Page 297 of Devil’s Disciples

“I was telling Winston I expected to pay cash for the ring. He said last night that you took cash, and I said I’d be back tonight. He either didn’t believe me, or he misunderstood that I’d be returning with cash.”

“Which ring do you have your eye on?” he asked.

I pointed to it. “The custom ring at the corner of the upper case.”

He smiled. “All of our rings are custom. Let me get it.”

He removed the ring and set it on top of the counter. “Is this the one?”

“That’s it.”

“Would you like to look at it?” he asked.

“I’ve looked at it. I’ve held it. I slipped it onto the tip of my pinkie finger. I’d like to take it home.”

He inspected the ring, and then blinked a few times. “Mister Reeves, this example is a four-carat, VVS one clarity, D color, that’s a brilliant cut with excellent table, depth, and girdle. It’s four forty-three. That’s four hundred forty-three thousand. Call it four hundred forty for arguments sake.”

“Will you take four hundred and forty for it?”

He nodded. “We certainly would.”

I tossed my backpack onto the display case. “I’ll need to get three grand out of there, then.”

He looked at the backpack, and then at me. “Would you like to come into my office?”

“Sure.”

He lifted a wooden pass-through gate, and I followed him to his office. Thirty minutes later, I was preparing to leave with the ring.

“I’ll come back for all the certificate paperwork tomorrow. I’m on my motorcycle, and I don’t want it to get bent. She might want to do something with it, frame it or whatever. I don’t know,” I said excitedly.

“No rush,” he said with a smile. “We’ll keep it under lock and key.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“I’m sure she will,” he agreed. “Let us know how the engagement goes, will you?”

After she agreed to marry me, I’d be so proud I’d feel like telling the world, Gilthrop Wilshire included.

I admired the ring one last time, and then closed the box. “I sure will.”

109

Abby

Over my shoulder, I stared at the watery horizon and waited. When the next swell was fifty yards behind me, and approaching fast, Porter shouted.

“Paddle, Abby. Paddle like fuck!”

I looked at him, at the swell, and then did just as he’d taught me. With my eyes fixed on the shore, I paddled with my hands, attempting to match the wave’s speed. As the board started to rise, I pushed my chest off the board and quickly rose to my feet.

Ho-lee-shit.

I glanced to my left. Porter was beside me, twenty yards away, with my GoPro attached to some goofy piece of elastic that was strapped to his head.

“I’m surfing!” I screamed. “I’m F-ing surfing!”

“Looking good, baby!” he shouted.