'The weather's nice. Let's stay out here.'
'Want something to drink?'
Barry shook his head. 'That's okay. I just had dinner.'
Ray took a sip of his beer, sighed. 'So what's happened now?'
Barry told him about lunch at the coffee shop, the story of the poisoned pets and the conviction of the locals that the homeowners'
association was responsible. 'So what do you think?' he asked. 'Do you think they're really killing off pets?'
Ray thought for a moment. 'I doubt it,' he said. 'It's not that I
think such a thing would be beneath them. It's just that I don't think they have any interest in things outside of Bonita Vista. The rest of the world could go to hell in a hand basket for all they care. As long as we're still safe up here, as long as the houses are painted the proper color and no one has an extra car in their driveway, all is right with their world.'
'But like you said, they have the sheriff in their pocket. Maybe they want to expand their reach, take over Corban .'
'Maybe,' Ray said doubtfully. 'But Hitman's in their pocket only when it comes to Bonita Vista matters. I'm not defending those assholes, you understand. But I really think that their interest lies here, that their only concern is what happens in our little area. They might kill our pets, but I don't think they'd cross the border and go outside their territory.' He paused. 'You know, it's not power they want, not specifically. It's power over Bonita Vista. It's hard to understand, at least for normal people like us, but they really do seem to have some sort of primal territorial feeling about this place, some sort of myopic localized interest that forces them to focus on Bonita Vista and Bonita Vista only. To the exclusion of everyplace else.'
'The land under a gated community possesses evil energy and has some sort of hold over its residents, making them do horrible, unspeakable things.' Barry smiled. 'Sounds like the plot of one of my novels.'
Ray nodded seriously. 'You're right,' he said. 'It does.'
'I was joking.'
'I know.'
But Ray was still not smiling, and he sipped his beer as he walked over to the side of the house and looked down on the town of Corban , where lights were beginning to flicker on against the coming darkness.
Barry watched him. His friend had been acting odd lately. Nothing specific, nothing overt, nothing concrete, but there'd be a vibe, at strange moments, at strange times, that made Barry sense something was wrong. He'd hesitated to mention it before for fear that it was some sort of marital trouble, some problem between Ray and Liz, but that did not seem to be the case, and he cleared his throat and stood next to his friend. 'Is ... is there anything the matter?' he asked awkwardly.
'Nope.'
He tried humor. 'You don't seem your usual happy-go lucky self.'
Ray waved his hand dismissively, still not looking at him. 'It's nothing. I'm just tired.'
Barry let the matter drop. Maybe it was nothing. If it wasn't...
well, no doubt his friend would talk to him when he was ready. It wouldn't do any good to push.
Ray looked away from the edge, glanced over at Barry. 'Liz wants to have another party, a neighborhood get together for all us outsiders.
You and Mo game?'
'Sure.'
Ray shook his head. 'I'm getting too old for this shit. Never thought I'd say that, never thought I'd end up one of those old farts who just likes to sit on the couch and watch Jeopardy, but damn if that's not what I'm turning into.' He sighed. 'Getting old sucks. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'
'I always knew it did,' Barry told him.
His friend was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft. 'You don't want to cross them. The homeowners'
association. There's no telling what they're capable of. The best thing you can do is just stay out of their way.'
'Something did happen!' Barry said.
'No. Nothing did. Something could've. But nothing did.'
'Then--'
'It's one thing for an old-timer like me to be defiant, have a high profile. They know me. I've been around for a long time, and ... I'm tolerated. But someone new, someone like you ...'
'But nothing. I'm not afraid of those bastards.'
'Maybe you should be.'
'Why?'
Ray sighed. 'Just try to stay out of their way,' he said. 'If they come after you, go at them full force. Use everything at your disposal to defend yourself. But don't go looking for trouble, that's all I'm saying. Don't put yourself in harm's way for no reason; for pride or stubbornness or principle. It's not worth it.'
'Don't worry,' Barry said. 'I'm not stupid.'
'I know you're not. I just want you to keep that in mind, though. Just keep that in mind.'
They were late to the party. At the last second, Maureen got a call from a panicked client back in California who had just arrived home to find an IRS audit statement in his mailbox, and it took her ten minutes to calm him down and reassure him that there was nothing to fear, that everything for the past five years was in order, and that this was merely a random audit, not a red-flag situation. 'Don't worry,' she told him, 'I'll take care of it.'
She spent the next ten minutes quickly accessing computer records and looking through her file cabinets to make sure that what she'd told him was true.
So they were a half hour late getting to the Dysons’.
Liz answered the door. She gave each of them a big hug. 'We were wondering what happened to you two!'
'Just some last-minute business,' Maureen said.
Liz winked at her. 'I understand.'
'What does that mean?' Barry whispered as they walked into the living room. 'Does she think we were fighting or fucking?'
Maureen hit his shoulder, gave him a stern look, then turned on her smile as she headed over to the punch bowl.
Barry felt a strong masculine hand slap his back. He turned to see Frank Hodges holding a Heineken and grinning hugely. 'How goes it, bud? Haven't seen much of you since you took over the teapot museum.'
'There aren't any teapots anymore. It's now home to perverted sex and violence.'
Frank laughed heartily, slapped his back again. 'Glad to hear it.
That's the way things oughta be.' He motioned across the room, where quite a few people seemed to be mingling by the windows. 'Do you know Kenny Tolkin ?'
The name didn't ring a bell. Barry shook his head. 'I don't think so.'
'Oh, you gotta meet Kenny.' Frank led him through the crowd and around the couch. 'He's the only person here with a job cooler than yours.
Kenny is a career consultant to rock stars. Right, Kenny?'
The man standing before diem elegantly holding a glass of red wine was tall, gray-haired, and distinguished looking --save for the gaudy blue patch over his left eye. He smiled. ''Artistic consultant' is what I'm calling myself now.'
'Tell Barry here what you do.'
Kenny laughed. 'Frank ...'
'Come on.'
'I make pop stars into artists.'
Frank nudged Barry with his elbow. 'Listen to this.'
Kenny shook his head and waved his hand, begging off. 'No.'
