C.B. Greenfield

About this book

C H APTER ONE THE TWO MEN LOPED DOWN THE BEACH. WELL, ONE OF them loped: the tall one, with the long neck hanging slightly forward from hunched shoulders like a tortoise on long legs, a peaked canvas cap pulled over an inquisitive nose, knobby knees under baggy Bermuda shorts. The other—stocky, square, with short, powerful legs, a blunt-featured face, the alert, aggressive air of a terrier, younger by a dozen years or more-took a step and a half to every one of the Tortoise's, his feet rolling quickly from heel to toe as the double set of footprints followed them along the shore. "I can't believe you're doing this to me," the Terrier yapped. "To you. I'm doing it to you. If I went down in a plane it would be happening to you." "A whole year of sweat and agony!" "Your sweat, right? Only yours." They passed me as I stooped to the sand to pick up a small translucent shell. The sun baked the backs of my legs and the thin cotton of the worn blue shirt of Elliot's that I wore over an old pair of shorts. I wandered on down the beach behind the two...