waits for the other sandal to fall.
Doesn't take long.
“You have a cuz in Waikiki,” Eddie says. “Zeke.”
It's true. Like a lot of Samoans, Zeke moved to Hawaii five years ago to try to make some money. It didn't work out that way. “What about him?”
“He's an icehead.”
“Tell me something I don't know.” The whole family's been worried sick about Zeke. His mother can't sleep, can't eat her dinner. She begged Tide to go over, straighten him out, and Tide took some sick days, flew to Honolulu, sat down and tried to talk some sense into Zeke. Got him into rehab. Zeke was out three days, went back to the pipe. Last time Tide heard, Zeke was sleeping rough out in Waimalu Park. Only a matter of time before he ODs, or some other icehead takes him out for a dime.
Ice is the devil.
“What you saying?” Tide asks.
“I'm saying I can get the word out,” Eddie says. “Zeke is taboo. You help Boone see things right, deliver this girl to the proper address, no dealer in the islands will sell Zeke a taste.”
Tide knows it's a serious offer. Red Eddie has that kind of reach. All he has to do is put out the word, and no dealer in his right mind would even be seen talking to Zeke. They'd run away from him like he had leprosy. Zeke would have to straighten out.
“Don't say yes, don't say no.” Eddie finishes half his beer, lays a twenty on the bar, and gets up. “Don't say nothin'. I'll know by your actions what your answer is. I just think, brah, we island guys have to stick together. We're the ohana, eh? Aiga. ”
Eddie heads for the door. One of his moke boys opens it for him and he walks out, flashing Tide the shaka sign as he goes.
The devil comes in many forms.
The serpent to Eve.
Ice to a tweeker.
This time, it's a rumor that wafts through The Sundowner like warm air under the ceiling fans.
The Boonemobile is parked by Shrink's. Daniels must be checking out Shrink's. If Daniels is there, he must be scoping it out for the big swell. It's going to peak at Shrink's.
Tide finishes his beer, walks out to his truck, and heads north.
Family is family.
66
Johnny Banzai rolls up to the security shack at the Institute of Self Awareness and stops in front of the gate.
“I'm sorry, sir,” the guard says. “This is private property. You can't come in here.”
“Actually, I think I can.” He shows the guard his badge.
The guard tries to hang. “Do you have a warrant, Detective?”
“Yeah,” Johnny says. “My warrant is, if you don't open that fucking gate like two seconds ago, I'm going to drive through it anyway. Then, first thing in the morning, a battalion of health inspectors is going to arrive for a close look at the sushi and the celebrities. Then the fire inspectors are going to-”
The gate opens.
Johnny drives through.
67
Navy SEALs do it in training, but they're freaking Navy SEALs.
Lie in the ocean in winter at night, that is, not moving as frigid water washes over them, drops their body temps toward hypothermia, makes them shake uncontrollably, their bones and flesh aching with cold.
But that's what Boone, Petra, and Tammy do as Danny and his boys hunt the beach for them. Boone wraps an arm around each woman and holds her as hard as he can, feels them shiver as he tries to relax his own body. It's the only way to survive psychologically-force yourself to relax, not tighten up.
Cold and wet are a deadly combo. You can survive cold, you can tolerate wet, but the two of them together can kill you, send your body into shock, or force you out of the water into lethal gunfire.
Boone knows they don't have a lot of time left. He looks over at Petra. Her face is set in grim determination. Stiff upper lip and all that happy crap, but the woman is holding on; she's a lot tougher than she looks.
Tammy's eyes are shut tight, her lips clamped together, her jaw muscles locked. She's holding on.
Boone tightens his grip on both of them.
Dan is puzzled.
He had Daniels and the two broads in a box, and they're gone.
Just gone.
Like the fog wrapped them up and took them.
He looks out toward the surf. No way, he thinks. No fucking way. That's suicidal. The cop sirens come closer and Dan hears footsteps running down the stairs. Turns to see those big cop flashlights piercing the fog.
Time to boogie.
68
High Tide turns into the parking lot at Sea Cliff Park and pulls up next to the Boonemobile.
Boone ain't in it.
What the hell, Tide wonders, is Boone doing up here on the bluff over the south end of Shrink's at night? Checking out the surf? Really, bruddah?
Tide heads down the stairs toward the beach. Hurts his knee, walking down stairs, but what are you going to do? He has to have a word with Boone, and down the stairs is where Boone is apparently at.
Except he ain't.
When Tide gets down on the sand, he doesn't see Boone standing there checking out the waves.
All he sees is fog.
Then he spots something in the shallow white water. At first he thinks it's a dolphin, but a dolphin wouldn't be in the trench in this weather and he sees only one, and dolphins travel in groups. Must be driftwood, something came in with the tide.
The driftwood stands up.
“BOONE!” High Tide yells. “HAMO!”
Brother.
High Tide walks into the water and grabs Boone, then sees that there are two women with him. Boone grabs one of them, Tide the other, and they stagger onto the beach.
Boone mumbles, “Tide…”
“Easy, bro.”
“Are they-”
“They're okay.” Tide takes off his jacket and wraps it around the smaller woman, who's shivering uncontrollably. Then he takes off his wool beanie and puts it on the head of the tall redheaded woman. It's not enough, but it will help for the time being.
Boone says, “How did you…”
