Don Winslow - Dawn Patrol

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.

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.

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.

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…”

“Beach-bongo telegraph,” High Tide says. “Word's all along the coast you're here.”

“We gotta get off this beach,” Boone says. He hefts the smaller woman into a fireman's carry.

Petra starts to say, “I can-”

“I know you can.”

He carries her anyway. Tide easily sweeps up the redheaded woman and holds her close to his chest as they climb the steps back up to the parking lot. When they get there, Tide grabs two blankets and some towels from the back of his truck as Boone starts to undress Petra.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs.

“Have to get you out of these,” Boone says. “Hypothermia. Give me a hand, hamo?”

Boone, his fingers trembling with cold, strips Petra down to her underwear, wraps her tightly in the blanket, then vigorously rubs her hair dry while Tide does the same with Tammy.

“How about you?” Tide asks.

“I'm okay,” Boone says.

They get the women into the cab of Tide's truck, then Tide starts the engine and cranks the heater on full blast. Boone goes to the back of his van, strips down, towels off, and changes into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

Tide climbs into the van.

“S'up, brah?”

“It's complicated, Tide,” Boone says. “Can you give me a hand? I need to buy some time.”

“What you got in mind?”

When Boone tells him, High Tide objects. “It's the Boonemobile, man.”

But Boone puts the van in neutral, and he and Tide push it to the edge of the bluff, then take a running start and shove it through the thin wooden guardrail.

“Good-bye,” Boone says.

The van launches off the edge, stays upright for a second, then somersaults down onto the beach. A second later, a muffled explosion goes off; then a small tower of flame rises up through the fog.

Hell of a bonfire on the beach tonight.

A Viking funeral for the Boonemobile.

The devil doesn't give you easy choices.

If he did, he wouldn't be the devil, just some gyppo piker wannabe masquerading as the real deal.

The real devil doesn't ask you to choose between good and evil. For most people, that's too easy. Most people, even when faced with temptations beyond their previous imaginings, will choose to do good.

So the real devil asks you to choose between bad and worse. Let a family member die of a horrible addiction, or betray a friend. That's why he's the devil, man. And when he's really on his game, he doesn't make you choose between heaven and hell; he gives you a choice between hell and hell.

Josiah Pamavatuu is a good man, no doubt about it. Now he drives his truck with two wet and shivering women at his side and his best friend in the back, a man who is like family to him.