Chapter 10

Why the fuck does Miss FBI Analyst want to discuss Dinky? The West Virginia and Mississippi FBI guys documented the crap out of that shit. And what the fuck is going on here? This is a weird conversation/interrogation. At least Dave is not going to be part of their spy vs spy investigation.

I wonder if Miss FBI Analyst and one or both of her tits believe their own bullshit. Or more likely, the FBI has stooged her brain housing group. Geez, and they talk about jarheads being indoctrinated and brainwashed.

“Her little cop mind should have known better. Don’t care what bullshit that her father had spouted.”

“Emotive reasoning, Mark. Apparently, she had been been strongly attracted to you. The assumption is paranoia fueled by her sense of betrayal.”

“Maybe. It’s still bullshit. The bitch claimed that she loved me, then rejected me, then broke into my place a month later. I think she was gonna cap my ass. She’s crazy.”

“It was probably not her intent to shoot you.”

“Fucking ‘probably’? How the fuck do you know what was going on in that psycho mind?”

“She has been required to submit to counseling and examination by government psychiatrists before returning to duty status.”

“You people are morons. You’re allowing that whack-job to carry a gun and a badge?”

That thought calmed her tits. Chew on that for a while. Oh shit, here comes Mister Excitement himself. Let’s see that poker face one more time, Special Agent Johnson.

“Mister Watson, we have received clearance, allowing your introduction to Doctor Clifford Stoll.”

“Who is Doctor Stoll?”

“A scientist at LBL. He has invented some novel techniques to track and monitor foreign interests that are attempting to gain entry into government and university research labs.”

“Yeah? Bring him down here.”

“You will go to meet Doctor Stoll.”

“Says who? We’re in the middle of a lot of shit at work. Don’t have time to play cops and robbers with y’all.”

Well, I have to admit that’s not true, I’d play doctor with miss FBI analyst any time.

“Karen, did you not explain the terms of his cooperation? And Mister Watson, your company has already agreed to any time required for your assistance. We have a contract with ALS for your services.”

Say fuckin what? ALS committing my ass without telling me shit? I’m outa here. I should’ve stayed in Mississippi and let that crazy bitch shoot my dumb ass. Time to visit HR and say bye bye.

“Dude ... Don’t know what to say. Can’t believe that they sold you to the feds like that. I know it’s not worth much, but I told Ashley and the lawyer that they totally fucked up. So what are you gonna do, man?”

“Not your problem, Dave. None of this is your bust. I’m gonna call up Chief Anderson and take him up on that business offer. Remember that MIT-genius guy planning to leave his teaching job and start a software-type business with the chief? Don’t know why, but they wanted me for hardware-type support and stuff.”

“Sounds interesting. You’ll go back east for this gig?”

“Dunno. He said the place to be is San Diego or up north around ‘Frisco. So maybe they will move to California.”

“Yeah? So you got nothing to do. You said you wanted to try the trestles. Hit it manana?”

“Fuckin-A. Nos vemos manana, dude. I’m gonna go run a few clicks on the beach.”

Oh shit. Forgot about Sharon’s beach business. Why are all of the hot ones crazy? Maybe they are all a bit whacked.

“Hi, Mark.”

Shit. Hot and crazy. But she doesn’t seem to have those crazy eyes that Dinky and others had. She’s probably safe.

“Uh, hi. How ya doin?”

“Dave said that you’ll be in town for a while. What have you been doing?”

“Mostly working. Business okay?”

“Better winter than the last three years. Things are getting better since eighty three.”

“Yeah? Makes sense. Mostly locals?”

“In winter. The locals come to the beach regardless of the economy. So what have been doing?”

“The usual stuff.”

I’ve really got to master Dave’s art of talking much without saying shit. Damn, she looks good. Hope she doesn’t do too much booze or pot and go crazy again.

“What are you doing for dinner, Mark?”

“Got some of Dave’s leftover Burritos in the frig.”

Damn, why is Sharon looking at me like that. She’s gettin close. Dave did say that she likes me. Here goes nothing.

“Don’t have much other than burritos and beer, but ya wanna come over for chow? Got lots of left-over stuff in the frig.”

“That would be nice. When?”

“Anytime ya want? I’m heading back now.”

“Let me close up. I’ll walk back with you.”

Is Dave back already? Why’s he using this bathroom? ... Holeee shit. Praise the gods, dogs, and kittys. What a body. And Sharon is a real blonde - drapes match the carpet.

“Uh, Sharon, do ya think that ... uh, what are you doing...”

“We are taking a shower, Mark.

“Uh, what ‘bout...”

“Shut up, Mark.”

Good point. I should definitely cease my talk. Soapy, soft tits. One of the many wonders of nature. My mind was, remarkably, but not unexpectedly, becoming blank of sentient thought. But I did not feel the loss of mind that I had with Dinky. My theory was that different types of tits had different effects on the mind. I would have to do more ‘titular’ vs effect experiments. For science, of course.

“ ... dunno, senior chief. That’s why I called. I’m okay for now. So what will it take to get this started?”

“ ... That’s a big chunk of change ... Okay, go talk to your MIT genius and let me know. I’m guessing that I need to be looking for a job next week. Talk to ya later.”

Shit, I have an audience. Two humans, one doggy, one kitty. And only the dog looks positive about this.

“Mark, what did your navy friend say about the cost to get the business going?”

“It’s not just the cost, Sharon. The MIT guy and the Chief weren’t gonna start this for another twenty to twenty five months. I’m guessing that they’re wrong. Now is the time to be getting into this software/hardware combination business.”

“Don’t think that another year or two would matter, dude.”

“It does, Dave. This stuff is gonna pick up speed. We’re looking at non-linear growth rates.”

For a smart guy, I wondered why Dave could not see the obvious. I know this is all business dweebness, but even I can see and explain this shit.

“Look at Cromemco. Ya see the latest bench marks in Byte Magazine? Those fuckers went from Z80 shit, like in my Kaypro box, to the Motorola 68k stuff, with a order of magnitude more performance in under four years. I’m reading shit that says another order of magnitude performance jump in two years. Think about it Dave, this shit is gonna make the industrial revolution look total barney. The time to do it is fuckin now, dude.”

Oh shit, the blonde is thinking. The world is not a safe place when blondes with substantial tits think too much.

“Mark, how much? And what about the ‘plumbing’ of the business.”

“Plumbing?”

“The place you will do business out of. The materials to run the business. Your suppliers. And all of the legal stuff that California requires for operating a business.”

Damn. Maybe hooter coefficient does proportionally increase brain functions.

“Shit. Never thought of that stuff. Ya know, Sharon, you’ve been running a business for a while. Talk to me about that shit. Don’t know nothing about that.”

“How much, Mark?”

“The senior chief said about fifty thousand for the first five to ten months. And another fifty for the next four or five months, depending on how fast we can get into an industry or government contract.”

“Dude, I can cover that.”

“Say fucking what? What the fuck for, Dave? This is high risk shit. Other than that MIT genius guy, none of us knows shit about this.”

“Doesn’t matter. Think about Apple. They started out of a garage and have made hundreds of millions with that stupid Apple Two computer. And your little metal box maker, Kaypro, came out of a test equipment company down in San Diego. Nobody knew shit when they started.”

Sharon looks like she’s still thinking about this. Never should have banged her. Gotta keep my brains intact around her. Quit thinking with my dick and listen to her. She knows how to run a business. She’s gonna explain this shit for my simple mind...

“Mark, Let’s go back to risk. Taking big risks is usually bad for a retail business. But for supplier and manufacturing types of businesses, where the product is original, you must be able to take big risks. If you cannot afford high risk, or you can’t mentally handle it, then you just don’t do it ... I have twenty thousand that I can put into this.”

“And I can put in about fifty thousand. That will get you through the first year. Operating out of my house, your overhead is minimal ... uh, probably would want one or two more phone lines on a Pac Bell business plan.

Damn, why do I even need to be here? Dave and Sharon are already diving into the nuts and bolts of a business and acting like its a done deal. I hate business discussions. I do like watching Sharon’s tits. Her tits bounce a lot when she’s waving her hands. Quit looking at her tits. Think. I’ll have to talk to the chief and his MIT genius guy soon.

That Sharon was hovering over me while I’m talking to mister MIT genius is not helping. Damn, she’s gonna chew her lips off. I’m the one that should be nervous.

“ ... that’s what we’re thinking, Ral. But if you are committed to another semester, I’m gonna pass ... No sir, not just because the right time will have passed, but for two reasons. One, we can’t start it without you. And two, I need to get a job ... Okay. You gonna tell Henry Anderson? ... Thanks for the opportunity, Bye, Ral.

Rahul Gupta Singh, PhD, was a genius. Ral Singh was an idiot. His sense of duty was misplaced. My learned principal and personal edict is that loyalty to any institution is seldom warranted, whether it be a institution of the state, to an academic institution, a corporate entity, or to the local lodge of the Loyal Order of Moose. You’ll get thrown under the bus whenever you are no longer needed, or if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person.

As for Sharon, it was the pits that her efforts would be flushed down the shitter.

“That settles that. Our MIT guy says that he obligated and is locked in for the spring semester. But he was impressed by your business plan ... now I need to get a job.”

“Dave would hire you back.”

“Not gonna go back, Sharon. Dave and I both know what the company execs are planning to do. They’re getting ALS ready to be sold. The big cheese is planning a series of two or three layoffs within a year. They also have a plan to manipulate the DOD procurement guys for cost over-runs so they can show a larger operating margin for the year. They’re trying to make the company books look good so that they can be acquired for big bucks.”

“Bunch of dirtbags.”

“That’s business in the wild west, lady. It’s probably typical, but it doesn’t mean that I have to be part of that shit.”

“Mark? Don’t answer now ... think about it ... Work at my business.”

“What for? Then you’d have to fire that kid working for you. That’s sort of a low-blow to Sam.”

“No. Certainly not. Sammy is starting college in Arizona in one or two weeks. You can do a lot more for me than an eighteen year old kid.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Computer stuff and surfing. You know more about surfing and skin diving than Sam and me. Maybe you can help my business by providing lessons to our customers, not just rent boards and beach gear. And you could automate my inventory and accounting on that little computer of yours ... and other things...”

Well praise the gods, for once I did not miss an implied meaning. I did not lose the change in Sharon’s tone, nor did I miss the change in her expression when she said ‘other things’. I’ve noted that it’s easier to catch the ‘hidden’ meaning of stuff that women say when you don’t talk, literally or metaphorically, to their tits. But given a choice, I do prefer talking to tits. This communication shit is never easy. Whatever.

We waited for the Huntington Beach police to make their normal pass-by to the north of the pier. The badge and gun clown troupe never failed. Every week-night between 2340 and 0015, they slowly drove through the two main parking areas. It they were in a bad mood, they ordered everyone off the beach, not that they had the authority to do so. If they had donuts and/or blowjobs waiting somewhere, they didn’t say shit if no one was overtly drunk or getting stoned. Tonight, they seemed to have a deal on donuts waiting somewhere, per their quick drive through two of the three parking areas.

“Where’s Dave?”

“Personal surfing lessons for Janice. Wanna do a few waves?”

Sharon smiled at the implied meaning. I was learning the art of oral communication.

“Should I use a long or short?”

I could not read Sharon’s expression in the dim green lighting of the mercury lamps. She had never surfed at night when the interval was small and it was over one meter. Fuck it. Damn the burritos. Full slicing speed ahead for our midnight surf patrol.

“Grab a long one. Stay close, lady.”

A quick way to measure the skill or experience level of a surfer was the methods used to transit from the beach to outside the surf zone. Over the last several weeks, Sharon had advanced from a dilatant to a cool surfer dudette, demonstrated by her duck diving through a series of two meter waves on the way out. But she only did this on short boards. Otherwise, she turtle-rolled under the wave. In short, Sharon was developing nuance and power in her technique.

The surf zone seemed to have ground swell mixed in, somewhere around thirty second intervals of sets, crashing almost two meters. This could be bad shit for her. I was starting to get froggy about the situation when a big breaking wave pounded her. I duck dived through and under the wave base, while Sharon turtle rolled straight through the wave as it passed over her.

Surfacing and immediately searching for Sharon, I was stoked when I heard her woops of joy. She had worked daily on the beach for years, yet all of this was new and cool to her. I saw my eighteen year old self in her. Her joy of the wave, while still blissfully ignorant of the risks and inherent dangers.

“Damn, you handled that big one.”

“Never done that before in the dark. Too cool.”

Let’s watch this stuff a while. The mix is weird. This is not going to be easy to time.”

“You can wait if you want to do something bigger, Mark. It’s too dark for me to do anything big. Tell me when.”

“About fifteen seconds. Standby ... Go.”

Watching her outline plow forward, I decided that I should stay with her. I starting in at an angle to ensure separation and to track the next swell over my shoulder. Seeing the rise form, I yelled at Sharon for her to stand up.

The wave was barely a meter at the break, but it had strength and gave a nice ride. The crash behind us reminded me of the big ground swell fuckers that were mixed in. I was gonna have to carefully time this weird mix to keep Sharon safe on our next ride.

Waiting for the next set, we bobbed outside the surf zone, looking west, watching the swells form.

“What are you lookin for, how do you pick them?”

Interesting how Sharon always asks the right question at the right time. This reflected in that her questions were always relevant to the subject at hand and self evident; she never ‘went fishing’ or used questions to manipulate favored answers.

“Wave periods. Right now, we have two. One period is probably ground swell, and the short intervals are from wind swell. The ground swell is the big shit and is over twenty five seconds.”

“Could we get a tube from the big ones?”

“Probably, if we stay away from the channel. Don’t think we should do that in the dark.”

“Would you and Dave do a big one in the dark?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s do it. I’ll follow you.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s do it, Mark.”

Why the fuck not? I’ll be close. She has a significant hooter coefficient; and they are definitely aux flotation devices.

“Standby, lady. Give me a mike or two to find one.”

“I’m ready, Mark.”

I gave her a shaka wave as I started to thrust forward, hoping that the coming swell was, in fact, the longer period. Sharon emitted a short laugh as she trailed.

I had to remind myself that she was wearing a long board. She would not be able to follow any sharp cuts, but she should be more stable if we are able to get into the barrel. I figured a tube run was a long-shot, but was worth a try, and would give Sharon her first experience with a serious midnight run. She was no longer a grommet, or so I rationalized.

Turning into the face of the wave, yelling over my shoulder, I warned Sharon to space. Sailing down the face of the wave, solely by feel, was totally tits. Based on her woops of joy, I knew she was still with me and not too close.

I wanted to carve a little, but told my self to fuck off, so as to not risk banging into Sharon. Having to be mature and responsible sucks. As it became obvious that the break was not going to form a curl early enough, I increased speed and separation to stay out of the foam.

Hearing Sharon scream, and not able to discern whether from joy or wiping, I kicked out early. Looking down the back of the passing wave, I saw her board, but nothing until the next wave crashed the board end-over-end, revealing a human form being pulled via an ankle strap. Well shit. Fuck me.

The first thing I noticed was that her wetsuit was ripped down the side. Rolling her onto the board while she babbled incoherently, I pulled her onto the beach.

“Sharon? Don’t move. Stay on the board. How ya feel?”

“Oh my fucking God. Totally ass-kicking cool...”

“Yeah, it is cool as shit. So how ya feel?”

“Okay. Think that the fin caught my suit.”

“Yeah. Looks ripped on this side. Damn, lady. Ya gonna get rash if you don’t wear something under that neoprene ... don’t get up. Stay there a while. So what happened?”

“I dunno. It suddenly washed over me. I was in the face, then boom, the wave pounded me off of my board.”

“Yeah? Probably a big closeout. We got a little close to the channel, so sudden depth change will do that.”

I watched Sharon wave her arms as she further described her run. It was just luck that I was actually able to listen attentively to her excited description, as it was too dark to fully appreciate her high-achieving and magnanimous tits, well exposed by the long rip in her wetsuit.