The Gentlemen's Hour

43

“Hello, Rabbit,” Boone says.

“Howzit, Boone?” Rabbit says. “Red Eddie, he wants to see you.”

“Wants to see you,” Echo says.

The origin of Echo’s name is pretty obvious. So is Rabbit’s, actually, but no one likes to talk about it. Rabbit and Echo are sort of the Mutt and Jeff, the Abbott and Costello, the Cheney and Bush, of Red Eddie’s squadron of thugs. Rabbit is tall and thin, Echo is short and thick. Both the Hawaiian gangsters wear flower-print shirts over baggy shorts and sandals. The shirts run about three bills each and come from a store in Lahaina. Red Eddie pays his muscle well.

“I don’t want to see him,” Boone says.

He knows it’s useless to refuse, but he just feels he has to give them a little aggro anyway. Besides, his ribs already hurt from when Mike Boyd tried to enfossilize them into the canvas.

“We have our instructions,” Rabbit says.

“Our instructions.”

“That’s

really

annoying, Echo.”

“Get in the ride,” Rabbit says.

“In the—”

“Shut up.” But Boone goes with them and gets into the black Escalade. Rabbit gets behind the wheel and turns the ignition. Fijian surf reggae music comes blasting out of the speakers.

“You think you have enough bass?!” Boone yells.

“Not enough?!” Rabbit yells back. “I didn’t think so!”

“Didn’t think so!”

The Escalade goes throbbing down the street.

All the way to La Jolla.