Malibu Surfers

Excerpt From Chasing The Dime  

     He beckoned Pierce inside and they walked into a large loft-style home that was divided in half with living quarters to the right and working quarters to the left. Beyond these distinct areas was a wall of floor to ceiling glass that opened to the deck and the ocean just beyond. The steady pounding of the ocean's waves were the heartbeat of the house. Zeller had once informed Pierce that it was impossible to sleep in the house without earplugs and a pillow over the head.
     "Just thought I'd take a ride out and check on things out here."
     They moved across the beech wood flooring toward the view. In a house like this it was an automatic reflex. You gravitated to the view, to the blue-black water of the Pacific. Pierce saw a light misting out on the horizon but not a single boat. As they got close to the glass he could look down through the deck railing and see the swells rolling in. A small company of surfers in multi-colored wets sat on their boards and waited for the right moment. Pierce felt an interior tug. It had been a long time since he'd been out there. He'd always found the waiting on the swells, the camaraderie of the group, to be more fulfilling than the actual ride in on the wave.
     "Those are my boys out there," Zeller said.
     "They look like Malibu High teenagers."
     "They are. And so am I."
     Pierce nodded. Feel young, stay young — a common Malibu life ethic.