“Toby,” you say. “Toby, listen.”

“How do you know Greg Tampico,” she demands again, and you almost tell her, but don’t—

Because you still don’t know if Vicky actually saw Greg Tampico yesterday morning in the FedEx truck, if it was actually Tampico putting on a disguise, and frankly, it just doesn’t sound like him because Tampico was seriously, like, so insanely bad at keeping the lid on surprises. Like, this one time he planned to surprise you on your birthday with jet-skiing on the Potomac but couldn’t hold it past breakfast, so if it was actually Tampico delivering the aardvark, you think, he would have been quick, at least quicker than this, to laugh at the joke, he would have at least texted or something by now, he would have sought out and downloaded a stupid aardvark emoji, which is why as you start mumbling banalities at Toby to let your memory function, returning to the hot, front stoop of 2486 Asher Place yesterday morning when nothing was working, you remain unconvinced, recalling only that the deliveryman’s beard was certainly odd-looking, the eyeglasses were certainly thick, and the general physique of the deliveryman could only maybe pass for Greg Tampico’s, but who knows, you can’t say for certain, and you do not worry what it says about you either if you did or did not recognize him.

You have no idea why Toby’s father, Brian Castle, would send Toby the picture of Greg Tampico, you explain. All you can say is you know the guy from some fundraiser, and yeah, you guess clumsily, the aardvark could be from him but you don’t know for sure, and this you, like, totally swear as Vicky’s mother, slender and pretty, arrives at the door.

Vicky’s mother does not knock when she enters. Nor does she look at you, let alone thank you. She looks at Olioke and thanks him—for what, you have no idea—and the way Vicky’s pretty mother ignores you and goes right for Olioke makes you feel, in some despicable way, on the defensive. And Toby Castle is saying, “This isn’t right,” and, “Something’s not right,” but Olioke, God Bless Olioke, he has said zilch so far to Toby about the Herero, about what he knows of Greg Tampico, so while he’s dealing with Vicky’s mother you shoot Olioke some gratitude, like, thanks, bruh, but he just stares at you. Blank. Behind the blank look is a glimmer of innocence. It’s willful, like the man is deliberately hiding something about which he needs to appear innocent, and that’s when it comes at you, in a slither:

Olioke is leaking pictures to the media. He could have done the last one just moments ago, walking up behind you, from the garage. Because who else other than Olioke knows about the hunting lodge? Who else knows the aardvark’s whole history, would have known all about that fucking photo of Tampico being gifted the aardvark in Namibia—but why, why would Olioke throw you under the bus like this, you wonder, and tell Toby to wait, just fucking wait, you’ll explain about Greg Tampico if she’ll wait, but she doesn’t believe you. She’s through.