Dawn Patrol

65

High Tide sits in The Sundowner enjoying an End of the Workday Beer. The End of the Workday Beer is the best beer there is, with the possible exception of the occasional Weekend Morning Breakfast Beer or the Post Surf Session on a Hot Afternoon Beer.

But High Tide likes the End of the Workday Beer best because, as a supervisor for the San Diego Public Works Department, he puts in a hard, long workday. Josiah Pamavatuu, aka High Tide, is a busy man when weather like this pulls in. He'll have crews out 24/7 for the next few days, and he'll have to keep track of them all, making sure that they're getting the job done, keeping the water flowing smoothly underneath the city.

It's a lot of responsibility.

That's okay-High Tide is up to it. He's enjoying his brew when Red Eddie comes in and sits down on the stool beside him.

“Howzit, brah?” Eddie asks.

“Howzit.”

“Buy you a beer?”

Tide shakes his head. “Driving, brah. Just one before home to the kids.”

“Good man.”

“What you want, Eddie?” Tide asks.

“ Bruddahcan't have a beer wid a bruddah he don't want somethin'?” Eddie asks. He raises a finger, points it at Tide's beer, and the bartender brings him one of the same.

“You're about da business, Eddie,” Tide says.

“Okay, business,” Eddie says. “Your buddy Boone.”

“What about him?”

“He's on a wave he shouldn't be on.”

“I don't tell Boone what he can ride.”

“If you're his friend, you would,” Eddie says.

“You threatening him?” Tide asks. His fist tightens on the beer mug.

“D'opposite,” Eddie says. “I'm trying to toss him a line, pull him in. He's looking for some wahine; she's causing a lot of aggro. If certain peoples was to locate the chick first, Boone's out of the impact zone, you know what I mean.”

“Boone can take care of himself,” Tide says. But he's worried why Eddie's approaching him about this. He waits for the other sandal to fall.

Doesn't take long.

“You have a cuz in Waikiki,” Eddie says. “Zeke.”

It's true. Like a lot of Samoans, Zeke moved to Hawaii five years ago to try to make some money. It didn't work out that way. “What about him?”

“He's an icehead.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” The whole family's been worried sick about Zeke. His mother can't sleep, can't eat her dinner. She begged Tide to go over, straighten him out, and Tide took some sick days, flew to Honolulu, sat down and tried to talk some sense into Zeke. Got him into rehab. Zeke was out three days, went back to the pipe. Last time Tide heard, Zeke was sleeping rough out in Waimalu Park. Only a matter of time before he ODs, or some other icehead takes him out for a dime.

Ice is the devil.

“What you saying?” Tide asks.

“I'm saying I can get the word out,” Eddie says. “Zeke is taboo. You help Boone see things right, deliver this girl to the proper address, no dealer in the islands will sell Zeke a taste.”

Tide knows it's a serious offer. Red Eddie has that kind of reach. All he has to do is put out the word, and no dealer in his right mind would even be seen talking to Zeke. They'd run away from him like he had leprosy. Zeke would have to straighten out.

“Don't say yes, don't say no.” Eddie finishes half his beer, lays a twenty on the bar, and gets up. “Don't say nothin'. I'll know by your actions what your answer is. I just think, brah, we island guys have to stick together. We're the ohana, eh? Aiga. ”

Eddie heads for the door. One of his moke boys opens it for him and he walks out, flashing Tide the shaka sign as he goes.

The devil comes in many forms.

The serpent to Eve.

Ice to a tweeker.

This time, it's a rumor that wafts through The Sundowner like warm air under the ceiling fans.

The Boonemobile is parked by Shrink's. Daniels must be checking out Shrink's. If Daniels is there, he must be scoping it out for the big swell. It's going to peak at Shrink's.

Tide finishes his beer, walks out to his truck, and heads north.

Family is family.