The Gentlemen's Hour by Don Winslow

come easily.

29
    The next morning’s Dawn Patrol is another dull session, surfwise.
    The sea is flat glass—any half-competent surgeon could do delicate brain surgery sitting on a longboard in this ocean. Michelangelo could lie on a board and paint the Sistine . . . ahh, you get the idea.
    Johnny tries to bust up the monotony.
    â€œDo ducks,” he asks, “really line up in a row?”
    â€œDucks?” Dave asks. “In a row? Why?”
    â€œWhy do I ask, or why do they line up in a row?”
    â€œWe haven’t established yet that they do line up in a row,” Tide says, “so Dave is asking why you’re asking. Is that what you’re asking, Dave?”
    â€œYeah, I’m asking why JB wants to know whether ducks line up in a—”
    Boone dips his head into the water. When he comes back up Johnny is saying, “You know the expression ‘ducks in a row’? I’m seeking input whether that reflects a zoological reality, or it’s just bullshit.”
    â€œIt would be an ‘ornithological’ reality,” Boone says, “not a ‘zoological’ reality.”
    â€œGood pickup, B,” Dave says. “We finally know the question that Banzai missed on his SATs.”
    â€œLet it go, Dave.”
    â€œSo?’ Johnny asks. “Has anyone actually ever seen ducks in a row?”
    â€œI believe that ducks,” Boone says, “are freshwater creatures. Hence, I don’t know that I’ve actually ever seen ducks , in a row or otherwise.”
    â€œI’ve seen ducks in a row,” Tide offers.
    â€œYou have?” Johnny asks.
    â€œAt the Del Mar Fair,” Tide says. “At one of those booths where you shoot the BB guns. The ducks were all in a row.”
    â€œThis is just what I mean,” Johnny says. “Is that an imitation of actual nature, or the perpetuation of an ornithological myth?”
    â€œAn avian stereotype?” Boone asks. “Pelicans are gluttons, seagulls are filthy, ducks are anal-retentive—”
    â€œCan you be politically incorrect about birds?” Dave asks.
    â€œOnly birds of color,” Tide says. “Or female birds. White male birds you can trash. This Irish seagull waddles past a bar and—”
    Hang Twelve sits up on his board and in a tone of unusual authority pronounces, “When the mother duck has baby ducks, the baby ducks swim behind her in a precise row.”
    â€œYou’ve personally witnessed this?” Johnny challenges.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œWhere what?”
    They stare at each other for a second, then Johnny says, “We have to get some waves.”
    â€œWe really do.”
    â€œWe’re pathetic,” High Tide says.
    â€œWe are,” Boone agrees.
    He’s not sure whether it’s the absence of waves or the absence ofSunny that is the main source of this malaise. Probably both, but Sunny would have put a quick and witty end to this idiot discussion with some deadly accurate barb.
    â€œMaybe we need to recruit another female onto the Dawn Patrol,” Boone suggests.
    â€œA replacement Sunny?” Dave asks.
    â€œWe already have Not Sunny the Waitress,” Tide says. “Do we also want Not Sunny the Surfer?”
    â€œRecruiting a replacement Sunny,” says Johnny, clearly nonplussed, “would be making a statement that the real Sunny isn’t coming back.”
    She isn’t, Boone thinks. She’s moved on. To the professional, sponsored surfer ranks. Good for her, but we have to face the fact that we’re mostly going to be seeing Sunny on magazine covers, not out here in the lineup.
    Hang Twelve, mouth agape, stares at him.
    â€œWhat?” Boone asks.
    â€œShame on you,” Hang says.
    The session drags on in desultory silence. Even the ocean doesn’t make a pretense of showing up, just lies there lifeless and supine.
    â€œIt’s like a big