Kem Nunn - Tapping the Source

Hound took a step toward him and offered a hand. “You do what you want,” he said. “But no bad vibes, okay? Hermanos del mar , no?”

Ike took the hand, which was dry and strong.

“Listen,” Hound said. “Michelle and I are going sailing tomorrow. Why don’t you come along? I think she would like for you to. And there’s somebody I would like you to meet, an old friend of mine. What do you think?”

“When?” Ike asked.

“Early. Six. Michelle and I will come by and pick you up.” Hound turned as if to leave, but then stopped and came back. “There’s something else I want to say to you,” he said. “Because I know it’s on your mind. Frank told me about Preston coming by the shop. I know you think I had something to do with all of that.” He paused for a moment. “But you’re wrong if you think that. I’ve seen something like this coming for a long time. But I took no pleasure in it. It was not my doing, but his own. Preston has brought this end on himself. It’s his karma, surely you can see that? I would have saved him if I could.”

“Saved him?” Ike met Hound’s eyes. He might have been thrown off-balance a bit by the abrupt end of the lecture, but he was not going to be taken back in that easily.

“Let me ask you something,” Hound said. “Who do you think opened that gate for him at the ranch?”

Ike was ready to say more, but the question stopped him cold. He thought back suddenly to Preston’s words that night, his question to Ike about being able to find the truck, and later, his hiss of astonishment when the gate was open.

“Yeah, I saved his ass that night. And yours, too. Right? Some of those cowboys had guns. There were even a couple of guys there who knew Preston. And not everybody is as fond of that big fucker as you and me.”

Ike started to say something, but Hound just waved him silent. “What happened here, that was between him and the Samoans. I was hoping he would be smart enough to split. But of course he wasn’t. If you want to know the truth, I think maybe that’s the way he wanted it—except that he’s still alive.” He stopped to stare for a moment at Ike, his dark eyes charged with an odd light. Ike stared back. What was there about Hound’s expression just now? Something familiar. Something besides his usual cool, or a coked-out high, something a trifle wild, maybe even desperate, and then it came to him where he had seen that look before. It was the same expression he had once seen on the face of Preston Marsh as he sat squinting into the fire at the ranch, what Ike had taken for fear. He was aware of Hound continuing to talk, something about how he had seen all this coming, but how he had taken no pleasure in it. “The man was my friend, Ike,” he heard Hound say. “And I loved him.”

When Hound had gone, Ike sat for some time, alone in his room. That stuff about the ranch was hard to figure, leaving as it did a number of holes in Ike’s theories. Maybe that whole cat-and-mouse business had been something Ike had invented. It didn’t make sense. There was the possibility, of course, that Hound was lying, that this was for Ike’s benefit. But he had Michelle now, what did he still want with Ike? Ike rose and paced the floor of his room. Beyond the window, the sun was climbing fast, turning the sky hot and blue. It was confusing, but then the confusion was bound up with the past and Ike was done with that. Hound could have his little mysteries, and his games, Preston his karma. All Ike wanted was out, but he wanted Michelle with him. She was the reason he had shaken hands with Hound Adams, the reason he would go tomorrow. Still, as he stood at the window, a cloudless sky spreading above the rooftops before him, he could not help but wonder who that friend with the sailboat would turn out to be. A name seemed to hang there, at the tip of his tongue. But he did not say it.

They picked him up the following morning in Hound’s Sting-Ray. It was cramped inside the car. Ike and Michelle had to squeeze into the same seat and all the way there he was conscious of her shoulder pressing against his, of her thigh against his own. She wore a pair of white shorts and a light-colored tank top with a seagull on it. He had not seen the clothes before and wondered if they were gifts from Hound Adams. Michelle did not seem particularly pleased to see him. She acted as if he made her uncomfortable, so he wondered if she had really wanted him to come along, as Hound had said.

It was a strange trip. Ike contented himself with looking out the window, watching the beaches slide past. It was the first time he had ever been south of Huntington Beach and he was surprised at how quickly the landscape changed. The oil wells and squat brick buildings of Huntington Beach were soon replaced by large beach-front homes. They passed a sign that said NEWPORT BEACH CITY LIMITS, turned right off the highway and onto a bridge that spanned a huge harbor. The harbor was wide and blue. Its edges were lined with docks, sections of white beach, and high-rise buildings. There were boats everywhere, colored sails brilliant against the blue expanse of the bay. The traffic was thick on the bridge and it gave Ike a chance to take in the view. He could scarcely believe that they were only minutes away from downtown Huntington Beach, that the coastline could change so spectacularly within such a short distance. There was no similarity to any desert town here. This was southern California as he had imagined it: white sails in the sunlight, signs of opulence everywhere, and he found himself thinking back to something else Preston had once told him, something about Hound having friends with bucks.

“Ever seen the harbor before?” Hound asked as they waited in traffic.

Ike and Michelle answered at the same time. Apparently Michelle had not been this far south either.

Hound smiled and nodded toward the water. “Lots of money,” he said.

The Sting-Ray crept down the bridge and onto what Hound told them was a peninsula. Two blocks later they turned left and crossed a second bridge. The homes here were unlike any Ike had ever seen, save perhaps the mansion he had glimpsed above the point. Everything was concrete and glass, wood and stone, manicured trees, flashes of white sand and narrow walkways blocked by gates and signs that said PRIVATE BEACH. The walkways led down toward the blue water of the bay.

Hound pulled into a small lot near a guardhouse and parked. It was bright and hot and there were heat waves dancing at the edges of the lot. Ike stood alone at the side of the car while Hound locked the doors. Michelle did not look at him but stood several yards away, watching Hound. When Hound had finished with the doors, he walked to the trunk and removed a cardboard box, then motioned for them to follow.

Michelle walked at Hound’s side and Ike brought up the rear as they passed the guardhouse and headed down a long gray finger of dock. They were on the bay now, passing through a forest of masts. Rigging snapped and creaked all around them. White hulls brushed against rubber bumpers lining the docks. Across the bay there were more docks, more boats, more huge homes and private beaches.

At last they came to a large single-masted sailboat with a white hull bearing a green stripe and the name Warlock . The deck was a maze of glittering chrome gadgets. There was a white set of boarding steps set up on the dock and Hound led them up and onto the deck. Ike was last up the steps. He went over the lifeline and felt the deck roll slightly beneath him. For a moment they were alone on the deck with the crack of the rigging, the gentle slap of wind waves against the hull. Then a man’s voice reached them from somewhere beneath their feet and soon a face appeared in the cockpit.