A Touch of Infinity by Howard Fast Page A

Agriculture has put its foot down on that, but the plain fact of the matter is that we’ve been using DDT for years. One more spray is not going to make a particle of difference. By the time the sun rises, it’s done with.”
    â€œThe sooner the better,” Chief Bradley said.
    That night Herbert Cooke was awakened by the droning beat of the helicopters. He got up, went into the bathroom, and looked at his watch. It was just past three o’clock in the morning. When he returned to bed, Abigail was awake, and she asked him:
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt sounds like a helicopter.”
    â€œIt sounds like a hundred helicopters.”
    â€œOnly because it’s so still.”
    A few minutes later she whispered, “My God, why doesn’t it stop?”
    Herbert closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
    â€œWhy doesn’t it stop? Herb, why doesn’t it stop?”
    â€œIt will. Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s some army exercise. It’s nothing to worry about.”
    â€œThey sound like they’re on top of us.”
    â€œTry to sleep, Abby.”
    Time passed, and presently the sound of the helicopters receded into the distance, faded, and then ceased. The silence was complete—enormous silence. Herbert Cooke lay in bed and listened to the silence.
    â€œHerb?”
    â€œI thought you were asleep.”
    â€œI can’t sleep. I’m afraid.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    â€œI was trying to remember how big the universe is.”
    â€œTo what end, Abby?”
    â€œDo you remember that book I read by Sir James Jean, the astronomer? I think he said the universe is two hundred million light-years from end to end—”
    Herbert listened to the silence.
    â€œHow big are we, Herb?” she asked plaintively. “How big are we?”

4
    The Hole in the Floor
    â€œYou must have a lot of clout,” Robinson said.
    â€œI haven’t any clout. My uncle has clout. He’s a friend of the Commissioner.”
    â€œWe never had anyone in the back seat before.”
    â€œExcept a perpetrator,” said Robinson, grinning. He was a black man with a round face and an infectious smile.
    â€œIf I had a brain in my head,” McCabe said, “I would be a writer and not a cop. There’s this guy out in the L.A. police force, and he’s a writer. He wrote this book and it became a best seller, and he’s loaded but he still wants to be a cop. Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t read the book but I saw the movie. Did you see the movie?”
    â€œI saw it.”
    â€œGood movie.”
    â€œIt was a lousy movie,” said Robinson.
    â€œThat’s your opinion. L.A. isn’t New York.”
    â€œYou can say that again.”
    â€œYou been to L.A.?” McCabe asked me. He was older than Robinson, in his late thirties and going to fat, with a hard, flat face and small, suspicious blue eyes. I like the way he got along with Robinson; there was an easy give and take, and they never pushed each other.
    McCabe took a call, and Robinson stepped on the gas and turned on his siren. “This is a mugging,” McCabe said.
    It was a purse snatch on 116th Street, involving two kids in their teens. The kids had gotten away, and the woman was shaken and tearful but unharmed. Robinson took down the descriptions of the kids and the contents of the purse, while McCabe calmed the woman and pushed the crowd on its way.
    â€œThere are maybe ten thousand kids in this city who will do a purse snatch or a mugging, and how do you catch them, and if you catch them, what do you do with them? You said you been to L.A.?”
    â€œA few times, on and off.”
    â€œThis is a sad city,” Robinson said. “It’s hanging on, but that’s the most you can say. It’s just hanging on.”
    â€œWhat’s it like?” McCabe wanted to know.
    â€œDowntown it’s like this, maybe