Don Winslow - Dawn Patrol

Sunny goes back to the computer, checking for wind and current to see where the best spot will be to grab the wave, her wave. She checks the surf cams, but it's still too dark to really see anything. But the imagery on the computer-the current, the wind-it's unmistakable: Her wave is headed right for Pacific Beach Point.

Restless, she gets up again, goes to the window, and looks out at the actual ocean. It's dark and foggy, but the sun is starting to penetrate the marine layer and it feels odd to her, unhappy and strange, not to be out on the water with The Dawn Patrol. It's the first morning in years that she hasn't shown up.

She thought about going but just couldn't make herself do it. It seemed impossible to be there with Boone. It's ridiculous, she thinks now. Silly. She knows Boone has been with other women since they split up. She's been with other men. But there was something about seeing it-seeing that woman in her clothes, looking so comfortable and at home-that felt like a terrible betrayal. And Boone letting me think that he'd been killed, when he was doing her…

So she'd skipped The Dawn Patrol.

Maybe it's a good thing, she thinks. Time to move on. Catch my wave tomorrow and ride it into my new life.

She goes to get dressed. It will be busy at The Sundowner with all the surfers coming in, and Chuck could probably use the extra help.

So she decides to go in early.

High Tide thinks about going to The Sundowner, too.

He's hungry and cold, and a cup of hot coffee and a stack of banana pancakes soaked in maple syrup sound pretty damn good.

It's been a long night, sitting in his car, a half block south of Boone's crib, directing his old troops like a general who's come out of retirement to fight a war. And it felt good, in a weird way, to know that he could issue the battle cry and the boys would respond as if no time had passed. But it felt bad, too, bringing back the old days that he had left behind.

That bad feeling was nothing compared with the heartache that came with letting his cousin down. But life is full of tough choices, and he chose one family over the other.

Done.

But now he looks out at the ocean and sees that the family he chose isn't together. He didn't go out this morning because he was busy guarding Boone, and God knows where he is now. Johnny's not out there because he's probably well and truly pissed off at Boone and working the murder case. And Sunny's mad-hurt and betrayed.

Only Hang Twelve is out there, sitting like a latchkey kid waiting for Mom or Dad to come home.

He's thinking this when someone taps on his window.

Boone's standing there.

Tide rolls down the window.

“It's over,” Boone says.

“That's good.”

“There's still time for you to hit the water,” Boone says.

“You?”

Boone shakes his head, then looks up at his cottage. “Stuff to take care of.”

“Yeah, I think I'll give it a pass this morning,” Tide says. “Get me some breakfast instead.”

“Sounds good,” Boone says. “And Tide? Thanks, huh.”

“No worries, brah.”

You're aiga.

Johnny Banzai grabs a few hours of sleep, gets up, and picks a shirt, slacks, sports jacket, and tie from his closet. Then he rejects all of it in favor of a charcoal gray suit. He has to be in court today, maybe in front of a judge, and he's found that the extra touch of formality is usually worth it.

It feels odd, going to work from the house instead of the beach, changing clothes in his bedroom instead of his car. He's missed sessions of The Dawn Patrol before, because of work or family obligations, but this feels different.

Like the end of something.

The start of something else.

Phases and stages, I guess, Johnny thinks as he knots a bloodred knit tie and checks it in the mirror. At a certain time in your life, you think you'll never get married; then you are. Then you think you'll never have kids, and then suddenly you have two. And you've always said that you'd never leave The Dawn Patrol, but maybe now..

That stunt Boone pulled.

Not the thing with the Boonemobile-that was classic Boone, although it's hard to see him sacrifice the old van that held so many memories for all of them. So many road trips up and down the coast. The waves, the beer, the music, the girls. Hard to see that all go up in flames, but maybe it was necessary.

No, it was the stunt with the lady lawyer, the Brit. Maybe it was the accent that pissed Johnny off, but more probably it was Boone pulling the shit that Johnny expected from the La Jolla beautiful people, the rich and influential, and not a lifelong surfing buddy.

Face it, he tells himself as he looks down at his wife, Beth, sleeping in bed. You never thought you'd see Boone go for the money, never thought you'd see him go for that kind of woman. The whole ambitious professional thing.

Well, never say never.

Johnny kisses his wife and receives a murmured “Morning,” then stops off at each of his kids' rooms to check in on them. His son, Brian, is sound asleep, clad in Spider-Man pajamas, stretched out in the bottom bed of the set of bunks he'd wanted so that he could have friends for sleepovers. Abbie is likewise, curled into her Wonder Woman blanket, the lightest sheen of sweat on her upper lip. And thank God, Johnny thinks, that she takes after her mother.

He looks at her lying there so peaceful and innocent, and, hopefully, so safe, and it makes him think of the little girl's toothbrush in the room at the Crest Motel. Who was the girl? What was she doing there? Where is she now?

Johnny walks over, kisses his daughter softly on the cheek, and heads out the door.

It's going to be a tough day. Dan Silver's civil trial starts at nine and Tammy Roddick is scheduled to take the stand shortly afterward, and Johnny is going to be in the gallery when she does. So he'll have to get into a judge's chamber early to get a warrant written for both Boone and Roddick. She'll probably be on the stand for a couple of hours or more; then Johnny intends to pick them both up and get some answers about Angela Hart's death.

Sorry, B, he thinks.

I'm invoking the jump-in rule.

Boone stands on the pier and watches Hang Twelve sit out in the water by himself.

Kid's not even bothering to catch any of the good waves that are coming in like a machine's cranking them out. Just sits beyond the break and lets them roll under him like he's catatonic or something.

Boone waves his arms and yells, “Hang!”

Hang Twelve looks over, sees Boone, and then looks away.

A few seconds later, he paddles in. Boone watches him pick up his board, walk up the beach, and head up the street.

Petra's sitting at the kitchen table when Boone comes in. Her hands are wrapped around a mug of tea.

“Look, it's all good,” he says. “It's over. It's taken care of.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“You're good to go,” Boone says. “Tammy can testify about the arson, tell the cops whatever she knows about Angela's murder. Danny's not going to do a thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because he wants to live,” Boone says. “I can't tell you any more.”

Can't tell them that he made a deal that, in effect, cuts Danny off from Red Eddie. And Danny would take a fall on the lawsuit, even the murder, before he'd hurt Tammy, because she's now under Eddie's protection. And violating Red Eddie's protection is a capital offense, no appeals, no last-minute calls from the governor.

“You want to go to The Sundowner?” Boone asks. “Grab some breakfast?”

“What did you trade?” Petra asks.

“Huh?”

“You obviously made a deal with Red Eddie,” Petra says. “What I'm asking is, what did you give in return?”