Cut Back (4 page)

“How about the truck?” Sean asked.

“How about you shut your damn trap and let me think?” Pat snarled. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and started to hack.

“I might know a place,” Kai said.

“Where?” Pat wheezed, red-faced from coughing.

“That motel you pass coming into town.”

“You crazy?” his father said. “It's high season. I ain't paying for no motel, especially in high season.”

“This might not be so bad,” Kai said. “It's the rundown pink place on the water. I know the owner.”

Pat gave him a curious look. “First you knew that SOB Buzzy Frank. Now you know the owner of that motel. So what's it gonna cost?”

“I don't know,” Kai said.

“Well, if you know the owner so good, maybe you can get us a deal.”

Kai couldn't get over how cheap his father was. Big Chief Hockaloogie must have had thousands of dollars in cash stashed in safe-deposit boxes at banks all over the country. And even though he'd probably just had to pony up some pretty hefty dinero to Buzzy for rent, there had to be plenty to spare. But the guy was so tight with a buck you'd have to wedge his hand open with a pry bar.

“I'll see what I can do,” Kai said.

Pat jerked his head toward the back. “Call him.”

Kai went into the office and looked up the Driftwood's number in the phone book. He dialed it and counted eight rings before he hung up. He dialed it again and this time counted six rings. Here it was, the height of
the tourist season and Curtis didn't even have a phone machine to take messages from would-be guests. Somehow, Kai wasn't surprised.

Pat and Sean came into the back room just as Kai hung up for the second time.

“Well?” Pat asked.

“Couldn't reach him,” Kai said, “but I'm pretty sure we can stay there tonight.”

“It's Fourth of July week,” Pat said. “Every motel from here to the lighthouse is full. What makes you think your friend has room?”

“Because the waves haven't been that good,” Kai answered.

Pat scowled. “You run over there and make sure it's okay while Mr. Megabrains and I pack up the bedding and clothes. If he's got room, give us a call and we'll come over.”

For once Kai was glad to do Pat's bidding. He left the shop and headed for the Driftwood.

K
ai walked down the sidewalk, passing couples and families out for an after-dinner stroll. From the distance came the random pops and bangs of fireworks being lit by people who couldn't quite wait for the Fourth. Sun Haven Surf, Buzzy Frank's big surf shop in the middle of town, closed every night at 8
P.M.
As Kai passed the shop, the lights inside were going out and the employees were leaving. Jade, the beautiful curvy young woman who worked behind the front counter, stepped out onto the sidewalk. Kai stopped.

“Hey,” she said, smiling warmly.

“How are you?” Kai asked.

Jade shrugged. “Okay. You?”

“Not bad.”

“I thought you were usually still at work at this time of night,” she said.

“Something came up.”

Jade crossed her arms over her chest and glanced down the sidewalk and then back at Kai. “Want to do something?”

That caught Kai by surprise. “Last time I saw you, it looked like you were doing something with someone else.”

Jade wrinkled her nose and made a face. “I had to send him on his way. He was way too possessive.”

“I've got to take care of some things right now,” Kai said. “Maybe another time, okay?”

“That would be nice,” Jade said.

When Kai got to the Driftwood, the orange vacancy sign was flickering on and off. Kai went through the screen door to the office and rang the bell. He waited, but nobody came through the door behind the desk that connected the motel office to Curtis's apartment. Finally Kai went around the counter and knocked.

Still no answer, but Kai could hear music coming from inside. Not just any music either, guitar-crazed surf movie music. Kai knocked again. “Curtis, you in there?”

“That you, grom?” Curtis called from inside.

“Yeah.”

“Well, don't just stand there banging, come on in.”

Kai pushed open the door. The living room was dark except for the gray light from the TV barely illuminating Curtis, who reclined on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and a bottle of Jack Daniel's clenched in his fist.

“What's cookin' good lookin'?” Curtis asked in his gravelly voice, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“I rang the bell,” Kai said. “What if it'd been someone looking for a room?”

“They'd be out of luck.”

“But the vacancy sign's on,” Kai said.

Curtis took a gulp of JD. “What are you all of a sudden, my mother? I don't want to answer the damn bell, I won't answer the damn bell.”

“Then shouldn't you turn off the vacancy sign?” Kai asked.

“Why would I do that?” Curtis grumbled. “I got empty rooms to rent.”

Kai stared at him for a second. “You're not making sense.”

“You want to see what don't make sense?” Curtis asked. “Come over here.”

Kai stepped closer. Now he could see the TV screen. An old grainy color surf movie was playing. Clearly one made on a sixteen millimeter film camera and then transferred to videotape years later. A bunch of crew cut guys on big 1960s long boards were taking off on some major waves.

“Recognize it?” Curtis asked.

“Waimea Bay,” Kai said. “But I don't know the movie.”

“That's 'cause you never saw it,” Curtis said. “This is just some outtakes Bruce Brown put together for his friends.”

Bruce Brown was probably the most famous surf-movie maker ever. A pioneer in the form.

“There!” Curtis suddenly pointed at the screen and hit the pause button on the remote. The grainy color picture froze on two surfers just starting down from the Up of a monstrous twenty-five-foot wave. One of them was wearing white-and-black-striped trunks and squatting on his board with his arms out-stretched. He was stocky and broad and reminded Kai of a sumo wrestler.

“Greg Noll,” Kai said.

“Right. And the other guy?”

Kai kneeled closer and squinted at the screen, then looked back at the shadowy form of Curtis on the couch. “No way.”

“Oh, grommy, you better believe it.” Curtis pressed the play button and the movie started again. Noll, nicknamed Da Bull and one of the most famous surfers in history, had caught the huge wave on an angle and skittered down the face on a diagonal from the upper right to the lower left. Meanwhile Curtis charged straight down the face. As Noll moved farther to the left, the cameraman had to make a choice between following him or staying with Curtis. The cameraman followed Noll and Curtis disappeared from the screen.

“Just one of my many little moments of surfing immortality,” Curtis muttered, and took another swig from the bottle.

“How's it make you feel?” Kai asked.

“How's it make me feel?” Curtis repeated. “Like crap. Da Bull goes down in the history books. He's in all the movies, the documentaries—”

“Wait a minute,” Kai said. “He's in the history books because he rode the biggest wave
that had ever been ridden up to that time.”

“Yup. I guess that's what you had to do. Risk your mortal soul for a wave. You know, surfin's been the love of my life, but I never saw any reason to die for it. Guess that was my downfall.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Kai said. “If you could do it all over again, would you have ridden the wave Noll rode?”

Curtis grinned. “Only if I knew I was gonna survive.” He hit rewind and wound the shot back to the beginning, then ran it forward. Only after watching it again did he glance back at Kai. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I need a room,” Kai said.

Curtis's eyebrows rose. “Got yourself a hot date?”

“More like an eviction notice,” Kai said. “My dad and half brother too.”

“Where are they?” Curtis asked.

“Waiting for a call from me.”

Curtis reached to the coffee table and picked up a wireless phone and tossed it to him. Kai called Pat and told him it was okay to come over, then put the phone back down.

“So, how'd you get your sorry butts evicted?” Curtis asked.

Kai explained that they'd been sleeping in the shop in violation of the lease. “Turns out Buzzy Frank's our landlord. Or at least his company is.”

“His company?” Curtis said. “Try compan
ies
. That's just one of 'em. Christ, Buzzy Friggin' Frank's got more companies than a sea urchin's got spines. Construction, real estate, housing, stores, offices. He probably owns half this goddamn town, and is trying to buy the other half. He's got a
vision
, you know. A friggin'
concept
of what Sun Haven's gonna be someday. Only it won't be called Sun Haven anymore. It'll be called Buzzy Land.”

Kai couldn't help smirking.

“You know what this place'll be like if Buzzy gets his way?” Curtis said. “Socially antiseptic and economically germ free. You'll be able to eat off the friggin' sidewalks. Only the best stores. Only the best restaurants. Only the best hotels. Only the best people. You know what kind of people are the best kind of people, grommy?”

“The ones with the most money?”

“Smart little grom, aren't ya? Damn straight they're the ones with the most money. And when they come here to Buzzy Land, the
more of it they spend, the more of it winds up in Buzzy Friggin' Franks pocket. Which is just the way Buzzy Friggin' Frank wants it.”

“But if he already owns the surf shop and all this property and companies, he must be doing pretty well,” Kai said.

Curtis grinned. “Buzzy Friggin' Frank's doing way better than just pretty well, my grommy little friend. Buzzy Friggin' Franks the richest man in town. He's already got more money than he knows what to do with. Know the Simpsons? Well, Buzzy Friggin' Frank's our very own Mr. Burns.”

“If he's got so much, why does he still want more?” Kai asked.

Curtis took another hit off his bottle. “You don't want me to get all philosophical on your butt, do ya, grommy?”

“Can you keep it simple?” Kai asked.

“I can try,” Curtis said. “The short answer? Fear of death.”

Kai frowned. “Buzzy Frank thinks if he gets rich enough he won't die?”

“Well, it ain't that conscious, if you know what I mean,” Curtis said. “It's more of an irrational kinda thing. But yeah, that's what it all sort of boils down to, if you ask me.”

“That why you drink?” Kai asked.

“Yeah, probably,” Curtis said. “Probably why guys my age dye their hair and buy fast cars and chase younger women. Why ladies dye their hair and get face-lifts and boob jobs and all the crap they do with makeup. And it's sure as hell why people go to church on Sunday morning.”

“Then what's the answer?” Kai asked.

“Answer?” Curtis grinned. “Ride the biggest, most dangerous wave ever and make sure they get it on film. Hell, grom, I don't know what the friggin' answer is. Except maybe that this is just the way it's supposed to be. Death's a part of life. It's natural for things to be born and live and die.”

“What if you die before your time?” Kai asked.

“Who says when it's someone's time?” Curtis said.

“Like a mother who's got a kid who's too young to be on his own,” Kai said.

“Well, that's probably what fathers are for,” Curtis said.

“What if the father isn't around?” Kai asked. “Or he's around but he doesn't give a crap?”

Curtis studied Kai closely “We're not talkin' philosophy anymore, are we? We're talkin' about someone we both know pretty darn well.”

Kai nodded.

“Well, that kid's gonna have to grow up and get on with it faster than he planned,” Curtis said. “But he's a good person and there'll be people around who'll recognize that and want to help.”

They heard the desk bell in the office ring.

“Speak of the devil.” Curtis hefted himself up off the couch, and he and Kai went out into the office. Pat and Sean were there, looking around. Pat had that sour expression on his face, as if the Driftwood was such a fleabag that even
he
wasn't sure he could bring himself to stay there.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Curtis said. “How may I help you?”

Pat got right to the point. He nodded at Kai. “My son here says you might give us a deal on a room.”

Curtis looked at Kai, and for a moment Kai feared Curtis might say something like what a fine young man he was or some such garbage like that. But Curtis looked back at
Pat and said, “Forty-five dollars a night.”

“How about for a week?” Pat asked.

“Forty-five a night,” said Curtis.

“How about a month?”

“Same thing,” said Curtis.

“So where's the deal?” Pat asked.

“The deal, my good man, is that this is high season and from now until Labor Day you won't find a motel room within a hundred miles of here for less than a hundred eighty a night. So you're lookin' at a seventy-five percent discount off the going rate.”

“Suppose we agree you don't have to give us clean sheets and towels every day,” Pat said.

“You think for forty-five a night you get clean sheets and towels every day?” Curtis asked. “For that price you should be thankful you get a sheet or towel, period.”

Pat's sour look got even more sour. “What kind of place is this, anyway?”

“I kind of think it's the only place left for you,” Curtis said. “Now, I've enjoyed our little chat, gentlemen, but right now I feel I'd like to spend the rest of the evening with my good friend, Mr. Jack Daniel's, so if you would be so kind as to make up your mind I'll be able to
shut off the lights, lock the door, and return to my reflections on immortality.”