The Kings of Cool (Savages, #1)

by Don Winslow

1 Fuck me.

Although O knows for a fact that both of them—albeit Chon more than Ben—take full advantage of the Tourist Chicks who watch them play volleyball here at the beach, just a few convenient paces from the Hotel Laguna—encounters she refers to as FRSO. Fuck—Room Service—Shower—Out. “That pretty much sums it up,” Chon has admitted. Although at times he skips the room service. Never the shower.

which they are now, on some of Ben and Chon’s supremo weed. (Which is not weed at all, but a top-of-the-line hydro blend they call Saturday In The Park because if you take a hit of this stuff any day is Saturday and any place is the park.)

“Strikeout,” Chon answers. “Not my type.” “What is your type?” O asks, frustrated. “Tan,” Chon answers, “thin—sweet face—big brown eyes, long lashes.” O turns to Ben. “Ben, Chon wants to fuck Bambi.”

“It’s not a ‘habit,’” Ben answered. “It’s a ‘routine.’” A habit is a matter of compulsion, a routine a matter of choice. The fact that it’s the same choice every day is irrelevant. “Whatever,” Chon answered. “Break it up.”

One of Ben and Chon’s cardinal rules: never sell to anyone you don’t know. Maybe only Chon would know that “cardinal rule” doesn’t come from the Catholic religious official, but from the Latin “cardo,” which means “hinge.” So a cardinal rule is something that everything else hinges upon.

It’s an age-old debate, not to be rehashed here, but basically— Ben believes that to answer violence with violence only begets more violence, while Chon believes that to answer violence with nonviolence only begets more violence, his evidence being the entire history of humanity. Oddly enough, they both believe in karma—what goes around comes around—except with Chon it comes around in a freaking hurry and usually with ill intent. What Chon calls “microwave karma.” Together, Ben and Chon make up a collective pacifist. Ben is the paci Chon is the fist.

Sad Fact of Life— Smart people sometimes get stupid, but stupid people never get smart. Never. Ever. “You can come down the evolutionary ladder,” Chon has observed to Ben and O; “you can’t climb up.”

It’s an article of faith with Ben that problems generate solutions, which generate more problems, which generate more solutions, and he labels this endless cycle “progress.”

Ben knows California would be zapping guys at the pace of the Texas Versus Florida Bush Brothers Sibling Rivalry if the electric chair were solar powered. “They don’t use Sparky anymore,” Chon tells him. “It’s lethal injection.” Right. Narcotics are illegal, so we use them to execute people. For crimes.

Some kids have paper routes—John has cash routes. Doc kicks him fifty bucks a day. Life is good. John puts up with school, does his route, gets his fifty, goes back to the house, and slips into bed with girls who are now more often in their twenties than in their late teens and who are giving him an education he can’t get in the classroom. Yeah, life is good. But it could be better.

So now, in addition to his cash over his shoulder, John has fat joints taped to the bottom of his skateboard and sells them for five bucks each.

Every hero has a tragic flaw. That one inner quality that will do him and everyone else around him in. With Ben, it’s simple. You tell Ben to do one thing— He can’t help himself— He’s going to do exactly the opposite. He’s— 64 Subversive (adj.) Likely to subvert or overthrow a government. (n.) A person engaged in subversive activities. Okay, that’s Ben. To wit: He pays the next month’s “fee.” On the surface, he appears to obey, to be chastened, to have learned his lesson. That’s apparent. (adj.) 1. Open to view: visible; 2. Clear or manifest to the understanding; 3. Appearing as such, but not necessarily so. Ding. Because Ben has a plan.

Ben’s a little stunned. And more than a little distracted with converting his subversive plan into subversive action.

Anyway, over the course of a couple of wars, Chon’s unit morphed from counterinsurgency to antiterrorism because the latter is Cheaper, Faster, And easier to tabulate. Bodies (especially dead ones) being easier to count than hearts (fickle) and minds (transitory). So he’s used to missions like this. There’s just so goddamn many of them. So many Bad Guys to kill.

This does not make Dennis particularly popular among his peers, but he doesn’t give a shit—the life plan isn’t to make friends among his peers, it’s to rise above them, and then they’re not going to like him, anyway.

what happens is they do freeze, and— Dennis strides right past them into the house, where— Filipo Sanchez looks up from a folding table stacked with cash and looks mildly surprised. And calmly says, “There’s five hundred and fifty thousand dollars on this table for you if I go out that door.”

Doc, ever the good host, comes over and says, “Come on, put that away, Stan. It’s a party.” “He had sex with Diane,” Stan says. Doc ponders this for a moment, and then delivers a response that becomes Laguna legend. “Well,” Doc says, “so have you.” Cocaine logic. Irrefutable.

“Right up top,” Dennis says, “if you won’t testify, I can’t offer you immunity.” “This isn’t Survivor,” Ben answers. “I’m not asking for immunity.” “Got it. I’m just obligated to tell you.” “You need me to sign a release form?”

“We’ll put you under the jail,” Crowe says. “All those charges can be reinstated. And we’ll just bust you over and over and over again.” Ben says nothing. His version of passive resistance. He calls it “Verbal Gandhism.” (“The other guy can’t play tennis,” Ben explained to Chon one time, “if you don’t hit the ball back.” “He can’t play tennis,” Chon answered, “if you shoot him in the head, either.”) Duane stares at Ben for a second, then gets up and walks out. Verbal Gandhism works.

“He’s a federal CI, idiot,” Dennis snaps. “You keep fucking around, you’re going to jeopardize an operation that is so far above you, you’d need a ladder to sniff its asshole. You burn this guy, you’re going to be on the phone to the AG—that’s the attorney general—of the United States, dipshit—explaining why.” Roselli says, “You’re running an op

Billions on prisons, billions more trying to keep drugs from coming across the border while schools have to hold bake sales to buy books and paper and pencils, so I guess the idea is to keep our kids safe from drugs by making them as stupid as the politicians who perpetuate this insanity.

He’s in the doorway when he hears Stan say, “When you had sex with my wife, did she like it?” “I had sex with Diane?” John asks. Must have been stoned. It was the seventies, Stan.

“Do you have a name?” Ben asked the girl. “O.” “O.” “It’s really Ophelia,” O admitted. “I’m Ben. This is Chon.” Yes, O thought. Yes it is. My magic boy.

you’re man enough to get yourself in this kind of trouble, Chon, you’re man enough to get yourself out. You want some advice about how to get by in the joint, I can give you that: never accept a favor or a gift because you’ll end up paying with your ass.” “Personal experience?” Chon asked.

“Not every cop is dirty.” What Ben can’t seem to get through his head, Chon thinks, is that the justice system is set up for the system, not the justice. The drug laws make us outlaws.

“Wouldn’t I be guilty anyway, though?” he asks. “Even if I was just there? Which I wasn’t, but if I was?” Goddamn it, Dennis thinks. If there’s anything he hates it’s a half-intelligent skell with a little information. Law & Order has totally fucked up the interview room.

Crowe gives him a name. It hits Chon like a blow to the chest. He leans over and says, “Tell me the truth. Did you kill those two kids?” Crowe nods. Chon pulls the trigger. Sorry, Ben. He drags Crowe’s body over by Hennessy’s, then puts the shotgun in Hennessy’s hands and lays the pistol by Crowe’s. Justice or revenge. Either way. Taking his knife, Chon cuts a strip off his shirt and presses it against the open wound on his leg. Then he notices that it’s raining.

He knows his old man. Knows him in the way that only blood can. The shared secret code hidden deep in deoxyribonucleic acid. DNA. Fathers and sons are really brothers Twins of the double helix Fates twisted around each other Inseparable Inextricable

“It’s all there for you, John,” Roger says quickly. “It’s been earning interest, performing nicely.” “How much?” “Fifty-two grand.” “The next words out of your mouth better be ‘April Fool’s,’ motherfucker.”

Doc turns to John, shrugs, and says, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he isn’t your kid.” “No, he is.” He pulls the pistol and shoots Doc square in the forehead.

Ben slips him an envelope. “First of every month,” Dennis says. “Your girlfriend can be late, you can’t.” “As long as you keep DEA off our ass,” Ben says. “Yeah, that’s the idea.” “Guaranteed?”