Short Fiction Complete by Fred Saberhagen

Author:Fred Saberhagen [Saberhagen, Fred]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-26T04:00:00+00:00

ART AWOKE with a start in the Parrs’ guest room bed, looked at his watch, and saw that it was a little after nine o’clock. He sat up blinking. On the barren tile floor in one corner of the sparsely furnished room lay a pair of men’s translucent disposable trousers, apparently used and ready for the discard. The length of one extended leg indicated that the garment would be too big for either him or George. Oh yes; Fred Lohmann had been staying here, before Rita. Conceivably Fred would know something of her present whereabouts, if Art could find a chance to question him. Art remembered him as a wild-looking adolescent, tall and awkward.

Before retiring Art had bought himself some disposal clothing from the block’s vending machine, and now after a quick shower and beard-trim he dressed in fresh shorts and shirt. Still only a quarter after nine. While buttoning his shirt he peeked into the children’s room and found the four of them still sleeping. Must have been allowed to stay up late last night, playing together. A door chimed and very shortly thereafter voices drifted up from downstairs, one Ann’s, the other belonging to a man whom Art did not recognize. Standing in the upstairs hall he could understand only a stray word or two.

Going down as soon as he had finished dressing, Art turned first into the kitchen. He was liable to feel sick unless he ate something as soon as he got up. In the refrigerator he found a cinnamon-flavored protein bar, and on the elaborate new stove he dialed himself coffee. Five minutes, while the low dialogue continued in another room, and he had the indispensable minimum of breakfast in his stomach. Chewing on a toothmint; more or less ready to face the world, Art walked into the living room.

The low voices stopped. A lean, stooped man wearing a conservative transparent business jacket above his shorts was standing just inside the door that had been closed last night and which Art now realized must provide access to a lower-level garage. The man looked up at Art with keen interest, or perhaps he was only glad of any interruption.

Ann, her pretty chin somewhat higher than usual, turned with arms folded from her stance of confrontation with the visitor. “Art, this gentleman claims he’s a Mr. Hall. From Family Planning. George has gone out.” Her tone managed to imply that George, if at home, would have beaten this probably fraudulent intruder to a pulp, and Art was welcome to do the same if he liked.

“My name is Hall, and I am from the Family Planning office.” The intruder had a determined voice, though not angry or flustered (Aha, Ann, have you met your match at last?), and his eyes were sharp. “I take it you’re Mr. Rodney?”

“I am.”

“I was hoping to run into you here. Our California office has asked us to make a routine investigation into your wife’s case.”

“Her case? My wife hasn’t broken any laws.”

“That’s

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