Infinity One by Robert Hoskins (Ed.) Page A

of the other three houses sharing this stretch of beach. “Have you been drinking bourbon again? Coming out here in the middle of the morning. Somebody’s going to see you.” He put a hand against the footboard and gave a tentative push.
    “People are used to odd things in the suburbs, sweetheart,” said Carnahan. “Get this straight now. I just heard that Giacomo Macri has hired a couple of boys from Detroit to hit Rasmussen. It’s going to happen real soon.”
    Barry stopped and put a shoulder to the redwood footboard. “Okay. Now go back uphill.”
    “That’s a real Maxfield Parrish sky today, isn’t it?" remarked the big bed. “I’ve got to get more outside work.”
    “When are these guys going to do it?”
    “All I know is soon.”
    Barry said, “I’m going to talk to Janey right now.”
    “Okay, sweetheart. I won’t take the play away from you yet.” Carnahan grunted, made a high pitched whirring sound.
    “They’re going to hear that, somebody is. What’s wrong?”
    “It’s tough to get traction in this sandy ground.”
    Barry put his shoulder to the bed and after a moment of straining Carnahan’s wheels took hold and he shot forward and began rolling, rattling, uphill and away.
    The gulls on the rock all took off when Barry neared Janey. “You scared the birds,” she said.
    “Janey,” he said.
    “Now what?”
    “Sometimes,” he said, “we’re judged by the company we keep.”
    “True.” She ran two fingers of her left hand along her thigh, then picked up a pale orange pebble with the toes
    of her left foot and flicked it into the foam of the ocean.
    “What I mean is, sometimes when we play with fire, if you’ll forgive the cliche, we sort of get burned, as they say, I guess.”
    “Also true. So?”
    “Well,” said Barry, glancing at Connecticut across the water. “There’s a lot of crime around these days and it’s a problem.”
    Janey frowned, her lips parted. “Listen, Barry.” “Yes?”
    She shook her head. “Nothing, never mind.” She walked away from him, out into the water.
    He hesitated, didn’t follow.

    The doctor’s face faded from the phone screen on the living room coffee table. “Dr. Lupoffsky says it isn’t,” Barry called toward the kitchen.
    Janey brought him a container of self brewing tea and placed it on the table. “Isn’t the Brazilian flu again?”
    "I thought I had a relapse. But this is the Argentine flu.”
    “At least it’s still South American. What are you supposed to do?”
    “Same as with Brazilian flu. Stay home from work a couple of days, drink fluids,” Barry said. “Do I look particularly green to you, by the way?”
    “No,” said his wife. “Should you?”
    “Dr. Lupoffsky said the only thing that worried him was the green tinge to my face.”
    “He says that to all his patients,” said Janey. “The color reception on his phone is out of adjustment.”
    The phone sounded and Janey flicked it on. Bernard Hunzler appeared on the screen. “Barry there, he’s not in his office they told me?”
    “Barry is sick today, Bernie.”
    “Only take a minute, Jane,” said the gothic writer. “Hey, Barry, can you hear me?”
    “I’ll take it,” Barry said, gently pushing Janey. away from in front of the phone screen. “Yes, Bernard?”
    “Can’t we salvage The Shadow Bride of Ledgemere, Barry? Make it a series. The gothic adventures of Emily Frazier.” Hunzler grinned and his eyebrows drooped.
    “No, we don’t want a new series at Flash Books right now. Just change the names and the plot and resubmit the outline.”
    “I was hoping to get the $1500 right away. I’ve got to buy mother the electric blanket.”
    “I thought it was a rabbit coat.”
    “She broke her hip over the weekend and she’s confined to bed.”
    Janey pulled the red cellophane tag on the tea cup and the tea began to steam. Barry said, “Change the names and the title, Bernard.”
    “The Shadow Towers of Woodville” said