Talk To Him

By C.K. Waterman

Faced with the possibility of losing his only child, Dave O'Brien tests the limits of his ability to change the course of anyone's life, even his own. His son, Kenny, struggling with drug and alcohol addiction, unknowingly becomes involved in a crime which causes him and his innocent girlfriend to become targets of one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in Los Angeles.
Dave and his best friend, Mike Gonzales, try to untangle the teenagers from someone else's problem, in suspense-filled action ranging from the Port of Los Angeles to Chinatown to Catalina Island. In his attempt to save his son, Dave comes to understand more about his own relationship with God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.K. Waterman
• Release date: Jun 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311037060

C.K. Waterman

C.K. Waterman and his wife have lived in the South Bay area of Los Angeles, California, for over forty years. He writes from his den overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and loves to go to the beach with his children and grandchildren who all live nearby. He and his wife spend as much time as possible on their sailboat, usually at their favorite anchorage at Catalina Island.

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TALK TO HIM

C.K. Waterman

Copyright 2014 by C.K. Waterman

Smashwords Edition

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Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 1

A set of playground equipment came into view at the side of the road, the yellows and reds in sharp contrast to the dull brown landscape and the gray, dreary day. From the passenger seat my son looked at it too. It was so unexpected, so out of place. My mind flooded with memories of another playground, and a chubby little boy with blond curly hair and the world’s greatest belly laugh. I saw myself helping him climb the monkey bars, and pushing him on a swing. That triggered memories of happier car rides: driving him to soccer practice, taking him fishing. Going to ball games. Vacation trips.

I glanced at Kenny as I drove. The cheerful little boy had turned into a tall, thin nineteen-year-old who rarely smiled. His hair hung down to his black t-shirt, and he had the beginnings of a wispy mustache and goatee. His fingernails were bitten to ragged slivers, and his face showed no emotion as he stared at the scrub brush and rocks while the car climbed the mountain road.

The place was pretty much what I had expected: eight or nine wooden buildings that looked like old army barracks, and a two-story faded yellow house that was obviously the administration building. Small groups of men huddled alongside the buildings or under the large pine trees, trying to avoid the drizzle that had just begun. They were dressed in work clothes, and they gave us a cursory once-over. I felt conspicuous in my business clothing, and pulled my trench coat on as we got out of the car.

I guess that’s where you check in, huh?

I turned to him, and saw how nervous he was. I had seen that look before. When I dropped him off at summer camp. His first day at college. Going to his first AA meeting.

Yeah, but I need a smoke first, he said.

Sure, I’m in no hurry.

I hunched my shoulders against the cold, and wondered if he had clothing warm enough for this place.

Kenny finished the cigarette quickly and said, Okay, let’s go.

Are you sure you want me to go in with you?

I thought he might be embarrassed, and, anyway, this was supposed to be his decision.

Yeah, sure. You don’t have to sit out here in the car. Let’s go.

He picked up his duffel bag and I followed him up the steps. I sat on a bench in a small waiting room while he filled out a clipboard full of forms and answered a series of questions asked by a nurse. Things I didn’t want to hear, like what kind of drugs he used, and when he had last taken any of them. A guy I guessed to be about thirty came in and sat down next to me.

You checking in? he asked me.

He was dressed in jeans and boots, and hadn’t shaved for a day or two. Again I felt out of place in my white shirt and wing-tips. His smile was friendly, but I couldn’t manage one in return.

No, I said. I just drove my son up.

Oh. He’ll do fine here. This place is okay. This is my second time here. My name’s Vern.

He offered his hand, and I shook it.

I’m Dave O’Brien, I replied, thinking how terrible it must be to have to return to a place like this.

I’m gonna make it this time. I’ve got a couple of good reasons.

He pulled a photo from a worn leather wallet, and showed me his two little girls.

They’re beautiful, I said. I bet you will make it.

I will. So will your son. They make you work in the mornings, but it’s not too bad. Then they have classes every afternoon, and meetings every night. It really works.

If it really works, I thought, why are you back here again? But I forced a smile and wished him luck as I stood up to go with Kenny, who had finished checking in. We walked out into a cold rain.

You all set? I asked, not daring to look at him.

Yeah. I have to get blankets and sheets from the laundry.

We were at the car, and I was starting to lose it.

Well, I said, and I hugged him.

Don’t go getting sloppy on me, he said, trying to keep it light.

I held on tight and said I love you, buddy.

Now the damn tears were running down my cheeks onto his jacket. Whenever we hug, I realize how much taller he is.

I love you, too, Pops. Don’t worry, it will be all right. I’ll call you as soon as they let me use the phone. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.

I turned the wipers on and headed down the mountain, trying not to look at the playground as I passed it. At the bottom of the road, I crossed the highway and pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. The warmth of the building and the smell of cooking almost overpowered me as I bought a cup of coffee. Lightheaded, slightly dizzy, I made my way to a table, feeling detached and horribly alone. At the next booth, a young Hispanic man sat with a little dark-eyed boy about four or five years old. They were laughing, eating hamburgers and sharing fries, and I felt the tears spring up again. I got up quickly and stood by a window as I dialed my cell phone.

Gonzales & O’Brien Insurance.

Debbie, I said. It’s Dave. Is Mike there?

He came to the phone right away.

How’d it go, Dave?

I just dropped him off, Gonzo.

Where are you?

At a McDonald’s in Pasadena, getting some coffee.

Are you all right?

Yeah. I said, thinking, No, I’m not all right. I’ll never be all right again. I should be in the office in an hour or so. I’ll see you then.

I hung up and hurried past the man and his son, who looked up and smiled at me as I left. It was raining heavily as I headed south on the freeway toward Los Angeles.

Chapter 2

My life was shattered four years ago, when Sally died. We met in our junior year at UCLA. On our second date I proposed to her, and she laughed. It took her a year to realize I was only half kidding the first time, and much less than half the next twenty times. We were married a month after graduation, and we moved to Long Beach, where I had found a job in the insurance business. We bought a little one-story house in Belmont Shore, a block from the beach, and a year later our son was born. For sixteen years life was perfect.

Then, one otherwise ordinary afternoon, Sally was killed in a car accident on the San Diego Freeway. I wasn’t there to save her, or hold her, or tell her all the things I needed to say to her. She was simply and suddenly gone. When the shock eventually wore off, all that remained was a dull emptiness. I could barely function, and made it through each day only because of Kenny. I survived because of him, and now I might lose him, too. This time, I am there in time to save him, but I don’t know how.

I’ve learned over the past couple of years there’s a hell of a lot I don’t know. How could I not have seen it when he started drinking and smoking marijuana? If possible, we had grown even closer as a result of losing Sally. He was my reason for living. I should have known.

Kenny had never been a good student, but he got passing grades, and seemed to enjoy high school. He and his friends weren’t star athletes, or big men on campus, but they weren’t the heavy-metal, purple-hair crowd, either. They were just average teen-aged boys. I spent plenty of time with them at the beach, took them camping, and taught them how to sail on a little 14-foot sloop I kept on a trailer in our driveway. As far as I could tell, none of them even smoked cigarettes, let alone marijuana. Kenny had once or twice sipped from my before-dinner beer, and didn’t particularly like the taste.

We argued about college throughout his senior year. He didn’t want any more school, but had no desire to enter the military and no idea about how he might earn a living. He was pretty immature, but so are most boys at that age. I pushed him to talk to school guidance counselors, but nothing seemed to come from that. His friends were all heading off to four-year colleges, and Kenny was going to be left behind. His sunny disposition started to change as he came to realize that. He spent a lot of time alone, watching TV or listening to music in his room.

Finally we reached a compromise. He would give Long Beach City College a shot for a year, and continue to live at home with me. I figured there was one chance in ten that he might finally learn to like books, and maybe eventually transfer to a four-year school. At worst, it would give him time to grow up a bit, while he figured out what to do with the rest of his life.

What it gave him was a change of lifestyle that he couldn’t handle. For the first time, he was in total control of his schedule. He didn’t have classes every hour of the day, as he had in high school. If he skipped a class, no one would bother to check on him.

We saw a lot less of each other, but that made sense to me. Kenny was never the type I had to ride herd on, and it seemed only natural that he spent as much time as possible on campus, and often came home long after I was in bed. I was glad that he was making new friends, and delighted that he apparently liked this new environment. Whenever I asked about school during those first months he told me everything was fine, and that was what I wanted to hear.

Then one night he simply didn’t come home at all. He didn’t call to let me know where he was, and he didn’t answer his cell phone. When he showed up the next evening, I lit him up about it, and he apologized profusely. He had been at a party, lost track of time, and didn’t want to wake me just to say he was going to stay overnight rather than drive home after midnight. From that point on, he started staying away two or three nights a week, always calling early to let me know. I assured myself this was preferable to having him drive home after a few beers. I hadn’t missed many parties during my UCLA days, so I felt like a hypocrite whenever I was inclined to rein Kenny in. I was actually happy that he seemed to be getting the social life that a lot of kids miss when they commute to college from home. For a guy who considers himself street-smart, I can be pretty stupid.

One night, two or three months into this new routine, he didn’t come home, didn’t call, and it dawned on me that I didn’t know how to find him. I had tried to stay out of his college life as much as possible, but I had obviously overdone it. After leaving messages on his cell phone all the next