“Apologies are funny shit. I laugh whenever I hear one.” He looked at her with a faint smile. He said, “Those punks made me strong. They made me want something better. They gave me a purpose. All my life I wanted to get away from people like that—to swim out and catch a wave. And dismount before I got to shore, and paddle back and find another wave. Stay in the water, live in the water.”

Olive knelt and took his hands to comfort him, not submissive but concerned, a gesture Sharkey always took to be a nurse’s reaction, steadying an anxious patient, and his hands had a patient’s tremors and sick pallor.

“And now I’m afraid of the water,” he said, not consoled, feeling trapped by her touch. “That guy Frawley knew it. He dared me to surf with that crappy board, all those dings on it. I couldn’t do it. He knew I was chicken.”

“I talked to him, the roly-poly one,” Olive said. “He’s down on his luck, he pongs something awful, but he’s pretty clever—a bright spark. He kept saying Max was hamajang. What is that?”

“My life these days,” Sharkey said.

Olive kept her hands on his. She said, “In his telling, Max was a boffin. He wants to show us where he lived, introduce us to people he knew. Fill in the Max Mulgrave details.”

“Max was a boffin?”

“Techie,” Olive said, and squeezed his hand, “Supersmart.”

Sharkey went quiet after that. Without any further explanation or prodding, he allowed himself to be steered to the car.

On the way back to Wai‘anae, Olive stopped at Zippy’s in Wahiawa, leaving Sharkey in the car. She came out carrying three Styrofoam boxes, which she put in the backseat. When they got to the camp on the beach she presented them to the men, who hooted when she handed them over.

“Plate lunch,” Frawley said, flipping up the hinged lid. “Spam musubi. Portogee sausage. Two scoops macaroni. Egg something. Good grinds, sister.”

They ate, Fonoti laughing softly, pushing aside the food he could not chew, Alex stabbing at the meat on Fonoti’s plate, Frawley grunting as he swallowed. Sharkey stared at the sea.

“The tour,” Olive said, seeing them finishing, gasping with satisfaction.

“The walkthrough,” Frawley said, cocking his head. “I show you the whole Max thing. Due diligence.”

At the car, Alex saw them off, standing at attention and saluting. Frawley snatched open the front door and sat next to Olive, so Sharkey took the backseat with Fonoti, who elbowed him, saying, “Like old times, brah. Too bad Wilfred and Nalani not here. Nalani, she liked you, man!”

Sharkey turned to the sea again, for relief, though Fonoti went on chattering. His stink filled the car as he scratched his scabby knees.

Frawley reached for the dashboard and fumbled with some knobs, bumping them with his knuckles.

“What are you playing at?” Olive said.