He sat on it. Except for a janitor mopping the tiled terrace, no one was in sight. But he could hear voices in the distance, and they sounded angry. After about five minutes he got up and walked around the pool a couple of times to stretch his legs.
There was no trace of the santana that had been blowing in the foothills or the sea winds which almost always began in the afternoon and stopped abruptly at sundown. The water was so smooth that at the far end where it was eighteen feet deep it looked shallow as a reflection pool, mirroring the lifeguard towers, the flagpole, the diving platform and Aragon himself, foreshortened to child size. Along the walls and floor of the pool every mark was clearly defined, the water-depth signs and the racing lanes. He wondered if anyone ever raced here or whether all the winning and losing was done on deck.
The voices were getting louder. It sounded like an argument between two women and a man, but when the trio appeared at the bottom of the steps coming down from the south row of cabanas one of the women turned out to be little Frederic Quinn. He was staggering under the weight of a sleeping bag, a portable television set and a six-pack of 7-up. Ellen carried the rest of his supplies — a partly eaten pizza, a box of cheese crackers, a package of bologna and another of frankfurters.
Frederic had been planning a big evening, but the security guard caught him in the middle of the pizza and a rerun of Star Trek. The security guard, a pear-shaped divinity student working his way toward a pulpit, might have joined the party if Ellen hadn’t shown up. For her benefit he put on a show of doing his duty.
“I’m telling you for the last time, young man, you can’t spend the night in a cabana.”
“Why not?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“How am I supposed to know the rules? I’m only a kid.”
“You are also,” Ellen said, “a pain in the neck.”
“I can’t help it. I didn’t ask to be born. Nobody else asked for me to be born either. My father had a vasectomy but it was bungled. He would have sued except he didn’t need the money.”
“I do not want to talk about your father’s vasectomy, Frederic.”
“Yeah? What do you want to talk about?”
“Stingrays,” the security guard said. “Dead ones. Two of them. In the pool.”
“I don’t know a thing about stingrays, dead or alive. I can’t be expected to know everything, I’m not a genius.”
“Any kid that knows about vasectomies must know about stingrays.”
“Not necessarily. I specialize, see?”
“No, I don’t see.”
“Don’t argue with the child, Sullivan, it’s a waste of time. Just be clear and be firm.” Ellen looked down at Frederic, who had put the sleeping bag on the floor and was sitting on it drinking a can of 7-Up. “Now, Frederic, let’s get this straight. Nobody, absolutely nobody’s ever allowed to stay in the cabanas after the club is closed.”
“That’s what you think. Last week I saw Mr. Redfern making macho with Amy Lou Worthington in the Worthingtons’ cabana. He’s a real pro.”
“You watched them, Frederic?”
“Well, sure. There they were and there was I.”
“There you shouldn’t have been.”
“There they shouldn’t have been either.”
“In a minute I’m going to lose my temper with you, Frederic.”
“Everybody does. No big deal.” It was at this point that Frederic spotted Aragon and let out a whoop of recognition. “There’s my lawyer. Hey! Hey, Aragon, come here a minute. Remember me? We made a pact in the parking lot, remember?”
As Aragon approached, the guard watched him suspiciously. “A pact in the parking lot, that sounds like the devil’s work to me. And since when do nine-year-old boys have lawyers?”
“Since you cops started pushing us around, that’s when,” Frederic said. “Tell him, Aragon.”
“You do that, Aragon,” the guard said. “Tell me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You can start with the pact in the parking lot.”
“All right. As I was about to leave the lot a few days ago I ran into Frederic. He gave me some information about a person I was looking for and in return I agreed to act as his attorney when the time came.”
“The time has come.”
“In that case I’ll have to talk to my client alone for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Sullivan—”
“You mean this boy is really your client?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like the devil’s work, for a certainty.”
“Go and finish your rounds, Sullivan,” Ellen said. “And leave the theology to us.”
As soon as the guard left, Frederic opened another can of 7-Up, switched on the television set and tuned in on a science-fiction movie. Several prehistoric or posthistoric monsters were emerging from a swamp to the sound of some very loud contemporary music.
Ellen spoke above it. “What are you doing here, Mr. Aragon?”
“I found Mrs. Shaw.”
“That’s fine. It’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Was she alone?”
“Not at first. She is now. In fact, she’s out in my car and she’d like to see you.”
“Why?”
“You’re her friend.”
“I’m not. I never was, never will be. I don’t see how she can consider me a friend.”
“Obviously it’s a case of mistaken identity,” Aragon said. “So forget it.”
“You make it sound as if I’m cruel and unfeeling.”
“Are you?”
“I never thought so. I’m kind to animals and I help old ladies across the street. But I don’t owe Miranda Shaw anything. She’s had the whole bit from the time she was born, money and beauty and being taken care of and cherished.”
“All of that’s gone now, including Grady. He walked out on her last night. Or rather, he drove out in the Porsche she bought him.”
“She bought him a Porsche? My God, what an idiot that woman must be, what a complete— All right, all right, I’ll go out and talk to her. Or listen to her, or whatever. I won’t be her friend,” she added distinctly, “but I’ll come as close to it as I can without upchucking.”
“You’re all heart, Miss Brewster.”
On the television screen one of the monsters reared up on its hind legs, bellowing in triumph. Aragon watched for a minute. The limited human imagination which had created a God and a devil in its own image hadn’t done much better with monsters. No matter how obviously grotesque they were with their warty skins, pinheads and three eyes, all had four limbs, voices like French horns and 20/20/20 vision.
Aragon went over and turned the set off.
Frederic let out a squawk of protest. “Hey, what’d you do that for? The monsters were just going to take over the world.”
“They already have,” Aragon said. “It must be a rerun.”
“It is. I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen everything before.”
“You’re pretty young for that. How old are you?”
“Nine and seven-twelfths. But when the country switches to the metric system I’m going to add on a couple of years.”
“What’s the metric system got to do with your age?”
“Nothing. But everybody will be so confused by grams and kilometers and liters they won’t notice the difference. In a flash I’ll be eleven and seven-twelfths and Bingo Firenze’s only eleven, ha ha.”
“What if Bingo Firenze has the same idea?”
“He won’t. He’s too stupid.”
“Or too smart.”
“No, he’s not. His family has to pay extra so the school will keep him. Whose side are you on, anyway? I thought you were my lawyer.”