door is going to knock Disneyland off the Happiest Place on Earth throne.
“I gotta pay the check,” Bench Press says.
“I got it,” says Boone. “Peace.”
Bench Press and his crew go out like March lambs. Boone pays their bill; then he, High Tide, and Dave revive the turista long enough to find out what motel she's in, take her back, put her in bed, and go back to The Sundowner for an aloha beer.
The next morning, Boone went in for breakfast, and no bill was forthcoming.
“Chuck says no,” Sunny explained.
“Listen, I don't expect-”
“Chuck says no.”
And that was that. The unspoken deal was in place. Boone's breakfast is on the house, but he always leaves a tip. Lunch or dinner, he pays, and still leaves a tip. And if a situation occurs in or around The Sundowner, Boone settles it before it becomes a problem.
14
Now, Boone comes into The Sundowner, slides into a booth, and is annoyed but not surprised when Petra takes a seat across the table.
Dave the Love God, sitting at the counter as he packs down a stack of blueberry panckakes, notices her, too.
“Who's the betty with Boone?” he asks Sunny.
“Dunno.”
“Bother you?”
“No,” Sunny says. “Why should it?”
Petra may not bother her-which is a lie anyway-but she's sure as shit bothering Boone. “I should have thought,” Petra's saying, “given the urgency, that you would want to get right at it.”
“There's a limit,” Boone says, “to what you can accomplish on an empty stomach.”
Actually, Petra thinks that there's a limit to what he can do on a full stomach, too, but she refrains from saying so. There must be something to this oceangoing Neanderthal that I'm missing, she thinks, because with all the reputable detective firms in San Diego, Alan Burke was adamant about hiring him, and Alan Burke may be the best trial lawyer in captivity. So he must have a high opinion of Mr. Daniels, or perhaps it's just that Alan thinks that Mr. Daniels is simply the man to call when you need to locate a stripper.
Chuck E. Cheese's, my aching teeth.
Sunny comes over and asks him, “The usual?”
“Please.”
For the inland betty's benefit, Sunny recites Boone's usual order, “Eggs machaca with jack cheese, corn and flour tortillas, split the black beans and home fries, coffee with two sugars.”
Petra stares at Boone. “Have you no restraint?”
“And throw in a side of bacon,” Boone says.
“And for you?” Sunny asks Petra.
Petra picks up the edge in her voice right away and knows without doubt that Boone Daniels and this woman have slept together. The waitress is drop-dead gorgeous, a stunner with long blond hair, longer legs, a figure to kill for, and a golden suntan. No, Surf Boy is most decidedly not a stranger to this lovely creature's bed.
“Would you like to order?” Sunny asks.
“Sorry, yes,” Petra says. “I'd like a small oatmeal, raw brown sugar on the side, dry wheat toast, and a decaffeinated tea, please.”
“Decaffeinated tea?” Boone asks.
“Is that a problem?” she asks him.
“No problem,” Sunny says, giving her a golden smile. She already hates this woman.
Sunny fires Boone a look.
“Uh, Sunny,” says Boone, “this is Petra. Petra, Sunny.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Petra says.
“You, too. What brings you to PB?” Sunny asks.
“I'm attempting to engage Mr. Daniels's services,” Petra says, thinking, As if it's any of your business what brings me to Pacific Beach.
“That's not always easy to do,” Sunny says, glancing at Boone.
“As I am discovering,” says Petra.
“Well, discover away,” Sunny says. “I'll get your drinks.”
The bitch wants to sleep with him, Sunny thinks as she walks to the kitchen to place the order, if she hasn't already. A “small oatmeal, raw brown sugar on the side,” as if the skinny Brit needs to watch her waistline. But why does it bother me? Sunny wonders.
Back at the booth, Petra asks Boone if there's a toilet in the place.
“Go down the bar, take a left.”
Boone watches Dave the Love God eyeing her as she walks past him.
“No,” Boone says.
“What?” Dave asks with a guilty smile.
“Just no.”
Dave smiles, shrugs, turns around, and goes back to reading the tide report in the San Diego Union-Tribune. It looks good, very good, for the big swell.
Boone opens the Tammy Roddick file.
“After I've finished eating,” he says when Petra gets back, “I'm going over to Tammy's place.”
“I was just there,” Petra says. “She wasn't.”
“But her car might be, and that would tell us-”
“There is no vehicle registered in her name,” Petra says. “I checked.”
“Look,” Boone says, “if you know better how to find your witness, why don't you just go do it, save yourself the money and me the grief?”
“You're easily offended,” Petra says.
“I'm not offended.”
“I didn't imagine that you'd be so sensitive.”
“I'm not sensitive,” Boone replies.
“He's speaking the truth,” Sunny says as she sets the food on the table.
“Could you make this to go?” Boone asks her.
15
Except when he gets out to the street, a tow truck just about has its hook into the Boonemobile.
The Boonemobile is Boone's van, an '89 Dodge that the sun, wind, and salt air have turned to an indiscriminate, motley splatter of colors and lack thereof.
Despite its modest appearance, the Boonemobile is a San Diego icon that Boone has used to carry him to a few thousand epic surfing sessions. Ambitious young chargers have been known to cruise the Pacific Coast Highway, scanning the beach parking lots for the Boonemobile to learn what break its owner is hitting that day. And there is no doubt among the greater San Diego beach community that the van, when it goes to its inevitable and well-deserved rest, will find a home in the surf museum up in Carlsbad.
Boone doesn't care about any of that; he just loves his van. He has lived in it on long road trips and when he didn't have the scratch to rent an apartment. What Fury was to Joey, what Silver was to the Lone Ranger, that's
