Jack Grabber sat relaxed (or as relaxed as Jack Grabber actually gets) in a cabana that he had paid 63 dollars for exactly four hours earlier. As his eyes followed the lines down to his toes, wriggling in the sand, he was surprised: he was wearing more clothes than he thought he would have by now. He was pleased but removed his swimming shorts, revealing a quaint pair of racing trunks; this was still more than he wanted to wear, but he felt like following the rules this particular day. He hadn’t been in the water in a while so the sand barely clung to the soles of his feet and the frog-like pads of this toes. “Knock, knock.”

It was well known that jack Grabber didn’t read. He could read, he just wouldn’t – it was rumored that he even refused to lay an eye on a menu. Samir Godot, Grabber’s only friend, thought he had seen a novel once in Grabbers messenger bag although it certainly could have been his journal. “Knock, knock.”

Grabber stretched a kitty stretch, being careful not rustle his toes from the salty grains of the Hawaiian sand as he rubbed tanning lotion on the back of his thighs and the tippy tops of his ears. Grabber’s lotion was a special concoction that he mixes himself in his kitchen sink: baby oil, mayonnaise, old bay seasoning and gold flakes. It consisted of a few other ingredients but those were more for show than anything else. The sounds of the Pacific Ocean rapped soft ghetto island tunes in Grabber’s ear, lulling him in and out of a napping state. Grabber never napped but he enjoyed very much the exact moment before an ordinary human would slip into a nap. It was as exhilarating as a hearty sneeze to our ex-army ranger hero, who was never known to rest for more than three hours a day, but somehow, some way, this was Jack Grabber on vacation. “Knock, knock.”

Even though Grabber couldn’t nap, he would pretend. He liked the idea of napping, but detested the practice. Grabber reached his gorilla arm up over his head and flipped up the white flag that was connected to the bonnet of his cabana. Within one minute a young Hawaiian man approaches and pulls out a pad and paper. “Mahalo. What can I get you?”

“Ah, yes, Senor. I’ll have a margarita.” The Hawaiian man, puzzled, adjusts, “Sir, we have rum drinks, Mai Tais, Lava Flows. Mahalo.”

Grabber is obviously confused. “Hmmm, what about taquitos? Can I get some taquitos?”

The cabana waiter sighs, “Don’t worry, Mr. Grabber, I’ll bring you something you’ll like.” Grabber nods and hands him one thousand dollars. “Knock, knock.”

Grabber’s golden mayo scented body glistened as he examined his skin. “You can really see the gold flakes.” Grabber says out loud. To his left there are 11 empty Mai Tai glasses. Grabber confused the bartender by referring to them as Mexican Yum Sips, but after six, the waiter had figured it out. “Knock, knock.”

Grabber put the flag up. When the waiter came back, he informed Jack that they weren’t allowed to serve single patrons more than 16 Mexican Yum Sips a day. Grabber understood, “That’s fine, Actually I wanted to discuss the coconuts.”

“The coconuts?” the man asked. “Yes… the coconuts.”

Every single person that knew Jack Grabber knew that he hated coconuts more than anything. He despised them and often referred to them as a “cocky fruit” and had been overheard in his sleep asking, “who do you think you are?” the “you” of course, being coconuts. He hated the taste, the smell and the sound of them knocking together. He explained to the cabana ‘tender that the knocking was single-handedly ruining his vacation. The cabana thing pointed over to a grassy hill next to the hotel pool. A luau was being set up and three heavy set Hawaiian men in authentic tribal garb were bellying up to microphones; two holding ukuleles and the third holding two coconut halves, knocking them together. “Knock, knock.”

By the time it turned around, Grabber was gone and the man with the sweet milky, hairy Hawaiian nuts was wincing in pain as Grabber had given him a coconut bra without the straps… without any straps. There was no more knocking. And Grabber enjoyed the rest of his vacation, although as I’m sure you all can assume by now… there was more to this trip than vacation and as Grabber walked into the Hawaiian horizon in his horribly tight racing trunks and nothing else, he passed a banquet hall. He stopped to look at a large poster that was perched on a stand and in big letters it read: TOMORROW ONLY – LEE CHILDS SPEAKS AND BRINGS JOHNATHAN REACHER TO LIFE. Jack Grabber smiled, the only time he had ever smiled without killing someone minutes before.

Mahalo.

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