CHAPTER SEVEN
LUX
To borrow a phrase from Colonel Sanders, the fish is finger-lickin’ good. Company’s not so bad either, I think, looking around the table. I’ve definitely seen Bo checking me out more than once around the place. Razor doesn’t seem so concerned, and Deacon? Hard to tell. He keeps his cards very close to that marble chest of his.
Bo places his knife and fork down, not a crumb left on his plate. He rubs his belly. “You ready to hit the water again, Lux?”
I look across the table. “I don’t know. It’s up to Deacon.”
Deacon glances up from his plate. “I think so. We’ll hit up Little Stern tomorrow, see if you’ve learned anything over the last two weeks.”
I’m trying to hide my smile, cutting another piece of fish. “Sounds good.”
Bo sniggers. “Cute. You know, you don’t have to do what he says. We’re not keeping you here against your will.”
“I know,” I reply, “but I suppose saving my life should give him some say over how I live it. Besides, I’d hate for him to have to kiss me again.”
Lux, you flirty biatch, you.
I see the briefest hint of a smile play out on Deacon’s face. The cards are coming out. Question is, what’s he going to do about it?
*
Little Stern is significantly more sheltered than the Bluff, not catching the full brunt of the swell. Still, clean barrels roll in out near the reef today.
I stand next to Deacon on the beach. There’s a certain way he looks at the ocean. I’ve come to know it well. There’s sadness in it, something lost. I can’t place my finger on it, but he looks at the water like a lover who’s slipped away, a memory.
“Deacon?”
He snaps out of it, pointing. “I know we call it ‘little’, but it can get pretty big out there. As you know, it’s not as mutant as the Bluff, but the water’s just as shallow near the reef and it will still fuck you up if you don’t know what you’re doing. It’s sizeable today, certainly bigger than last time. I mean, I’m no fucking doctor but so much time in the water after…” he doesn’t want to say it. “It just doesn’t strike me as responsible parenting.”
I pluck my board out of the sand. “Thanks for the pep talk, Dad, but I’m going in, like it or not.”
I start to run down to the water and he’s got no choice but to run behind me.
The sky’s clear, but the water’s freezing. You never notice it in a full steamer wetsuit until it finds its way down the back of your neck, flooding your suit from the inside. It’s almost nice in a way, a kind of oceanic orgasm. Nothing, however, beats being locked in a barrel, a roof of water over your head, the rest rushing past in an aquamarine wall. It’s incredible. It’s why I do this.
Still, I am nervous getting out, duck-diving under a solid eight-footer, the reef and its sharp bed of nails inches below. I’m breathing faster than normal, panting raggedly.
“You okay?” Deacon calls behind me.
I give him a thumbs-up and press through another wave, emerging out of the impact zone.
Deacon paddles up beside me, pressing up into a sitting position on his board. “The next set’s coming. You good to go?”
I turn and start to paddle, keeping an eye on the approaching set. “Never been better.”
Like the Bluff, the waves kick up hard and fast, a hollow face that sucks everything out from below you.
My drop-in is terrible, I barely manage to cut in, but before I know it I’m on my feet again and pulling into the barrel. I raise my hand and let the water cascade through my fingers.
Better than sex.
With Deacon? You sure? Why don’t you ask him and find out?
This internal dialogue plays out as I’m spit from the tube, riding the wash to the side, Deacon clapping above his head as I paddle back to him.
I’m panting hard, breathless, but I’m smiling like I won the Lotto and a dinner date with the Hemsworth brothers.
Deacon is cuter.
I can’t seem to shut my head up.
Come on, brain. Quiet time.
Deacon’s dynamite out of the water, yes, but in his natural element here he’s close to irresistible, a fantasy come to life. He combs his hair with his fingers, watching the horizon, always watching. “Ready for another?”
I turn and paddle. “Bring it on.”
I’m just about to pick up the pace when he calls “Wait.”
I let the wave roll past, turning back. “What is it?”
He points into the distance. “There. Can you see it?”
I squint against the sun, and then I do see it—a fin cutting through the water.
I tense up. “Shit, is that a shark?”
My instinct is to turn and get the fuck out of here, but Deacon grips my arm. “It’s only a juvenile rounding up a swarm of baitfish. See the birds?”
I almost can’t see them, but he’s right, white gulls swooping from the sky to peck at the water.
“Are we safe?” I’ve never seen a shark in the water before—crazy as that sounds given the places I’ve surfed.
“For now, but let’s head in before Mom and Dad arrive.”
We turn and catch the next wave together, Deacon taking it low and pulling out early, both of us riding the whitewash back to the shallow waters before the sand bar.
Safely back on the beach, I collapse onto the sand. “I can’t believe there was a shark in the water right now.”
Deacon sits beside me, mouth open and chest billowing in and out. “You do see them from time to time. There’s a great white nursery not far from the Bluff.”
“Baby sharks?”
He laughs, short. “Nothing ‘baby’ about a great white. I can take you there if you like.”
“To the shark preschool? Nope, Nope, and one extra serving for good measure.”
“You’re scared of sharks?”
I am, but I don’t want to let it on. “Who isn’t?”
“Can you scuba dive?”
I nod.
“It’s a date then. We’ll head out when there’s a bit more moonlight. They’re majestic creatures, really. When you see them up close, the power and way they move through the water… It’s changes your perspective.”
“You sound like you admire them.”
“I think a hunter appreciates a fellow hunter when he sees one.”
“And what are you a hunter of?”
He turns to me, eyes bottle green and gleaming. “Pleasure. What else?”
*
Freshly showered, I come out of my room to find the boys gearing up to go out.
Bo grabs his board off the wall. “We’re heading out for a sunset surf. You in, Hollywood?”
“I’ll think I’ll sit this one out.”
Bo looks to Razor. “Deacon really must be working you hard.”
Deacon pushes him towards the door. “Come on, you idiot.”
I point to the phone on the wall. “Say, can I use the landline?”
The three of them exchange a look.
“Who do you want to call?” Deacon asks.
“A friend back home. Let him know I’m okay.”
“A lover?” Razor sniggers.
“A work colleague,” I correct, watching Deacon.
He picks up his board. “Sure. It’s down the back.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
The three of them head out and I grab my cell from my bag looking for the number.
I should have done this sooner. Perhaps I shouldn’t be doing it at all, but I can’t stop the curiosity now. It demands answers.
The phone is one of those old rotary units. It takes me almost a minute to dial, the ringtone going on and on and on.
“Howdy ho.”
There’s a little static on the line, but Jason’s signature Southpark drawl comes through all the same.
“Howdy, partner.”
He seems surprised. “Lux Louise Jackson? That really you?”
God, it’s good to hear a familiar voice. “The one and only.”
“Where are you? Are you safe?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t exactly call this the most happening place in the world, but the surf is killer and,” I spot the brothers out the window, Deacon in the middle, “the scenery ain’t bad.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I was a little concerned when you up and vanished.”
“How’s everything over your end? The captain still up your ass about that bust?”
Laughter. “The captain’s always up my ass. The guy loves misery, what can I say? In fact, the whole precinct is copping it. You got out at the right time. You’re a bit of a hero, you know.”
“For standing up to him?”
“You’ve got the badge of honor of the being the only person I’ve actually heard him call a cunt. I mean, he spelled it out, letter by letter. You really pissed him off. Jesus, the shit-storm that followed…”
I twist the phone line around my finger. “Hope I didn’t make life too hard for you guys.”
“Nah, shit’s shit, you know? What are you doing?”
“Bartending, surfing.”
“You could have done that here in California, you know.”
Jason’s always been a good listener. He’s not my type, but I’ve got a soft spot for him all the same. He’s had my back more than once. “After the thing with Dad I had to get away, plus I was sick of all the red tape and bullshit. You know how it is.”
“I do. I do. So, what are you really calling for? You finally want to cash in that dinner date?”
He knows me too well. “The date’s going to have to wait. I need you to run some names… if it’s not too much trouble.”
“For you, baby doll, anything. Hit me.”
“Three American males, brothers. Deacon, Bo and Razor Hunt. I haven’t seen any ID, but those are the names they use. They all lived in Newport at one stage as far as I can tell, both parents deceased.”
“Plates, phone numbers? You got anything else?”
“No, sorry. I just need to know who they are.”
The tone of his voice changes to concern. “Are you in trouble, because just say the word, I’ll—”
“No, I’m fine. You’ll do it?”
“Call me back in a day or two. I’ll see what we have.”
“You’re the best, Jace.”
“Don’t I know it,” he laughs. “You take care.”
“You too.”
The line goes dead and I’m filled with a sudden emptiness. I really am alone here on the other side of the world.
Out the window the three boys are disappearing up the road, pushing and shoving one another as brothers do. Sure doesn’t look like you’re alone.
But can I really trust these guys? Everything in my gut tells me they are bad news, the kind of guys with histories and records and a rap sheet a mile long. I’ve been dealing with their kind day to day for almost three years now. I should know a criminal when I see one.
I’m relaxing on the lounge when the three of them arrive home.
Deacon’s the first inside, pausing the place his board on the wall. I take in his body, the way it’s pressing out that wetsuit, the defined bulge at the crotch. Who knew neoprene could look so hot?
“Everything alright?” he says.
I put on a smile. “Yeah, great.”
Razor barges in, pushing Deacon out of the way heading fast for the fridge. “A close-out fest. Fun, but I’ll be feeling it in the morning.”
I notice Deacon’s arm. “You cut yourself.”
He holds his arm, noting the blood. “Bailed into the reef. It’s not the first time.”
I pull out a chair. “Sit down.”
“Why?”
“You’re not going to go walking around with an open wound like that. Where do you keep the first-aid kit?”
Bo jumps onto the sofa. “Pantry, top shelf.”
While I go to retrieve the kit, Deacon sits. “It’s been a while since I played doctors and nurses.”
I take the kit down. “I’ll throw in a prostate check if you like.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a little rear play.”
Bo leans against the fridge with a beer. “Fucking pervert.”
I apply iodine to a cotton ball. “This might sting a little.”
Deacon doesn’t even flinch. There’s probably a robot under that skin rather than a man. It would certainly explain a lot.
Robots don’t surf like that. They don’t touch themselves like that.
Wound cleaned, I wrap a bandage around his arm and secure it in place with a butterfly clip. “Done.”
He stands. “What do I owe you, doc?”
I think on it. “Dinner should suffice.”