Savages

58

They look down at Aliso Creek Beach.

The water is a deep, cold blue.

“You don’t want to work for these guys, do you?” Ben asks.

“No,” Chon says. “Let me rephrase that—fuck no.”

“Then we don’t,” Ben says. “I mean, they can’t force us to grow herb.”

He appreciates the irony, though, that the Mexicans basically want to turn them into field workers. Plant, grow, and harvest their crop for them. He digs the reverse colonialism of it, but it just isn’t his thing.

Chon looks back at the suite. “We could just kill them both. Get this party started.”

“Buddha would be so pissed.”

“That fat Jap.”

“Fat Indian.”

“I thought he was Japanese,” Chon says. “Or Chinese. Some ‘ese.’”

“Indianese.”

They walk back to the room.