m glad Tray’s gone. Only room for one crazy in this world now, you know what I mean.”
Then he turned to me, opening his eyes and grinning. “And I’ve got that covered.”
JOURNAL ENTRY #10
We had popcorn and a movie tonight!
Well, maybe that’s not the complete truth.
But—we did have popcorn. I shook up altogether five batches of Jiffy Pop on the barbeque. Then we took it up on the roof for our ‘movie’.
It was Porter’s idea to watch the Leonids—tiny little meteors, arcing across the sky.
At first, I was kind of ‘whatever’ at the idea. But I have to give it to the geek—it was actually pretty spectacular. We laid on our backs on blankets and pillows, eating popcorn and drinking sodas—just watching these bursts of fire race across the heavens.
For guys without the internet, video games, or television—it was about as close to entertainment as we could get.
* * * *
Brandon and Kieran didn’t stay long, however. About a half hour in they declared themselves bored and got up and left.