“Seriously Roy, We’ve got an idea.” Izzy explained.
“Shoot,” he said.
“We sell Undergrounds.”
Roy let the phone slip a bit from his tired palm. “I don’t own
Undergrounds anymore.”
Colin pulled the phone away from the others. Roy noticed that he
was wearing a strange Indian shirt and an unusual amount of
jewelry. His hair was even messier than usual. Were those the
beginnings of dreadlocks?
“I asked Polly about real estate issues. She checked with the real
estate company handling the deal.” Colin’s voice was breathy and full
of earnest good vibrations, “She said that until tomorrow it’s still in
escrow. So unless a catastrophe happens, Biddenbrooks will fully
own the property.”
“But if something doesgo down,” Bennie said, “The sale don’t go
through. And the bank gets the insurance money.”
“And, since we’ve got the money to pay the bank for the
outstanding debt,” Colin added, “We can get back ownership and so
the liquidated cash. We can do it in a matter of weeks.”
“Liquidated,” Roy said.
“Better than losing it to Biddenbrooks,” Bennie said.
“What kind of catastrophe are we talking about here?”
“Leave that up to us,” Colin assured him. “If there’s one thing
we’re good at, it’s catastrophe.”
“Where are Yak and Sprout?” Roy asked. He wanted to speak
with the more level-headed members of the group. But they were
reluctant to inform him.
“They’re both in the hospital,” Izzy finally admitted. “Yak is
catatonic and Sprout was stabbed by one of the anarchists. She won’t
speak either.”
Roy put his head in his hands and measured the heft. “Do what
you can,” he said. “I can do nothing.”
Back in his cell, Roy wanted only to sleep. He tried to count sheep but
there were none to count; the land was barren and burned and
bought back. Only a solitary fence still stood there, with nothing left
to divide.
The guard appeared at the bars again.
“Jesus, what now?” Roy said.
“Don’t get smart with me Makonnen,” he the ill-bred side of beef
ABYSSINIA
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