about the kid in the desert, the story of a trip to Mexico, three Huntington Beach surfers who had crossed the border with a girl and come back alone.
Ike was standing only a few feet away from Preston as he spoke and it seemed to him that a certain expression passed over Preston’s face, a kind of dark scowl that was not unlike that shadow of a look Ike had noticed the day Preston saw his old board. “Is this what you were doing in the water?” Preston asked. “Trying to find Hound Adams?”
Ike nodded, thinking it strange that Preston had mentioned only one name.
“Shit.” Preston looked angry about something now. “And what were you going to do when you found these people?”
“I don’t know, really. Hang around, see what I could find out.”
“Hang around with Hound Adams?”
Ike shrugged.
“Man, you’re hurtin’. Look, if you take my advice, you’ll hang it up and split right now. Go back to San Arco and work on bikes. If you don’t do that, at least stay away from the pier. If you want to surf, do it farther north at the cliffs. The pier’s a local spot.”
“But what about Hound Adams?”
Preston handed him the paper. “Like I said, if you’re smart, you’ll go back to your uncle’s shop.”
“It’s my sister,” Ike said. “I’m the only family she’s got.”
“What about your uncle?”
“He doesn’t give a shit, that’s why I came. My uncle just says that she was wild, that if she got into trouble, it was her own fault.”
“Maybe he was right.”
“And maybe he was wrong. I mean, somebody should at least find out.”
Preston just stared at him for a moment. “Yeah. Well, suit yourself, ace, but take my advice about the pier. Stay away from it. You don’t want to meet Hound Adams in the water.” With that, Preston tucked his fuel tank under his arm and started out the door.
Ike followed him into the hall. “Wait a minute,” he said.
Preston turned.
“Hound Adams. Who is he?”
Preston waited in the hall. He looked down the floor toward that bit of sunlight coming up from the staircase and shook his head. Then he looked back at Ike. “That’s your problem, ace. Can you dig it?” Then he was off and stomping down the hallway, down the wooden flight of stairs and into the street.
Ike followed him as far as the top of the stairs. He was torn between running after him and regret that he had even opened his mouth in the first place. It was just that Preston had taken him off guard with those damn questions. He thought back to the line in that song, that business about how suckers always make mistakes when they’re far from home. He felt like the sucker now, the dumb-ass country boy. Shit, where did he get off thinking somebody like Preston was going to want to help him? And now he had put his foot in it. What if Preston and Hound Adams were even friends or something? But then Preston hadn’t acted like they were friends; he had acted like the whole thing pissed him off for some reason. The trouble with Preston was, he was the kind of guy you didn’t want to press. You couldn’t. He was too damn close to the edge all the time. Ike ground his teeth and walked back to his room. He slammed the door behind him and leaned up against it. He shut his eyes and when he squeezed them hard enough, what he saw was a thin pair of dusty legs kicking hot red clouds out of a desert afternoon and it was not likely that he would forget.
8
It got bad again after that, after his conversation with Preston. In a way it was even worse than before. He knew now that Hound Adams was real, that he was around, and that Preston knew who he was. But Preston’s words had revived all of his uncertainties. He had this feeling that whatever move he made next was bound to be the wrong one.
He spent the following day alone in his room and that evening he went out for a walk, thinking that perhaps he would run into Preston, that they could talk. It didn’t happen and he wound up at the
Ike was standing only a few feet away from Preston as he spoke and it seemed to him that a certain expression passed over Preston’s face, a kind of dark scowl that was not unlike that shadow of a look Ike had noticed the day Preston saw his old board. “Is this what you were doing in the water?” Preston asked. “Trying to find Hound Adams?”
Ike nodded, thinking it strange that Preston had mentioned only one name.
“Shit.” Preston looked angry about something now. “And what were you going to do when you found these people?”
“I don’t know, really. Hang around, see what I could find out.”
“Hang around with Hound Adams?”
Ike shrugged.
“Man, you’re hurtin’. Look, if you take my advice, you’ll hang it up and split right now. Go back to San Arco and work on bikes. If you don’t do that, at least stay away from the pier. If you want to surf, do it farther north at the cliffs. The pier’s a local spot.”
“But what about Hound Adams?”
Preston handed him the paper. “Like I said, if you’re smart, you’ll go back to your uncle’s shop.”
“It’s my sister,” Ike said. “I’m the only family she’s got.”
“What about your uncle?”
“He doesn’t give a shit, that’s why I came. My uncle just says that she was wild, that if she got into trouble, it was her own fault.”
“Maybe he was right.”
“And maybe he was wrong. I mean, somebody should at least find out.”
Preston just stared at him for a moment. “Yeah. Well, suit yourself, ace, but take my advice about the pier. Stay away from it. You don’t want to meet Hound Adams in the water.” With that, Preston tucked his fuel tank under his arm and started out the door.
Ike followed him into the hall. “Wait a minute,” he said.
Preston turned.
“Hound Adams. Who is he?”
Preston waited in the hall. He looked down the floor toward that bit of sunlight coming up from the staircase and shook his head. Then he looked back at Ike. “That’s your problem, ace. Can you dig it?” Then he was off and stomping down the hallway, down the wooden flight of stairs and into the street.
Ike followed him as far as the top of the stairs. He was torn between running after him and regret that he had even opened his mouth in the first place. It was just that Preston had taken him off guard with those damn questions. He thought back to the line in that song, that business about how suckers always make mistakes when they’re far from home. He felt like the sucker now, the dumb-ass country boy. Shit, where did he get off thinking somebody like Preston was going to want to help him? And now he had put his foot in it. What if Preston and Hound Adams were even friends or something? But then Preston hadn’t acted like they were friends; he had acted like the whole thing pissed him off for some reason. The trouble with Preston was, he was the kind of guy you didn’t want to press. You couldn’t. He was too damn close to the edge all the time. Ike ground his teeth and walked back to his room. He slammed the door behind him and leaned up against it. He shut his eyes and when he squeezed them hard enough, what he saw was a thin pair of dusty legs kicking hot red clouds out of a desert afternoon and it was not likely that he would forget.
8
It got bad again after that, after his conversation with Preston. In a way it was even worse than before. He knew now that Hound Adams was real, that he was around, and that Preston knew who he was. But Preston’s words had revived all of his uncertainties. He had this feeling that whatever move he made next was bound to be the wrong one.
He spent the following day alone in his room and that evening he went out for a walk, thinking that perhaps he would run into Preston, that they could talk. It didn’t happen and he wound up at the
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