offering my hand. It almost killed him to shake it. Hoping to put him at ease, I added, “How do you do, Mr. Albemarle?”
He regarded me with the awe of a man seeing a talking dog. “God damn,” he said, taking back his hand. “You know . . . girls are bad medicine these days. I’m surprised you got in.”
And none too pleased, I thought.
“She’s okay,” said Cowper. “She has a condition—female trouble. She ain’t gonna turn.”
Though I understood the necessity, it was mortifying to hear him announce this to everyone. To those boys.
“Why?” Albemarle said suspiciously. “How old is she?”
“Seventeen,” I replied, at which they all caught their breaths and seemed to backpedal, or at least lean backward. My age bounced around the group like heresy, triggering furious whispering and a few cries of “Uh-uh!” and “ Hell no!”
Albemarle looked apologetically at Cowper. “Fred, how can we have her in here?” he asked. “I’m in charge of these people’s safety.”
“Then you better forget about her and get these kids moving. All hell’s breaking loose outside.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’d know if you’d turn off that racket.” He meant the music. Albemarle complied, barking an order that was relayed back to the deejay. The boy, having come down for the commotion, mounted the crawler and killed the sound. At once it was possible to hear the faint sputtering of gunfire outside. Everyone in the room became transfixed.
“I’m telling you,” said Cowper, “we have to get ’em out of here, Ed. Beau Reynolds is dead, and Security ain’t gonna hold that fence for long. It’s up to us now. We gotta move, and fast.”
A few people reacted strongly to the news of Reynolds’s death, but Albemarle spoke over them. “Move where?” he said. “There’s a lockdown in effect—no unsupervised activity. Set foot out of here, and we’ll be shot on sight.”
“We’re the least of their worries, Ed. This is our chance, while they’re putting every available man on that fence.”
“Our chance to do what?”
“Get down to the pen.”
“Down to the—Oh no. Are you serious? You gotta be shit-ting me.”
“Why not? Take ’em by surprise, you never know.”
“Jesus, you are serious!”
“You got any better suggestions? The only other alternative is to wait for what’s coming over the fence. I guarantee nobody else gives a damn about you, certainly not Sandoval.”
Albemarle replied wearily, “You know, Fred, they shot Bob Martino for that kind of talk. Shot him in front of everybody after the big dinner, then trussed him up and burned him, right there—you can see the spot. I’ll never eat another steak. So if you think we have any illusions about our chances with the company, think again. But we’ve lost so much already . . .
we’re tired. I’m tired. All I want to do at this point is let these kids be kids for however much time they—” He was interrupted by a dull boom that rattled the walls. Dust sifted down.
Over the stunned murmuring, Cowper said, “Time’s up, Ed.”
“What do we got to lose?” This was shouted by a tall elderly fellow with white hair and a bushy mustache.
“He’s right,” said a stocky character like an old-time circus strong man. “We’re fish in a barrel sitting here.”
Albemarle became angry. “And what? We just march our kids out into the line of fire?”
A number of boys cheered the idea.
Cowper interceded, holding up his arms to yell, “Nobody’s gonna get shot!” The crowd hesitated, listening. “They’re not stupid enough to shoot us, all right? They’re busy enough without making a whole mess of creepos inside the fence. That’s all they’d accomplish by killing us, and they know it.” To Albemarle he explained, “You said yourself they burned Bob Martino. That means they knew he would have come back. We’re more of a threat to them than they are to us, and that’s the God’s honest
He regarded me with the awe of a man seeing a talking dog. “God damn,” he said, taking back his hand. “You know . . . girls are bad medicine these days. I’m surprised you got in.”
And none too pleased, I thought.
“She’s okay,” said Cowper. “She has a condition—female trouble. She ain’t gonna turn.”
Though I understood the necessity, it was mortifying to hear him announce this to everyone. To those boys.
“Why?” Albemarle said suspiciously. “How old is she?”
“Seventeen,” I replied, at which they all caught their breaths and seemed to backpedal, or at least lean backward. My age bounced around the group like heresy, triggering furious whispering and a few cries of “Uh-uh!” and “ Hell no!”
Albemarle looked apologetically at Cowper. “Fred, how can we have her in here?” he asked. “I’m in charge of these people’s safety.”
“Then you better forget about her and get these kids moving. All hell’s breaking loose outside.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’d know if you’d turn off that racket.” He meant the music. Albemarle complied, barking an order that was relayed back to the deejay. The boy, having come down for the commotion, mounted the crawler and killed the sound. At once it was possible to hear the faint sputtering of gunfire outside. Everyone in the room became transfixed.
“I’m telling you,” said Cowper, “we have to get ’em out of here, Ed. Beau Reynolds is dead, and Security ain’t gonna hold that fence for long. It’s up to us now. We gotta move, and fast.”
A few people reacted strongly to the news of Reynolds’s death, but Albemarle spoke over them. “Move where?” he said. “There’s a lockdown in effect—no unsupervised activity. Set foot out of here, and we’ll be shot on sight.”
“We’re the least of their worries, Ed. This is our chance, while they’re putting every available man on that fence.”
“Our chance to do what?”
“Get down to the pen.”
“Down to the—Oh no. Are you serious? You gotta be shit-ting me.”
“Why not? Take ’em by surprise, you never know.”
“Jesus, you are serious!”
“You got any better suggestions? The only other alternative is to wait for what’s coming over the fence. I guarantee nobody else gives a damn about you, certainly not Sandoval.”
Albemarle replied wearily, “You know, Fred, they shot Bob Martino for that kind of talk. Shot him in front of everybody after the big dinner, then trussed him up and burned him, right there—you can see the spot. I’ll never eat another steak. So if you think we have any illusions about our chances with the company, think again. But we’ve lost so much already . . .
we’re tired. I’m tired. All I want to do at this point is let these kids be kids for however much time they—” He was interrupted by a dull boom that rattled the walls. Dust sifted down.
Over the stunned murmuring, Cowper said, “Time’s up, Ed.”
“What do we got to lose?” This was shouted by a tall elderly fellow with white hair and a bushy mustache.
“He’s right,” said a stocky character like an old-time circus strong man. “We’re fish in a barrel sitting here.”
Albemarle became angry. “And what? We just march our kids out into the line of fire?”
A number of boys cheered the idea.
Cowper interceded, holding up his arms to yell, “Nobody’s gonna get shot!” The crowd hesitated, listening. “They’re not stupid enough to shoot us, all right? They’re busy enough without making a whole mess of creepos inside the fence. That’s all they’d accomplish by killing us, and they know it.” To Albemarle he explained, “You said yourself they burned Bob Martino. That means they knew he would have come back. We’re more of a threat to them than they are to us, and that’s the God’s honest
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