Don Winslow - Dawn Patrol

Eddie turns to Dan Silver and says, “Sorry, chief. You're out of luck.”

Danny doesn't want to accept it. “You telling me your guys can't take a bunch of Sammy gang bangers?”

The Hummer is full of very moke hui boys and another car, also packed with muscle, waits just a block away. Doubtless they could do some serious damage to the Sammies and blow their way into Boone Dawg's crib, Eddie knows, but that's the problem-the last thing in the world Eddie wants is to trigger a transoceanic war.

And that's what it would be, too. Let one of these Sammy guys get scratched, it would start a blood feud, with obligations for revenge. So the Sammies would crack a Hawaiian, then Eddie would have to crack back, and it would never end. And not just here, either; it would speed back to Honolulu in a heartbeat, and there'd be aggro there and in freaking Pago Pago, too. It would get out of freaking control, cause a lot of heartache, and interfere with business.

And Eddie's all about the business.

No, the High Tide dude was smart, Eddie thinks. He figured all this out and put a screen around his boy Boone. A screen of ohana that he knew I would never attack.

Round to you, Tide.

“Sorry,” he says to Dan. “It just ain't on, man.”

“That cunt's going to testify in the morning,” Dan says. “God knows what's going to come out of her stupid fucking mouth.”

“You better hope,” Eddie says, “she confines her remarks to the little pig roast at your dumb-ass warehouse.”

Because Dan has dumped him in the shit, letting this wahine see things she shouldn't have seen. And the timing couldn't be worse-he has a shipment due to come in tomorrow night, and he doesn't want Dan's sloppy business practices shining a spotlight on that part of his business.

“That's why I'm saying,” Dan says. “Let's go in and take her now.”

Eddie shakes his head. Ain't gonna happen. Not only are the Samoans standing in the way, but there's Boone to consider. No way is Boone going to stand aside and let Danny cancel that girl's reservation. Eddie's already told his boys: If they have a clean shot at the wahine, take it, but nothing, nothing, better happen to Boone Daniels.

Now nothing's going to happen at all.

Not right now anyway.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Dan asks.

“Try using your head for a change,” Eddie says. His cellie goes off. “What?”

“Five-oh rolling up,” one of his guys in the other car says. “One cop, a Jap.”

“Time to take the party someplace other,” Eddie says.

The Hummer rolls out.

Johnny makes the Samoan gang bangers right away.

O'side-Samoan Lords-Tide's old crew.

Which is interesting, what the hell High Tide has to do with all this. Johnny fronts one of the kids. “Call your matai. Tell him Johnny B. wants to go through and he's not in the mood to take any shit.” The kid gets on the phone, talks in Samoan for a second, looks at Johnny with undisguised hostility, and says, “It's cool.”

“Thanks so much.”

Johnny walks down the pier, goes to Boone's cottage, and bangs on the door. “Boone, open the damn door! It's Johnny!”

Boone opens the door.

“You're a dick,” Johnny says.

“No argument.”

“You had a lot of people worried, Boone,” Johnny says. “I thought I was going to have to organize a paddle-out for you. You could have called your friends, let them know you're okay.”

“I'm okay.”

“Does Sunny know?” Johnny asks. “That she doesn't have to grieve for you?”

“She knows.”

“I guess Tide must have told her, huh?” Johnny says, gesturing generally to the gang bangers, who seem to have melted into the landscape.

“What do you mean?”

“The Samoan Lord bodyguards,” Johnny says.

“I thought they were Hawaiians,” Boone says, feeling stupid and ungrateful for thinking that Tide had sold him out.

“They all look alike to me, too,” Johnny says. “Can I come in, Boone? Or are you going to keep all your friends out in the cold?”

“You have a warrant?”

“Not yet,” Johnny says.

“Then I guess I'll stand out in the cold with you.”

“So you have Tammy Roddick,” Johnny says.

Boone doesn't answer.

“How did we end on different teams on this thing, B?” Johnny asks. “I don't think we have divergent interests here. You want Roddick to testify against Dan Silver in a civil suit tomorrow morning. The SDPD could care less. We just want to talk to her about Angela Hart's death. Hell, I'll walk her to the courtroom myself.”

“If she was still alive.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Boone hesitates.

“You got something on your mind,” says Johnny, “say it.”

“Dan Silver got the word pretty fast that it was Angela and not Tammy dead at the motel, Johnny,” Boone says. “I'm worried he got it from cops.”

“Fuck you, Boone.”

“I didn't say it was you, Johnny.”

“Fuck you, Boone,” Johnny says.

“Okay, fuck me.”

“You think it was Harrington?” asks Johnny. “He's a lot of things, but he's not dirty.”

Boone shrugs.

“Sanctimonious asshole,” Johnny says. “Only Boone Daniels knows the truth, because he walks on water.”

“Jesus, Johnny.”

“So to speak.”

“Can you protect her?” Boone asks.

“Can you?” Johnny asks. “I mean, you can in the short run, but what about after she testifies? Have you thought of that? You think Dan Silver's just going to forget she just cost him a pile of money? You're going to devote your life to protecting this girl?”

Boone's thought about it. It's a problem.

“It's an insurance company, Boone,” Johnny says. “They've got lots of jangle; they can afford to take a hit. Roddick was right to run. I only wish she'd run farther, because the company doesn't give a shit what happens to her after she lays it down for them, do they? Her only chance is if I put Dan in the hole, and that isn't going to happen on the arson charge. But if she's a witness on a capital case, I can protect her.”

“We each have jobs to do, Johnny.”

“So fuck Angela Hart, right?” Johnny says. “Tag it a suicide. Just another dead stripper. ‘No humans involved.’”

“She's not my job.”

“No, she's mine,” Johnny says. “Put your hands behind your back.”

“Really, Johnny?” Boone says.

“I have reason to believe that you are interfering with an ongoing investigation,” Johnny says. “I have reason to believe that you have knowledge material to at least one homicide investigation. I'll get the warrant to search your place, but in the meantime, I'm taking you in on a vandalism charge.”

“Vandalism?”

“Pushing your van through a municipal guardrail,” Johnny says. “Causing a fire on a public beach.”

Boone turns around and puts his hands behind his back. Johnny gets his handcuffs out.

“Cuffs, John?”

“Hey, you want to act like a skell…”

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

A woman comes to the door. Dressed, sort of, in Boone's clothes. Her hair is damp, as if she just came out of the shower. Johnny recognizes her as the woman Boone was with when he arrived at the Crest Motel, the woman who went over and looked at the body. Her accent is clearly English.

“Who are you?” Johnny asks.

“Petra Hall, attorney-at-law.”

Johnny laughs. “Boone's lawyer?”

“Among other things, yes.”

From the looks of her, Johnny has a good idea about what the “other things” are. It's unlike Boone to sleep with clients, but it's hard to blame him in this case. The woman is a stunner, and the voice and the accent are… Well, it's hard to blame him.