Savages

The waiter, a young surfer-type dude with a perfect tan and perfect white smile, squats beside the table. “May I tell you about our specials?”

Gotta love Laguna.

Gotta love O.

47

Ben wants peace.

Chon knows

You can’t make peace with savages.

48

O wakes up from her nap, gets dressed, and comes out onto the deck.

If the girl feels awkward about being in the presence of two guys she’s simul-doing, she doesn’t show it. Probably because she doesn’t feel it. Her thinking on this is basic and arithmetical:

More love is better than less love.

She hopes they feel the same way, but if they don’t—

Oh well.

Ben and Chon decide to roll down to Dickyville.

Etymology:

San Clemente, home of the former Western White House of

Richard Nixon

Aka Dick Nixon

Aka Tricky Dick

Dickyville

Sorry.

O wants to go with.

“Yeah, not a good idea,” Ben says. They’ve never involved her in the business before.

Chon feels the same way—it’s a line he doesn’t think they should cross.

“I really want to go,” O says.

Still—

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“Could you be with Paqu?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“Got it.”

They roll down to Dickeyville.

49

To see Dennis.

They pull off at a parking lot on the beach. The railroad track runs right past it. Ben and O sometimes take that train just for the hell of it, sit and watch dolphins and sometimes whales out the window.

Dennis is already there. He gets out of his Toyota Camry and walks over to the Mustang. In his late forties, Dennis has sandy hair that is just starting to thin and packs thirty excess pounds on his six three frame because he can’t seem to drive past a drive-thru these days. In fact, there’s a Jack in the Box just across the 5 … Anyway, he’s a handsome guy except for the stomach that hangs over his belt.

He’s surprised to see Ben, because usually he meets solo with Chon.

Then he usually swings by Jack in the Box.

He’s even more surprised to see this chick he doesn’t know. “Who’s this?”

O says, “Anne Heche.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well, you asked who I was.”

Ben says, “She’s a friend of ours.”

Dennis doesn’t like it at all. “Since when do we invite friends to these parties?”

“Well, it’s my party, Dennis,” Ben says.

“And I’ll cry if I want to,” O adds.

“Get in,” Ben says.

Dennis gets into the front passenger seat. Chon and O sit in the back.

“I shouldn’t be seen in the same zip code with you guys,” Dennis whines.

“You don’t seem to mind when I have your gift bag,” Chon says. He and Dennis meet once a month. Chon arrives with a satchel full of cash and leaves without it. Dennis arrives with no satchel full of cash and leaves with one.

Then he usually swings by Jack in the Box.

“Would you prefer we come to the office?” Ben asks, the office being the federal building in downtown San Dog where the DEA is headquartered.

Where Dennis is a big deal in the antidrug task force.

“Jesus, what has your panties in a wad?” Dennis isn’t used to seeing this side of Ben—well, he isn’t used to seeing much of Ben at all, but when he does, the guy is normally pretty congenial. And Chon—well, forget it—Chon always looks jacked up.

“You have intel on the Baja Cartel?” Ben asks. “Hernan Lauter?”

Dennis chuckles. “That’s about all I do.”

Yeah, because he’s sure as shit not putting any effort into scoping out Ben and Chon’s operation. Every once in a while, they’ll toss him a stash or an old grow house, just to keep him upwardly mobile on the promotion ladder, but that’s about it.

“Why?” he asks, thinking he’s about to get a nugget maybe he can use. “The BC making a move on you guys?”

He has it on his radar.

He’s not fucking stupid.

There’ve been pings all over the place, including a viral video featuring seven decapitated dope dealers.

Talk about your hostile takeovers.

And now Ben is going to come whining about it?

Then the dime drops.

“Wait a second,” he says to Ben, “if you’re here to negotiate a payment reduction because the BC is cutting a slice off you, forget it. Your overhead is your overhead, not mine.”

A train comes busting down the track.

The Metrolink, which runs from Oceanside just down the road all the way up to L.A. The conversation stops because they can’t hear each other anyway, then Ben says, “I need to know everything you know about Hernan Lauter.”

“Why?” Dennis asks, relieved anyway that they’re not trying to shuck him. Dennis has bills.

“‘Why’ is not your issue,” Chon says. “Your issue is ‘what.’”

So tell us what you know about Hernan.

The head of the Baja Cartel.