The men at the table nodded, but John Sill did not.

“We therefore ended up with a total eleven percent increase in net profits,” Aguedo said.

“And yet that was three percent under your projected performance.” Sill stood. “Under the projected,” he repeated.

Aguedo was shaking.

“Sit down, Aguedo,” Sill said, softly.

The man did. “Projections for the next quarter are much better. We’re getting a handle on the piracy concerns and the new crop of girls is much prettier.”

Sill looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I keep telling you that it’s not about prettiness, it’s about fantasy.”

And then Aguedo was gone. He wasn’t dismissed. He didn’t get up and walk or run from the room. He dropped dramatically from view, as if the floor had opened and swallowed him. He and his chair were gone. The two men who had been his neighbors looked straight ahead, not at the spot that had been occupied by Aguedo.

The food arrived.

“Time to eat,” Sill said, joy in his voice.

“Yum,” Gloria said. “Tater tots.”

“What happed to Aguedo?” I asked.

Gloria dragged her thumbnail across her throat. “No tater tots for him.”

“You mean he’s dead?” I tried to keep my voice down.

“Very much so,” she said.

“Sill killed him?”

With admiration, devotion, adulation, love in her voice, between her thick, painted lips, in her almond-shaped brown eyes, in her poofy afro, she said, “He did.” My awkwardness prevented me from feeling the full force of what I had just witnessed, but intellectually I understood the gravity of it all.

I located Eigen at the front of the table. Her smile was as it had been, hollow, dead, and doll-eyed. I knew I had to help my friend.

Sill stood and raised his glass. Everyone followed. He sang and the rest of the men fell in with him, with precise harmony and the whole barbershop bit.

We come from where we come from

We go to where we go

We kill those who get in our way

We kill for only show

We are villains in the morning

Bad guys in the night

We raise the evil demons

To combat the arms of right

We have brass monkeys in our pockets

Pistols in our vests

Bazookas in our trousers

And ice cubes in our chests

We steal when we are hungry

And even when we’re not

We are that fabled frying pan

Talking to the pot

No one will ever beat us

Or get the upper hand

We are the sword of evil

Let loose upon the land

Hey!

Applause.

3

Gloria escorted me back to my quarters. I was confused when she walked inside with me. All the white, the floors, furniture, walls, our clothes, suddenly made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“So much white,” I said.

“What?”

“Why?” I looked around the room, at my feet, at the soles of one of my shoes. “Where is the dirt?”

“John likes things clean.”

“What will they do with the body?” I asked.