all you,” Ben says. “We don’t all chew up and spit out fifteen terrorists before breakfast. I don’t want a war. I didn’t get into this thing to fight wars, kill people, get people killed, get their heads lopped off. This used to be a pretty mellow gig, but if it’s going to get tothis level of savagery, forget it. I don’t want to be a part of it. They think we’re afraid of them? Who fucking cares? This isn’t fifth grade, Chon.”
Yeah, it isn’t, Chon thinks. It isn’t a pride thing, an ego thing, or a dick thing.
Ben just doesn’t get how these people think. He can’t wrap his rational head around the reality that these people will interpret his reasonableness as weakness. And when they see weakness, when they smell fear, they attack.
They pour it on.
But Ben will never get that.
“We can’t beat the cartel in a shooting war, the math just doesn’t pencil,” Ben says.
Chon nods. He has guys he could recruit, good people who can take care of business, but the BC has an army. Still, what are you going to do? Grab the KY, bend over the railing? Prison love?
“This was just a way of making a living,” Ben says. “My balls aren’t attached to it. We have some money stashed. Cook Islands, Vanuatu … We can live comfortably. Maybe it’s time to put our focus somewhere else.”
“Bad time for a start-up, Ben.”
The market a bobsled run. The credit stream a
barranca
. Consumer confidence at an all-time low. End of capitalism as we know it.
“I’m thinking alternative energy,” Ben says.
“Windmills, solar panels, that kind of shit?”
“Why not?” Ben asks. “You know how they’re making those fourteen-dollar laptops for kids in Africa? What if you could make a ten-dollar solar panel? Change the fucking world.”
Ben still doesn’t get—
—Chon thinks—
—that you don’t change the world.
It changes you.
For example—
46
Three days after Chon gets back from the Rack he and O are sitting in a restaurant in Laguna when a waiter drops a tray.
Clatter.
Chon dives under the table.
Down there on all fours reaching for a weapon that isn’t there and if Chon were capable of social self-consciousness he’d be humiliated. Anyway, it’s tough to get nonchalantly back in your chair after diving under the table with a restaurant full of people staring at you and the adrenaline is still juicing his nervous system so he stays down there.
O joins him.
He looks over and there she is, eyeball to eyeball with him.
“A little jumpy, are we?” she asks.
“A tad.”
Good word, “tad.” The one-syllable jobs are usually the best.
O says, “As long as I’m on my hands and knees …”
“There are laws, O.”
“Slave to conformity.” She sticks her head out from under the table and asks, “Could we get a refill on the water, please?”
The waiter brings it to her, under the table.
“I kind of like it down here,” she says to Chon. “It’s like having a fort when you were a kid.”
She reaches up, grabs the menus, and hands one to Chon. After a few moments of perusal she says, “I’m going to go with the chicken Caesar salad.”
The waiter, a young surfer-type dude with a perfect tan and perfect white smile, squats beside the table. “May I tell you about our specials?”
Gotta love Laguna.
Gotta love O.
47
Ben wants peace.
Chon knows
You can’t make peace with savages.
48
O wakes up from her nap, gets dressed, and comes out onto the deck.
If the girl feels awkward about being in the presence of two guys she’s simul-doing, she doesn’t show it. Probably because she doesn’t feel it. Her thinking on this is basic and arithmetical:
More love is better than less love.
She hopes they feel the same way, but if they don’t—
Oh well.
Ben and Chon decide to roll down to Dickyville.
Etymology:
San Clemente, home of the former Western White House of
Richard Nixon
Aka Dick Nixon
Aka Tricky Dick
Dickyville
Sorry.
O wants to go
Yeah, it isn’t, Chon thinks. It isn’t a pride thing, an ego thing, or a dick thing.
Ben just doesn’t get how these people think. He can’t wrap his rational head around the reality that these people will interpret his reasonableness as weakness. And when they see weakness, when they smell fear, they attack.
They pour it on.
But Ben will never get that.
“We can’t beat the cartel in a shooting war, the math just doesn’t pencil,” Ben says.
Chon nods. He has guys he could recruit, good people who can take care of business, but the BC has an army. Still, what are you going to do? Grab the KY, bend over the railing? Prison love?
“This was just a way of making a living,” Ben says. “My balls aren’t attached to it. We have some money stashed. Cook Islands, Vanuatu … We can live comfortably. Maybe it’s time to put our focus somewhere else.”
“Bad time for a start-up, Ben.”
The market a bobsled run. The credit stream a
barranca
. Consumer confidence at an all-time low. End of capitalism as we know it.
“I’m thinking alternative energy,” Ben says.
“Windmills, solar panels, that kind of shit?”
“Why not?” Ben asks. “You know how they’re making those fourteen-dollar laptops for kids in Africa? What if you could make a ten-dollar solar panel? Change the fucking world.”
Ben still doesn’t get—
—Chon thinks—
—that you don’t change the world.
It changes you.
For example—
46
Three days after Chon gets back from the Rack he and O are sitting in a restaurant in Laguna when a waiter drops a tray.
Clatter.
Chon dives under the table.
Down there on all fours reaching for a weapon that isn’t there and if Chon were capable of social self-consciousness he’d be humiliated. Anyway, it’s tough to get nonchalantly back in your chair after diving under the table with a restaurant full of people staring at you and the adrenaline is still juicing his nervous system so he stays down there.
O joins him.
He looks over and there she is, eyeball to eyeball with him.
“A little jumpy, are we?” she asks.
“A tad.”
Good word, “tad.” The one-syllable jobs are usually the best.
O says, “As long as I’m on my hands and knees …”
“There are laws, O.”
“Slave to conformity.” She sticks her head out from under the table and asks, “Could we get a refill on the water, please?”
The waiter brings it to her, under the table.
“I kind of like it down here,” she says to Chon. “It’s like having a fort when you were a kid.”
She reaches up, grabs the menus, and hands one to Chon. After a few moments of perusal she says, “I’m going to go with the chicken Caesar salad.”
The waiter, a young surfer-type dude with a perfect tan and perfect white smile, squats beside the table. “May I tell you about our specials?”
Gotta love Laguna.
Gotta love O.
47
Ben wants peace.
Chon knows
You can’t make peace with savages.
48
O wakes up from her nap, gets dressed, and comes out onto the deck.
If the girl feels awkward about being in the presence of two guys she’s simul-doing, she doesn’t show it. Probably because she doesn’t feel it. Her thinking on this is basic and arithmetical:
More love is better than less love.
She hopes they feel the same way, but if they don’t—
Oh well.
Ben and Chon decide to roll down to Dickyville.
Etymology:
San Clemente, home of the former Western White House of
Richard Nixon
Aka Dick Nixon
Aka Tricky Dick
Dickyville
Sorry.
O wants to go
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