The Major reddened. “You can tell me.”
“If you’re supposed to know, then you would.” The Camel closed his eyes. “A bumpy ride. This is an older model, no?”
“It works fine.”
“No disrespect.” Abdullah smirked. “I’m merely making conversation.”
“Why? You got what you want.”
“So did you.”
“Which was?”
The Camel’s grainy brown eyes narrowed. “Again, if you’re supposed to know, then you would.”
This is what it will be like, Tomas thought. They are too pleased. They got what they wanted. Us.
He stared at the Allahs and drifted back to the final deportations. A child, he’d been taken to his grandfather’s farm outside Detroit for safety. But the day they sent the last of them away, the stubborn old man had stowed Tomas under a tarp in the bed of the truck and drove back into the city.
His grandfather parked the Dodge at the top of a crowded hill, squeezing among the silent, approving crowd which let out a loud, angry cheer whenever another Allah mosque was hit. After hours of smoke and guns and screams, the Allahs finally surrendered, marching with hands held up, eyes defiant, chanting Allahu Akbar as they were herded into long trucks.
It wasn’t the blood Tomas remembered but their expressions. They didn’t believe they would lose. Everything was simply a step, sometimes sideways, sometimes backwards, like America used to be. So different from the GI prisoners straggling at the end of the war, hands on their heads. No defiance. Just exhaustion, defeat, almost grim relief.
Through the weary trees of the remaining Adirondacks, Tomas could envision Americans with hands back on their heads, soon surrendering for the last time to these smug Camels. He wanted to kick them out the door and see if they’d bounce.
The Major tapped onto his wrist device. A question mark appeared. He tapped yes. The ‘copter tilted slightly to the east.
“Change of direction?” Mustafa asked.
Tomas shrugged. “Weather.”
• • • •
THE HUMMING GIRL dangled her feet off the edge of Ty’s desk, rolling a ball around her lap. Cobb patted Clary’s head and handed her a Carly Caramel Bar. She politely unwrapped the chocolate and saved the foil in her pocket.
“You going to the police station?” Mick asked, Clary perking up.
Puppy shook his head, explaining briefly about the legal system. The arrest of a citizen was kept private. No sensationalism, no gory details, no back and forth with conflicting stories played out in public. Certainly nothing that would give notoriety to a criminal. Or to an accuser. There were no lawyers, either; they’d been long banned under the Anti-Parasite Act. Evidence was decided on the testimony of people who believed in honesty.
There is no honor anywhere in lying, Puppy recited Grandma’s Twenty-Fifth Insight.
“That’d be the first time in the world that happened,” Cobb said with grunt, reluctantly making a silly face back at Clary; she giggled.
“Where’s Zelda then?” Mick asked.
Puppy sighed. “Probably the Bronx Courthouse.”
“On the Grand Concourse?”
“You know it?”
Mick shrugged. “I knew people who stayed there.”
Puppy sat beside Clary. “Zelda. Polizia.”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“It’s por que,” Cobb grumbled.
“You speak Spanish?”
“I had a colored maid from somewhere they mix races. Por que is right. Ask her. Never mind. Little girl, por que?”
Clary’s nose wrinkled at the infinite options.
“Just don’t say por que.” Mantle nudged him. “Por que Zelda.”
Clary’s eyes watered.
Ty shoved Mickey. “You made her cry.”
Puppy led Clary off to the side, where he knelt in a proposal position. “Clary. Por que…How do you say know?”
Ty thought a moment, then brightened. “The maid would say saber.”
“Clary, saber polizia Zelda.”
The girl pointed at herself, her face twisting into an ugly scowl; she hissed.
“She having a seizure?” Mickey whispered.
Clary stomped around the office, wagging her finger in the air and saying Zelda, then turning around and waving her finger at another imaginary figure. She spit.
“Zelda had an argument with someone,” Ty said.
“Who, Clary?”
“Quien,” Mick said. They looked at him. “I had Spanish girls in my day.”
“Quien, Clary,” Puppy asked.
The girl grabbed her hair and pulled it out to make it seem bigger, then puffed out her chest.
“Tetas grandes.” Mickey grinned and Clary applauded.
Zelda argued with Mooshie? No, that made no sense.
“Se trataba de perrito beisbol.” She jabbed Puppy in the chest. “Puppy beisbol.” Clary resumed her pantomime.
Puppy slowly opened his wallet and showed a photo to Clary, who hopped up and down as if electrified. He nodded grimly and kicked off his spikes.
“Go,” Ty said softly. “I’ll have the fat Chink play left.”
• • • •
ANNETTE SMILED DUBIOUSLY from behind the counter of her small boutique Love My Feet in Scarsdale, finishing up with a customer. Puppy nodded for her to continue and walked around examining sleek dress shoes and smart casual wear. Ten percent off today, said a neat handwritten sign on a silver shelf; Annette always believed in the personal touch.
She sent off the happy customer and straightened out a few papers, anxiously waiting for him to leave.
“What’s up, Puppy?” She suddenly gasped. “Are you wearing your pointy baseball shoes in my store?”
Puppy lifted his right sneaker, which didn’t have a particular calming effect.
“That’s dirty.”
“Streets and all. Soot. Grime.” He picked up a black, buckled shoe. “How much is this?”
“I can discount it.”
“Thanks.”
He threw the shoe into the tall mirror, showering her with glass. Annette sputtered and ran toward the door, but he flung her onto a chair.
“I’ll call the police,” she threatened.
“Nice segue. What did you do, Annette?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She defiantly plucked glass from her hair.
“Zelda.”
Annette’s mouth twitched. “So?”
“Zelda.”
“I heard you, asshole. That mirror is costing you.”
“Why did you bust her?”
Annette pursed her lips. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You turned her in over the orphan.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“More Puppy paranoid voices dancing in his head…”
He shoved Annette so hard her eyes lolled, bot-like. “Why?” She tried sitting up and he pushed again. “Why?”
“It’s all your fault.” She slapped him. Blood trickled down his upper lip and he let her up. “I told you to keep Dara from Elias. You didn’t. I asked your best buddy
