Chapter 27

Even the land owner charges that the market value is irreparably stigmatized. They, too, have filed suit.

Now it’s the doorbell. I dash up the kitchen stairs to the second floor and stand carefully to one side of the shutters. I am the subject of a stakeout.

“He won’t answer.” Kerrick returns to the front and snaps his cell phone shut. “It’s hard to tell when, but the pool’s been closed and the furniture’s put away.”

Potsy puffs reefer. He begins to talk as though I’m there, which I guess I am. “Goddamn it, Barry, how long is this going to go on?”

Put on your big-boy pants, Barry. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off. You smell like Lemon Pledge most of the time, anyway.

“Come out here! Unless you’re in that shorty robe!”

That was actually Andy’s robe.

Next he tries teary. “Barry, today we all cry for Andy.” He kicks a rolled newspaper. “Effie, we all got pain. There’s something you can understand.” He picks up the newspaper. “Fine, then! Wallow! Watch me take your Sunday ads.”