Steve O’Reilly woke up Wednesday with a dagger of sunlight slashing through the gap in his bedroom drapes directly into his throbbing eyeballs. He rolled over with a groan, then sat up suddenly with an onslaught of beer-induced borborygmi that sent him scuttling to the toilet, glad he’d awakened alone.
By the time he got to Waimea Bay Beach Park, where he’d told Barstow he’d meet him and the two guys who wanted to discuss the permits for the upcoming meet, he was a half hour late. He found that Barstow had arrived an hour earlier than the meeting after jogging from his Sunset Beach cottage. Then, O’Reilly discovered, Barstow had borrowed someone’s board and gone out to test the incoming swell. Asshole acted like he’d gone to bed with the birds.
O’Reilly burped a coffee-tinged, burning eruption. Of course, he’d stayed up for a few after Barstow had left. And this morning he’d used a couple lines he’d scored from one of the surfers to help him out the door. Now he felt like something the ocean would abandon on the sand when the tide went out.
O’Reilly looked around at the beach, which was pretty damned pristine, and felt a chill. No, the ocean didn’t waste much. Uncle Whitey would take care of any drifting dead stuff, wouldn’t he? Sometimes it wasn’t even dead.
“Huh?” Barstow had been talking to him and O’Reilly hadn’t heard a word.
“Steve, this is Garret Tasake and Bob Waterson. Garret works for the State of Hawaii Department of Land and Natural Resources. He’ll get our permit for the use of the near-shore waters. Bob’s with the Honolulu Department of Parks and Recreation, so he can guide us through the red tape for the beach permit.”
“Hey.” O’Reilly pumped both of their hands and ignored Barstow’s second glance. “Thanks for helping us out.”
Tasake spoke up. “You’re okay with beach permits, but you know that any member of a tow-in team has to take a six-hour course at an accredited institution? And tow-in surfers are only allowed to go out when the National Weather Service has declared a high-surf day.”
Barstow spoke up. “What are you saying? That means anyone not already accredited would have to be here a day before the contest begins.”
“At least.”
“Shit.” Barstow hit one fist into his palm, then squinted at Tasake. “Okay, then. That’ll only be a couple of people, but could I count on you to get them set up with the class they need?”
“I’ll give you the name of the guy, and he’ll tell you what the fee is,” Tasake said.
“I figured. Hope he goes for a group rate.”
Tasake shrugged. That part was out of his hands.
The two men left after setting up a couple more meetings, and Barstow turned to O’Reilly. “You awake yet?” The cords stood out in his neck and he bit off the words.
O’Reilly stood up straighter. “I heard ’em. Ten-thirty tomorrow morning, Sunset Elementary School.” He looked down on Barstow and hoped the guy didn’t piss him off. They were too far into this.
Barstow narrowed his eyes. “Good. I want this meet to happen without any fuck-ups.”
“Hey, me too. But there are always fuck-ups, buddy. It’s how we deal with them that counts.”
Barstow looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Right.”
O’Reilly put his arm on Barstow’s shoulder. “What’s driving you in this?”
Barstow moved away, so that O’Reilly’s arm dropped off. “What do you mean?”
“You know, your motivation. What’s pushing you?” O’Reilly squinted at him. “You know my story. I need the money—hell, I need a job. It’s public knowledge I got canned from KZXM. What about you?”
Barstow shrugged. “I’m going through a divorce.”
“Yeah?” O’Reilly kept his eyes on the side of Barstow’s face.
Finally Barstow spoke up. “It feels good to be back on the surf scene.”
“Any chance you wanted to be near Ben?”
Barstow kept his eyes on the waves breaking at the mouth of the bay. “Swell’s building.”
O’Reilly didn’t answer, and a few moments elapsed.
“Yeah, okay. I want to be near Ben. So?”
“It’s normal, man. I’d want to be near my kid, too.” O’Reilly nodded. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”
Barstow turned to face O’Reilly. “I want Ben to be in the lineup for the Intrepid. If he wants to, that is.”
Now they were getting down to it. People always had an agenda. O’Reilly rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, man. We got guys all over the world wanna be in this tow-in. And we’ve got room for fifteen teams, thirty people. How we gonna fit in another guy, especially a kid who hasn’t won a major event yet?”
“He was second last week.”
“True, and he’s an up-and-coming competitor, for sure. But that was his first major meet.”
Several long moments elapsed.
“Fine,” Barstow said. “Just don’t close your mind to the idea. You know some of the guys we invited will miss their planes or get injured. We’ll have a couple of last minute holes to fill.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an open mind.” O’Reilly knew it was time to change the subject. “You had a chance to touch base with that guy Gabe Watson about getting the guys we need to help out with the logistics of a tow-in?”
“Yeah.” Barstow rolled his eyes. “He’s a real water stud. You know—lifeguard, runs a surf school concession, related to half the families in Haleiwa. And guess what? He’s the guy who runs the course for jet-ski accreditation, too.”
“Your favorite type, eh? You think he’s a member of the Blue Shorts?”
“Let’s just say he offered to keep the beach clear of surfers during the holding period.”
“Anything else?”
Barstow’s lip curled in a half-smile. “Yeah, he wants to be in the line-up.”
“Shit. Was he on your list?”
“No, but I think I’ll give him a shot at it if he’ll partner up with Nahoa Pi‛ilani.”
“Did you tell him that?”
Barstow shook his head. “Not yet. Let him knock himself out first.” And Barstow grinned. It reminded O’Reilly of a tiger shark.