which I think flatters us too much, but however catlike we may or may
not be, neither of us drinks milk from a saucer or prefers a litter box
to a bathroom.
I went to the passenger side, grabbed the roll bar, and swung into the
Jeep without opening the low door. I had to work my feet around a small
Styrofoam cooler on the floor in front of the seat.
Bobby was wearing khakis, a long-sleeve white cotton pullover, and a
Hawaiian shirt he owns no other styleover the thin sweater.
He was drinking a Heineken.
Although I had never seen Bobby drunk, I said, “Hope you’re not too
mellow.” Without looking away from the street, he said, “Mellow isn’t
like dumb or ugly, ” meaning the word too should never be used to modify
it.
The night was pleasantly cool but not crisp, so I said, “Flow me a
Heinie? ”
“Go for it.” I fished a bottle out of the ice in the cooler and twisted
off the cap.
I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. The beer washed the lingering
bitterness out of my mouth.
Bobby glanced at the rearview mirror for a moment, then returned his
attention to the street in front of us.
Braced between the seats, aimed toward the rear of the Jeep, was a
pistol-grip, pump-action shotgun.
“Beer and guns, ” I said, shaking my head.
“We’re obviously not Amish.”
“You come in by the river like I said?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you drive through the fence? ”
“Cut the hole bigger.”
“I expected you to walk in.”
“Too hard to carry the cooler.”
“I guess we might need the speed, ” I conceded, considering the size of
the area to be searched.
He said, “You smell maximum real, bro.”
“Worked at it.” From the rearview mirror dangled a bright-yellow air
freshener shaped like a banana. Bobby slipped it off the mirror and hung
it from my left ear.
Sometimes he is too funny for his own good. I wouldn’t reward him with a
laugh.
“It’s a banana, ” I said, “but it smells like a pine tree.”
“That old American ingenuity.”
“Nothing like it.”
“We put men on the moon.”
“We invented chocolate-flavored breakfast cereal.”
“Don’t forget plastic vomit.”
“Funniest gag ever, ” I said.
Bobby and I solemnly clinked bottles in a patriotic toast and took long
swallows of beer.
Although I was, on one level, frantic to find Orson and Jimmy, on the
surface I fell into the languid tempo by which Bobby lives. He is so
laid back that if he visited someone in a hospital, the nurses might
mistake him for a patient in a coma, shuck him out of his Hawaiian
shirt, and slide him into a backless bed gown before he could correct
their misapprehension. Except when he’s rocking through epic surf,
getting totally barreled in an insanely hollow wave, Bobby values
tranquility. He responds better to easy and indirect conversation than
to any expression of urgency. During our seventeen-year friendship, I’ve
learned to value this |i relaxed approach, even if it doesn’t come
naturally to me. Calm is essential to prudent action. Because Bobby acts
only after contemplation, I’ve never known him to be blind sided by
anyone or anything. He may look relaxed, even sleepy at times, but like
a Zen master, he is able to make the flow of time slow down while he
considers how best to deal with the latest crisis.
“Bitchin’ shirt, ” I said.
He was wearing one of his favorite antique shirts, a brown Asian
landscape design. He has a couple hundred in his collection, and he
knows every detail of their histories.
Before he could reply, I said, “Made by Kahala about 1950. Silk with
coconut-shell buttons. Same shirt John Wayne wore in Big Jim Mclain.
” He was silent long enough for me to have repeated all the shirt data,
but I knew he’d heard me.
He took another pull at his bottle of beer. Finally, “Have you really
developed an interest in aloha threads, or are you just mocking me? ”
“Just mocking you.”
“Enjoy yourself.” As he studied the rearview mirror again, I said,
“What’s that in your lap? “