Free Halfway House by Weston Ochse

with CIA, drug runners, CIA drug runners, and honest people in the wrong place at the wrong time. The locals knew Kanga was purely there for the surf, so when he blew through a checkpoint, the cocainitos with AK-47s didn’t even give him the time of day.
    He’d had it all set up for the boy. Two girls and a beach shack full of enough booze, pot and local quesillos to last a week. What more could a boy ask for? Evidently nothing, because as soon as he arrived, he went in the shack and never came out. After six hours, Kanga thought what the fuck and decided to catch a few waves.
    When he went to get his board, he saw his client’s lying beside it. He opened the cover and discovered he was in the presence of a Velzy. A few glances at the shack assured Kanga that the boy wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon. So Kanga spent the rest of the day dumping, diving, and carving Pacific waves, the client’s board better than anything he’d ever used. Three days later the boy came out of the shack, and Kanga drove him to the airport and sent him back to Malibu. Never once had the boy touched the water. Only his board had, and ever since, Kanga coveted the Velzy.
    There was no way Laurie could have known this. She would have been about three at that time. Kanga sniffed and faced the wind, letting it scour his face. Such a good girl she’d turned out to be. Such a damned good girl.
    He finished waxing the Velzy then took it to the water.
    He said a prayer and paddled out to where he could await the perfect set of waves to christen the wonderful board his daughter had given him.
     
    Obituary from the Daily Breeze
     
    Desmond Brian Howard of Long Beach perished in the waves off San Pedro, Tuesday, while surfing. Son of Brian and Rebecca Howard of Crestline, Desmond Howard was training for the Brummel Beach Invitational for which he was one of three Americans invited. He is survived by his parents, wife Johanna, and daughter to be, Rebecca Jo. Memorial services will be held on Cabrillo Beach at sunset on Saturday. Friends and family are asked to bring their boards for a Memorial Surf. A bonfire will follow where all are encouraged to sign a longboard to be given to Dez’s daughter when she comes of age.
     
    His chest had never felt so heavy. Like an anchor, it had taken his body straight to the bottom. One minute Dez was sluicing out of a trough onto the leading edge of wave, and the next he was flipping head over heels. Then he was underwater and sinking and no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t get the reverse momentum to ascend.
    Bubbles...life leaving his body in amorphous pockets of air that rose as he fell, until he finally remembered looking up as the last bubble left him and meandered toward the surface, the sunlight winking on the waves.
    Then a splash destroyed the vision. A man swam down to him, grasped him by the hair and pulled him to the surface. He felt the heat of the sun on his cold skin, but nothing more. He couldn’t breathe. Even now he felt his eyes glazing over, the sky dimming as a film descended across his vision.
    Dez was thrown to the rocky scrabble of the shore. The man knelt beside him and cleared Dez’s throat. He pressed his lips to Dez’s. A feeling of warmth suffused him. Then the man’s lips were gone, replaced by the sound of knocks on a faraway door and the feeling of his chest being compressed.
    Wrapped in the embrace of the sun, everything went dark.
    Peace.
    Silence.
    Tranquility.
    The surf came…
    A wave struck him and his eyes snapped open. The sky was a burnished gray. There was nothing but water as far as he could see. It was still, not even a wind to disturb the surface. In the distance was a glowing dot on the horizon.
    He knelt on his surfboard, his butt pressed to his heels. Dipping both hands in the water he began to paddle toward the light. The water seemed heavier than normal and had a tackiness about it. When he lifted his hands from the viscous liquid, it came with him