Dawn Patrol

94

Johnny Banzai grabs a few hours of sleep, gets up, and picks a shirt, slacks, sports jacket, and tie from his closet. Then he rejects all of it in favor of a charcoal gray suit. He has to be in court today, maybe in front of a judge, and he's found that the extra touch of formality is usually worth it.

It feels odd, going to work from the house instead of the beach, changing clothes in his bedroom instead of his car. He's missed sessions of The Dawn Patrol before, because of work or family obligations, but this feels different.

Like the end of something.

The start of something else.

Phases and stages, I guess, Johnny thinks as he knots a bloodred knit tie and checks it in the mirror. At a certain time in your life, you think you'll never get married; then you are. Then you think you'll never have kids, and then suddenly you have two. And you've always said that you'd never leave The Dawn Patrol, but maybe now.. .

That stunt Boone pulled.

Not the thing with the Boonemobile-that was classic Boone, although it's hard to see him sacrifice the old van that held so many memories for all of them. So many road trips up and down the coast. The waves, the beer, the music, the girls. Hard to see that all go up in flames, but maybe it was necessary.

No, it was the stunt with the lady lawyer, the Brit. Maybe it was the accent that pissed Johnny off, but more probably it was Boone pulling the shit that Johnny expected from the La Jolla beautiful people, the rich and influential, and not a lifelong surfing buddy.

Face it, he tells himself as he looks down at his wife, Beth, sleeping in bed. You never thought you'd see Boone go for the money, never thought you'd see him go for that kind of woman. The whole ambitious professional thing.

Well, never say never.

Johnny kisses his wife and receives a murmured “Morning,” then stops off at each of his kids' rooms to check in on them. His son, Brian, is sound asleep, clad in Spider-Man pajamas, stretched out in the bottom bed of the set of bunks he'd wanted so that he could have friends for sleepovers. Abbie is likewise, curled into her Wonder Woman blanket, the lightest sheen of sweat on her upper lip. And thank God, Johnny thinks, that she takes after her mother.

He looks at her lying there so peaceful and innocent, and, hopefully, so safe, and it makes him think of the little girl's toothbrush in the room at the Crest Motel. Who was the girl? What was she doing there? Where is she now?

Johnny walks over, kisses his daughter softly on the cheek, and heads out the door.

It's going to be a tough day. Dan Silver's civil trial starts at nine and Tammy Roddick is scheduled to take the stand shortly afterward, and Johnny is going to be in the gallery when she does. So he'll have to get into a judge's chamber early to get a warrant written for both Boone and Roddick. She'll probably be on the stand for a couple of hours or more; then Johnny intends to pick them both up and get some answers about Angela Hart's death.

Sorry, B, he thinks.

I'm invoking the jump-in rule.