Don Winslow - Dawn Patrol

He slaps him again, a little harder.

Mick opens one jaundiced eye. “What?”

“It's Boone. Boone Daniels. Wake up.”

Mick closes his eye.

“I need you to wake up, dude.” Boone grabs him by the shoulders and sits him up.

“The fuck you doing here?” Mick asks.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“You got any?”

Boone walks into the kitchen area.

Dirty dishes are piled in the sink or strewn over the counter. Empty boxes of microwave meals overflow the garbage can or have just been tossed on the floor. Boone opens the fridge and finds an opened bag of Starbucks espresso on the door shelf. He dumps the grounds out of the filter in the coffeemaker, washes the carafe, finds a new filter, puts the coffee on, and scrubs out a cup while he listens to Mick puking in the bathroom.

Mick emerges, his face dripping with water where he splashed it on himself.

“Fuck, dude,” Mick says.

“You've been slamming it,” Boone says.

“Hard.” Mick sniffs his armpits. “God, I stink.”

“I noticed.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries.” Boone hands Mick a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.”

“It's hot, bro. Don't toss it.”

Mick nods and takes a sip of coffee.

Boone sees his hand quiver.

“Tammy Roddick.”

“Doesn't ring a bell,” Mick says.

Something in Mick's face-a little tension along the jawline, the blue eyes going hard. The look is unmistakable-it's the look of a guy who's in love with a woman who's dumped him.

“Does this ring a bell?” Boone asks. “A burglary at the home of a Mr. and Mrs. Hedigan in Torrey Pines about three months ago. Maybe I should go over and ring the Hedigans' bell, ask them if your name-”

“Nice, Boone. Real nice,” Mick says. “I thought we were friends.”

“Not really,” Boone says. I don't slip my friends twenties to answer questions. My friends aren't sleazy matinee call boys. “Have you seen Tammy lately? Like today, for instance?”

Mick shakes his head. “I wish I had.”

Yeah, Boone thinks. So much for the unrung bell. “What do you mean?”

Mick's face gets all soft and serious. “I loved her, Boone. I mean, I loved that fucking bitch. Really loved her, you know?”

He met her at Silver Dan's. Watched her dance and was, like, mesmerized. Got a lap dance from her and asked her out, like on a real date. To his surprise, she accepted. He met her at Denny's after her shift and bought her breakfast. Then they went to her place.

“I thought I knew what good sex was,” Mick says. “Not even close.”

He loved just being with her, just looking at her. She had these green cat eyes, man, that you couldn't take your own eyes off of. They were hanging out watching TV one night. They had the Animal Channel on, and it was a documentary about leopards, and Mick looked at her and said, “Those are your eyes, babe. You have leopard eyes.”

Yeah, but it wasn't just the sex, and it wasn't just her eyes-he loved just being with her, man. All that corny, romantic, chick-flick bullshit he never believed in? Mick started doing it, man. Walks on the freaking beach, breakfast in bed, holding hands, talking.

“She was smart, man,” Mick says. “She was funny. She was…”

Mick actually looks like he's going to cry. He looks down into his coffee cup like it has memories at the bottom.

“So what happened?”

“She dumped me.”

“When?”

“Three months ago?” Mick says. “At first, I was all like, you know, fuck the bitch, but then it really started to eat at me, you know? I even fucking called her, man, left messages on her machine. She never called me back.”

“When did you last see her?”

“I tried to go see her at her new club,” Mick says. “She had the bouncers toss me. I'm PNG at TNG.”

“When was that?”

“Three, four days ago?” Mick says. “I dunno. How long have I been drinking?”

“What happened?” Boone asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you guys were so in love and everything,” Boone says. “What happened?”

He's not ready for the answer that Mick gives him.

“Teddy D-Cup.”

Teddy D-Cup is what happened.

Teddy D-Cup.

Aka Teddy Cole.

Dr. Theodore Cole, M.D., board-certified cosmetic surgeon.

Teddy D-Cup does boobs.

Yeah, well, he does noses and chins, too, liposuctions, face-lifts, and tummy tucks, but boobs are Teddy's profit center, hence the moniker.

Teddy is the Michelangelo of bosoms. His work is displayed at society functions, beaches, runways, movies, television shows, and, of course, strip clubs, wherever finer breasts are seen. They are status symbols, prestige items. It's gotten to the point where women actually boast that their “tits are by Teddy.”

Strippers will work for years to save up the cash to get a pair by Teddy, although the word is that good Dr. Cole does have a scholarship program for girls he considers especially… uh… promising.

Like Tammy, according to Mick.

“She wanted a bigger rack,” Mick says. “I told her she didn't need one, that she was gorgeous, but you know chicks.”

Not really, Boone thinks, but he goes along with it.

“I told her if she was going to do it, she had to go to the best,” Mick says.

“Teddy D-Cup.”

“Sure,” Mick says. “I knew all about him from the hotel. Believe me, I know Teddy's work, up close and personal. Women who go to the Milano can afford Teddy.”

“But Tammy couldn't.”

“She saved up,” Mick says. “You don't know her-she's single-minded, man. Once she sets her sights on something. I mean, it was like work, work, work. Money, money, money.”

“So?”

Mick shakes his head. “I drove her to him, bro. I literally drove her to the first consultation. She comes out, we're in the car, we're not two blocks away, and she tells me maybe we should stop seeing each other. Do you believe that? She traded me in for a new set of tits.”

“So she's seeing Teddy now.”

“She's with him all the fucking time, man.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've followed them,” Mick says. “Is that pathetic, or what? I've banged half the hot rich babes in this town, and I'm sneaking around following this fucking mercenary cunt stripper, sitting in my car like some doof- That cheap fuck takes her to this little motel up around Oceanside-do you believe that, a guy with his kind of money?”

Boone gets this sinking feeling. “Hey, Mick?”

“What?”

“You didn't do anything to her, did you?”

“No,” Mick says. “I thought about it.”

Then he asks, “Is she okay, Boone? Is she in some kind of trouble? Why are you looking for her?”

“She ever talk about Dan Silver?” Boone asks. “The fire at his warehouse?”

“She mentioned it happened.” He's alarmed now. All geeked. “Is she okay? Is she hooked up with Dan again?”

“I don't know,” Boone says, “but as your friend, I'm going to strongly suggest you get out of town for a while. Some people are looking for her who are going to be looking for you. You don't want them to find you. They're going to ask the same questions I did, but they may not believe your first answers.”

“She's in trouble,” Mick says.

“Throw some shit in a bag,” Boone says. “Put some serious distance between you and here.”

“I have to find her. I have to help her.”

“You gonna rescue her?” Boone asks. “Then she'll take you back?”

“I just want her to be okay,” Mick says. “Is that fucked up, or what?”

Actually, Boone thinks, it might be the least fucked-up thing he's heard all day. He warns Mick to get out of town again, and then he leaves to go see Dr. Theodore Cole.