“But it wasn’t the house, was it?” Fin says casually, curling his finger to flick invisible lint from his pants leg. “I know we call you the devil, but I really didn’t have you pegged as the type to sneak property out from under a senior citizen.”
Mandy?I frown, not sure what he’s talking about. But then I do understand. Did I leave the paperwork on my desk? “What do you know about this?”
“More than I want to,” he mutters. “Especially given the crowd outside.”
“What crowd?” But I’m already on my feet, moving toward the window. It’s hard to see what’s going on down there, but someone seems to be waving something white with red lettering. “Is that a placard?”
“Multiple,” Fin says. “Some of them even have the correct spelling.”
I take the stairs two at a time, my employees scattering like beetles exposed from under a rock as I reach the marble floor of the foyer.Almost skidding across it.
“What’s going on out there?” I ask the receptionist.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Deubel, but Andrew is trying to find out. He said not to call the police yet.”
I nod curtly, recognizing the pattern of footsteps behind me. Fin and Matt, no doubt come to watch the circus.Maybe I should’ve gotten those ringmaster’s tails,I think as I pull the door open.
“Down with the bourgeoisie. Down with the oppressive class! Down with the bourgeoisie. Down with the oppressive class!” On and on the chant goes.
“They could’ve chosen a catchier slogan,” Fin says over my shoulder.
As it turns out, there are a dozen or so protesters marching up and down in front of the office, mostly younger people in sweatpants and hoodies, scarves pulled over their faces as though they’re highly wanted criminals. They seem oblivious to the open door, to us standing in front of them, perplexed, as they merrily chant on.
“Peace, bread, land,” Matt reads. “Was that the name of the bakery on the corner?”
“Lenin, actually. And that one over there was something Stalin said.” Fin points to a placard made from a broomstick and one side of a cardboard packing box, with red paint that dripped like blood before drying. “Though it’s supposed to read,You cannot make a revolution with silk gloves, notslik gloves.”
“Oliver?” Matt turns to me. “Have you been pissing the Communists off?”
“Not so I’d realized,” I answer, still scanning the crowd. “Though I’m not sureFuck dis noiseis part ofThe Communist Manifesto.”
“It would make more sense for one of them to readDown with Atterir.” Fin slides me a look.
“It isn’t what you think,” I mutter with a frown. “Why didn’t you mention it before now?”
“Not my circus,” he grunts.
“Safari park,” Matt corrects. “I think what he means to say is he thought you were cleverer than this.”
“Clearly not,” I say, turning back. “Though I’m bright enough to know that one is meant for me.” I point to a placard and the holder with a familiar face:
NEXT TIME I’M BRINGING THE LLAMA
“That’s a rare old set of balls,” Matt says, impressed at the sign’s accompanying artwork. “Very ... anatomical. Is this about llamas at Northaby?”
I shake my head. “My planned castration, I imagine.” I smile weakly at Yara. In answer, she holds her placard higher and chants louder. She wouldn’t speak to me when I called at the clinic. Haunted, more like,waiting for her to arrive for a shift.
That day, as Yara had climbed from her car, I almost sprinted to reach her before realizing she was pulling a long stick from the back seat. As she brandished it, she was kind enough to deliver her insults in another language, though probably for the benefit of the clinic’s clients, rather than me.
Next to her stands Nora, and on the end of a loose leash is my former fluffy bedmate.Not the one I’m in love with.
“Down with the bourgeoisie. Down with the oppressive class!” Nora’s voice carries above the rest as she spots me looking. In the place of a placard, Bo wears a doggy-size sandwich board with the words of their chant.
“Bo! Hey, boy!” I call out, patting my knees enthusiastically. Onewoof, a strong pull, and he’s free, bounding over, his tongue lolling happily. I laugh aloud—it feels strange—as he heads straight for me ... then dodges to run right by me. I feel my expression fall.Rejected by a fucking dog.But then something warm hits the back of my calf.
“What the hell!” Matt pushes away, Fin following.
“Of course he would.” I nod, not bothering to move as Bo uses the back of my leg as a lamppost.
