Zelda stood unsteadily. “Then why are you here? If you look up my records, as I bet you have, you’ll see getting along with children wasn’t my strong point as a teacher.”
Buca frowned. “Past behavior isn’t always the best prognosticator. Regular, non-sociopathic people arc and change.”
“Maybe I don’t arc as much as others.”
“We’re trying to help, Ms. Jones,” Buca said firmly. “A pregnant woman, a single vulnerable woman who’d suffered the loss of her lover, whose maternal instincts were stirred, it would be understandable.”
Buca and Y’or waited patiently.
“I don’t know her…”
“We have a witness,” Y’or blurted out angrily.
Buca gave his partner a reproachful stare and sighed. “Yes, we do.”
Zelda cringed. That bitch.
“If you just bring the girl out, we’ll attest to your cooperation. Volunteering goes a long way.”
The Brown Hats rose as if the matter were settled.
“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar,” Zelda screamed and tripped Y’or as he ran toward the bedroom.
Clary was already on the window ledge. She bounded down the fire escape like a grasshopper, jumping the last four feet onto the sidewalk as the men in the brown clothes shouted above. She sped around the corner and in between stalled traffic, across the street and down an alley.
She could run all day, but where? She crouched by a garbage can, slowly walking onto the crowded streets like she belonged among the Crusaders. Clary squeezed the cross, wound around the money she’d stolen from Zelda on the first night, and slowed down to examine the police drawing tacked to a lamp pole. The picture made her look ugly. She squeezed it into a ball, abruptly thought of another use and shoved the paper into her coat pocket, hurrying toward the train.
Overhead the billboard of Grandma and the Puppy and the Mooshie looked down with a big smile. FORGIVENESS. Clary nodded to herself and got on the ticket line. She didn’t see the men in the brown suits but sensed they were nearby. All police were cucarachas, so soon they’d be crawling closer.
The robot subway clerk fluttered its bored metal eyes. “Yeah?”
“Beisbol.”
The clerk’s eyebrow wiggled a moment, considering her size. “What about school?”
Clary heard commotion around the corner leading to the long corridor. She tapped her chest. “Special.”
The A22 made an amused sound. “Half fare. Two stops on the local.”
Clary slid her money under the window and the robot slid back change along with a pass.
“School’s more important,” it warned.
She ducked inside a group of porcos in baseball caps, following them into the packed train. Clary knelt as the idiota police rushed past the moving car. She triumphantly hummed “Grandma Muertas” and joined the crowd pouring outside the huge stadium.
Yankee Stadium, the sign said.
More polizia stood around, tipping their hats in salutes to the fans. Clary lowered her eyes, walking by, but a cucaracha touched her shoulder. Clary was about to kick him in the huevos when he handed her a blue beisbol cap.
Clary curtsied and half-ran to the farthest line. She took the cap on and off several times until she was pleased by the fit over her thick curls.
An ugly Crusader waited at the entrance.
“Ticket?”
She shoved a fistful of money at the boy, who shook his head and pointed to another line to buy the ticket. A couple Americans joined in and soon they were gabbing away and making little sense, as Crusaders often did.
A nice woman with tall hair bent over. “I have an extra ticket, sweetie. My daughter’s sick. How about you give me the money directly?”
That set off more babbling, but Clary quickly counted out the money and followed the lady past the ugly boy; she ran through the crowd, ignoring the woman’s surprised shouts.
Clary roamed around the ground floor. So many Crusaders and so many of them fat, she marveled, wondering how they could fit into their chairs. She enjoyed running up and down the moving steps a few times, then along the second highest level, but she saw no door marked Puppy. She stopped a couple fat Crusaders and asked for Puppy Beisbol. They pointed down at the field.
Clary bought a hot dog and soda and then skipped on two toes down the moving steps, eating, and toward the green grass. She recognized Puppy from all the pictures in Zelda’s house. He was running a few feet back and forth, playing a game and laughing with a puerco old baseball player.
The Crusaders must’ve been too fat to fight and that’s why they lost, she finally decided, pressing toward the railing. A bunch of ugly teenagers blocked the way, barking at Puppy, who wandered over. Clary joined in, howling as she edged closer and kicked the ankles of the remaining fans in front; they moved.
“Puppy Beisbol.” She imitated the teens and hopped up and down.
He smiled. He was very handsome for a Crusader. No wonder Zelda loved him.
“I like that nickname. Puppy Baseball.” Puppy left with a friendly wave.
“No, no, no.” She panicked. “Puppy Beisbol. Zelda. Ayudeme.”
He stopped. Clary hopped onto the field and grabbed his arm.
“Polizia.”
Clary handed him the drawing.
• • • •
THE CAMELS PEERED down over the ravaged Adirondacks. Were they mapping for an invasion route? Tomas wondered, watching from the back of the ‘copter.
“What is there?” Azhar pointed.
“Trees.”
“He meant a city,” the Mufti spawn jumped in.
“I know what he meant.” Tomas looked away. They’d be over water in about fifty minutes. Turn on the cloaking, another hour or so and the Allah boat should be waiting. Surrender was so easy.
“Why are we staying inland?” Abdullah asked.
“Because we’re looking for you along the coast.”
The Allah smiled. “Grandma is very clever.”
“That’s why she’s Grandma.”
Tomas shifted so his back was toward them.
“We ate at an interesting place.”
The Major pressed his face against the cold window.
“I wish my wife cooked like that,” Azhar said. “The meat was so succulent. Is that artificial, too?”
Tomas shrugged. “Where was it?”
Abdullah
