Savages

42

The Coyote Grill

In south Laguna Beach

Just an exterior stairway up from Table Rock and the condo.

They sit out on the balcony. A rectangle of blue Pacific down below them, fishing boats cruising the edge of the kelp beds, Catalina lying fat and lazy (a spoiled house cat) on the edge of the world.

Nice nice.

Sun shining and the air smells of fresh salsa.

It’s Ben’s favorite place when he’s home. His hang. But he doesn’t eat a lot today, just pushes his food around the plate and nibbles on a tortilla and Chon thinks he probably has some gut malady. Rumbling intestines and frequent trips to the john. Load up on magazines because Ben is going to get a lot of reading done.

Chon has a burger. He hates Mexican food. His opinion is that all Mexican food is the same, it’s just wrapped differently.

O eats like a horse.

Big plate of nachos with chicken, fish tacos with yellowtail, rice, and black beans. Having Ben home gives her even more than her usual ravenous appetite. (Her two men around her.) It’s almost disgusting watching her shovel the food into her mouth. Paqu would hemorrhage through her fucking ears if she saw this.

Which would make O even hungrier.

Ben orders an iced tea but Chon tells him clear liquids are better. You have the trots, only drink fluids you can see through. Ben gets a lemonade and mostly just chews on the ice.

“Where have you been?” O asks between gulps.

“All over,” Ben answers. “First I was in Myanmar.”

“Myan … ?”

“—mar,” Ben says. “Used to be Burma. Go to Thailand and take a left? I ended up in Congo.”

“What was in Congo?” Chon asks.

Ben gives him that Apocalypse Now look. Brando before the Pudding Pops.

The horror.