I picked up a couple of what felt like the warmest, but Trey balked at the prospect of owning anything with twee cartoon mermaids on the front so I let him choose his own. The one he came back with was a leftover from the previous year’s bike week and looked half as thick as my choice. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. There was only a desultory crowd as we went to the check-out, but the cashier was looking jumpy.
When I followed his gaze I noticed a couple of teenagers, probably a year or two older than Trey, hanging around by the surfing gear. One was a skinny kid, wearing a bandana and an open shirt over a white vest that showed off his concave chest. His jeans were slung fashionably low, just about clinging on round his protruding hip bones and showing off two inches of underpant over the top. He walked like he thought he was hot stuff.
His mate was shorter and fatter, still trying to shake off his adolescent puppy fat and look like a mean dog instead. It came over as clumsy bluster. The thin kid was the dangerous one. Neither of them looked like they were about to splash out on a new Lightwave longboard.
I realised when I dug in my pockets that I’d let Trey have the last twenty to pay for the fuel. I had to break one of the hundred dollar bills Keith had given me, which I would rather have done without the audience, particularly not as the cashier counted my change out loud into my hand. The only good thing was that he was so busy watching what was going on behind me he didn’t spend long looking at my face.
When we walked out of the shop and back across the road, I checked behind us regularly but as far as I could see there was nobody following.
Beach ramps were spaced at regular intervals along South Atlantic Avenue. According to the signs, if you paid your fee you were invited to take your car down there and ride up and down the sand all day. It sounded like an invitation to major corrosion problems to me. The ramps were gated off at night but it was only to stop traffic. Trey and I walked past them, carrying our towels, and stepped out onto the soft sand.
It wasn’t truly dark out there. There was too sharp a moon, caught and reflected by the white water of every breaker. The navigation lights of a big commercial ship far out to sea shimmered towards us.
Moving heavily through the dry sand, we worked our way further down the beach. Someone had gathered enough odds and ends of driftwood together to light a campfire, in spite of the notices strictly forbidding such an activity.
The night had taken on a chill now and it would have been tempting to stay near the fire, but I didn’t want to be around if the cops arrived to tell them to put it out. We skirted round the edge and kept going.
The flames momentarily wiped out my night vision, so I didn’t see the skinny kid from the surf shop until he was a few metres in front of us. He was tight and wired. There was a cheap knife in his right hand.
“Gimme the money,” he said. No wasted time on banter.
I glanced over my shoulder to check Trey’s position and saw that the fat teen was now behind us. His hands were empty. I turned back to the skinny kid. The glint and shadow from the fire shifted satanically over his face.
“We don’t have much,” I said.
“Don’t lie to me, bitch,” the skinny kid said, raising the knife. “You got plenty.”
Better to buy our way out of trouble if we could. I dropped the towel at my feet and reached into my pocket. I separated a couple of notes from the fold with my fingers and pulled my hand out. I held the money out to the side of me, wanting to make him work for it.
The skinny kid smiled unpleasantly and nodded to his companion, who came forwards just far enough to grab the money, then retreated again to check his booty. It was obviously a system they’d used before.
“It’s just a coupla twenties,” he said, disgusted.
The skinny kid’s smile became a sneer.
“What kinda fool d’you take me for?” he spat. He took a couple of steps forward, rolling the knife almost delicately between his fingertips so the blade flashed in the light. “Gimme the rest.”
“No,” I said.
He stopped. For a moment the only noise was the steady crash of the waves on the shoreline and the crackle of the fire behind me.
Trey had moved up to my right shoulder but I was under no illusions that he was about to act as my wing man if it came down to it. His body was rigid, jaw clenched. When our eyes met he let his slide meaningfully down towards my back where the SIG was lying under my shirt. I gave the briefest shake of my head and turned back to the kid with the knife.
I sighed. “Look,” I said. “I’ve had a very shitty day. I’m tired. You’ve just made twenty dollars each for ten seconds’ work. Be smart and quit while you’re ahead.”
He bared his teeth. “Wise-ass, huh? Always heard you English chicks didn’t put up much of a fight,” he said and something else was gleaming in his eyes now. “Always heard as how it was like fucking a corpse. Looks like we’ve found ourselves a fighter, huh?”
My heart accelerated, starting to flood my system with oxygenated blood. I could hear the echo of it thundering in my ears. “You have no idea,” I murmured.
He came at me fast then, leading with the blade. I went to meet him, taking a couple of quick steps forwards to keep him away from Trey. I blocked his knife hand with my left forearm and snaked my arm around his so his wrist was locked up under my armpit.
He jerked at his trapped arm and when he couldn’t immediately free it he tried to launch a wild left-hand punch instead. I tightened my grip, jamming my fist up under his elbow to force the joint straight beyond its limit. He gave a surprised grunt, the pain preventing him from turning far enough towards me for the blow to connect. I steadied him for a moment, then turned my body in towards his and jerked my knee up into his groin, quick and hard. The fight was over.
The skinny kid’s eyes bulged as his legs gave way and he began to gag. I loosened up enough to let him fall to his knees, putting some twist onto his right hand as he went down to prise the knife out of his fingers.
The fat kid hadn’t moved an inch while all this had gone on. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open.
“Beat it,” I told him.
For a moment he didn’t move. I hefted the knife one-handed, tossed it up and caught it by the blade, then brought my hand back like I was a circus knife thrower going for the big finale. “Now!” I said.
The fat kid didn’t wait to see how good my aim was. He gave a kind of startled squeak, hurled the twenty-dollar notes down onto the sand, and then he turned and ran.
I let go of the skinny kid’s arm and stepped away from him, but I needn’t have worried he was about to launch a counterattack. He just took it back and, very carefully, tucked both hands between his legs, cradling himself. His breath came quick and shallow, almost a pant, and his eyes were wet with tears.
I leaned down, keeping my tone conversational. “Now, I wouldn’t like you to kid yourself that I’ve just been lucky and caught you off guard, because we both know that isn’t true, don’t we?”
He managed a weak nod. The action shook loose a couple of tears, which tracked down the sides of his nose and dripped to the ground.
“Good,” I said, still calm and pleasant. “So, we’re going to leave now and you’re going to crawl back to whatever hole you came out of and you’re going to stay there, aren’t you?”
Another feeble nod.
“Good boy,” I said encouragingly. I held the captured knife up in front of his face and watched the fear sharpen into focus as it caught his attention. “Because if you don’t, next time we meet I’m not just going to kick you in the bollocks, I’m going to cut them off, is that clear?”
“Y-yeah!” he yelped.
I straightened up, jerking my head to Trey. He picked up the fallen money and the towel I’d dropped, then stood looking down at the skinny kid for a moment, his face expressionless.