Chapter 8

The crack of a high powered rifle firing was clearly heard above the din of evening traffic. A second later, there was another shot fired. The majority of people didn’t even appear to notice the sounds. A handful of students stopped and looked around, before deciding that it had been nothing. Betsy sighed.

“First the sniper, and then the spotter. Scratch two more evil minions,” Betsy muttering her interpretation of the two shots.

Rather than returning home to her condo, Betsy headed towards the beach. She felt like taking a little walk along the water. When she reached the beach, she stood there looking out at the water, wondering how much longer this war was going to last. So far there had been three one-on-one attacks, a two-on-one attack, and now a sniper team. She turned away from the ocean, feeling sad about what she had been forced to do so far.

“Hey, Babe, do you surf?”

“A little,” Betsy answered.

She turned to examine the young man standing next to her. He was deeply tanned with the long, lean build of a swimmer. He was wearing baggy shorts, a loose tee-shirt, and sandals. His sandy brown hair was sun bleached. He was gazing out at the ocean with a far away look in his eyes. Everything about his appearance screamed: ‘surfer.’

“The surf will be killer, early next week. There’s a storm system developing that will push some really great waves this way,” the guy said.

“I heard that, too. I was wishing I had brought my board to the island,” Betsy said.

“You don’t have it here?” the guy asked surprised by that little revelation.

“It’s at my parents house,” Betsy said

It was strange that she was living in Hawaii and hadn’t even given a thought to surfing. The surf board she had bought when studying in California was back in Arizona, where there was absolutely no chance of using it.

“Where do you live?”

“I live on Kauai.”

“So you’re just visiting here, today,” the guy said.

“I’m a student. I live here during the week, and go home on the weekends,” Betsy answered.

“I’d have a board at both places, if I were you.”

Betsy said, “That’s not a bad idea. Where’s a good place to pick up a board around here?”

“You want mass produced or custom?”

“Custom,” Betsy said.

“There’s a guy just up the way who makes a damned good board. He made mine.”

“What’s your name?” Betsy asked.

“Dale. Yours?”

“Betsy.”

“Nice to meet you, Betsy.”

“Nice to meet you, Dale. Let’s see a guy about a surf board.”

She followed him up the beach and then a couple of blocks from the beach to a rather run down area. It was a low rent area with houses that were long past their prime. She could smell the place they were headed to before they even reached it. Dale stopped outside of a small garage attached to a house and listened to the compressor running inside the garage.

“H’s working on a board,” Dale said.

“I noticed,” Betsy said looking around.

There were about a dozen lawn chairs scattered around in front of the garage. A couple of tiki torches were set up to cast some light on the area. A trashcan that was half filled with empty beer and soda cans was next to the garage. It looked like the kind of place where a bunch of friends would hang out, talking.

“I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s probably not a good idea to go inside,” Dale said.

“It smells like he’s painting,” Betsy said.

Dale pointed to a chair and said, “I’m sure he’ll be done in a few minutes. We might as well make ourselves comfortable. Would you like a beer?”

“I’ll take a soda if there is one,” Betsy answered.

Dale went over to an ice chest and rummaged around in it. He pulled out a drink and said, “It’s not diet.”

“That’s fine,” Betsy said with a grin.

She was sure that he wouldn’t be able to imagine how many calories she could burn in a day. While a soda was basically calories with no nutritional benefits, they were a drop in a bucket compared to what she normally consumed in a day’s time.

He tossed the can of soda over to her. She caught the ice cold beverage thinking that whoever owned this place went to a lot of trouble to make sure that visitors could have an iced cold drink. Dale removed a beer from the cooler and then closed the lid securely. He opened the beer. It sprayed a little. He sat down on the chair next to hers.

Holding up his beer, he said, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Betsy said holding up her can.

“Sanders makes pretty decent boards. He came back from California and bought this place. He’s got a job with the state doing something with fish. He makes boards in the evening.”

Betsy wrinkled her face in thought for a second.

She asked, “Is Sanders a tall lanky guy with brown hair?”

“You know him?” Dale asked looking surprised.

“I think he was the guy who helped me pick out a board when I was first learning how to surf,” Betsy said.

Dale said, “It sure is a small world.”

“It is, at that,” Betsy said.

“He’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

“No problem,” Betsy said.

Her voice sounded unnaturally loud as the sound of the compressor stopped in the middle of her reply. A few moments later, the side door to the garage opened and Sanders stepped out. He couldn’t see Betsy from where he stood.

“Dale! Mom is going to kill us both if she sees you drinking another one of my beers.”

Dale grinned and said, “Chill out. She’s at home, Sanders.”

“A whole four houses up the street.”

“It’s not like I’m breaking the law.”

Sanders said, “You know what she says. You have to buy your own beer until you get a job that lets you move out of her house.”

“I’ve got a job.”

“Selling souvenirs to tourists isn’t a real job.”

“Sure it is,” Dale said.

“Every time the surf is up, you close up shop and go surfing. You can’t make a living that way.”

Amused, Betsy listened to the exchange. It kind of reminded her of the interaction between William and Eddie. Looking at the two men, it was obvious that they were brothers.

“I brought you a customer.”

Sanders looked over at Betsy and smiled.

“Betsy ‘the Shark’ Carter! Are you still swimming with sharks?”

“You bet,” Betsy answered.

“What are you doing here on the islands?” Sanders asked.

“Going to school,” Betsy answered.

Sanders said, “You’re going to the school down the street?”

“That’s right.”

“I heard they’ve got a new research boat.”

“That’s mine,” Betsy said.

“Sweet. I’ll have to stop by and take a look at it.”

“Let me know when you’re coming and I’ll give you the grand tour,” Betsy said.

“I’ll do that.”

Sanders went over to the ice chest and pulled out a cold beer. He opened it and took a long draw from the can, while watching Betsy.

He said, “You sure seem a lot calmer, now.”.

“Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“That’s cool. You can tell me about it, sometime.”

“So, you’re working for the state?” Betsy asked.

“They’ve got me analyzing commercial fishing data,” Sanders answered. “It’s a boring job that pays for this place, and gives me flexible enough hours to get in a little surfing.”

“I’m sure you appreciate the flexible hours. I know how much you enjoy surfing,” Betsy said.

“I live to surf,” Sanders said.

“Which one of you boys dragged in the beach bunny?” a woman’s voice asked from the street.

“Hi, Mom,” Dale said while hiding his beer can.

Pointing a thumb in the direction of their mother, Betsy asked, “Did she just call me a beach bunny?”

“Don’t be offended. She calls all of the girls we know that,” Dale said, sitting back in his chair now that his beer can was out of sight.

The woman said, “That’s because all the girls you know are beach bunnies.”

Sanders said, “Come on over and sit a spell, Mom. I want you to meet, Betsy ‘the Shark’ Carter.”

Dale said, “Betsy, this is our Mom. Everyone calls her, Cat, even though her name is Karen.”

“Why does everyone call her Cat?” Betsy asked.

“It’s a long story, Bubbles, and you won’t be around long enough to hear it,” Cat said.

More than a little irritated, Betsy said, “Well, one night when all of us beach bunnies aren’t out doing beach bunny things, you might tell me the story.”

Sanders said, “Be nice, ladies.”

Dale said, “She’s here about buying a surf board.”

“Two. One for here and one for home,” Betsy said.

“You want two boards?” Sanders asked.

“Yes,” Betsy answered.

“Do you even know how to surf?” Cat asked while rummaging around in the cooler for a beer.

Sanders said, “I helped her get her first board in California. She’s a pretty decent surfer.”

“Oh. You two have known each other for a while?”

“Yes,” Betsy answered.

Cat popped the top on the can of beer and took a long swallow. She studied Betsy for a second, trying to decide if she should even bother getting to know her. Her sons were always bringing home horny young women who were visiting Hawaii on their one week vacation. There was no telling how many of them didn’t take adequate precautions. She figured that she was probably a grandmother twenty times over by now.

She asked, “How did you meet?”

Sanders said, “The first time I met her was when a shark came up to the beach where I was surfing. This huge fin appeared in the water about three hundred yards from shore. Suddenly every surfer out there was paddling like hell for shore. That shark just kept coming and coming.

“I think everyone of us in the water had visions of being the poor slob on the evening news describing how he got bit by a shark. Finally, the shark was in water that was knee deep. People were running around, screaming and shouting while pointing at the shark. Betsy pops up out of the water right next to it and pats the shark on the head. It turned around and swam off.”

“Bubbles was lucky she didn’t get killed,” Cat said.

“Bubbles?” Betsy asked in a low growl.

“What was the name of that shark?” Sanders asked.

“That was Charlie. He was a nice little eleven foot Short-fin Mako. He was a magnificent specimen, about fourteen years old.”

Moving his chair back an inch, Dale said, “You named him, Charlie?”

“You should have seen him feed. I was with him once when he ran into a school of fish. That was intense,” Betsy answered.

Sanders said, “You keep saying ‘he was.’ What happened to him?”

Betsy said, “Some asshole caught him. I was visiting one of the piers, and found him hanging on a hook. I knew it was him by the scar on his side.”