Alfonzo peered around the dark cavern in disbelief. He was getting fired. Maybe. Was this or was this not his den? It was true that sometimes he’d wished to leave. Over the years, he’d fantasized about moving from this basement. But he’d thought that if they were to part ways it would be his choice. He’d joked about getting fired to Mitchell too many times to count, probably because neither of them considered it a real possibility. His options began to spin like newspapers in a black-and-white headline montage.

ALPACA WORKER ABRUPTLY SACKED, BUT HE VOWS A FIGHT

SPRING CLEANING IN THE ARCHIVES: GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD RUBBISH

THE ENDANGERED PUBLIC SERVANT: ONE ANIMAL’S TAIL

He’d have to call his union, but he wondered what could be done beyond securing some severance. If they found a way to fire him for cause, he probably wouldn’t get even that. If they dug (and what pig wasn’t good at smelling out dirt?), they’d probably be able to find evidence of all the paper he’d pilfered over the seasons. The dissertation was only the latest time he’d misappropriated office supplies. He had about a hundred City Hall pens at home. He had a whole drawer full of sticky-note pads. Sure, it felt small, but theft could be theft if they wanted him gone. Maybe the fact they’d messed up his name could be used as protection. Was that how plausible deniability worked?

He had taken this protective space for granted, the protection the archive offered, and now he was being ejected, just as the old Howtek printer was being “retired.” Probably that meant they’d chuck the machine into Fresh Kills along with all the other pieces of elder machinery.

He was sure that once Old Spots and Seadyne got involved, he’d never again see the inside of this office. You can’t bite City Hall, only struggle while they push you out under the guise of cleaning up mold. He should have known. He’d have to tell his father he was out of work, and sharing this would be infinitely worse than the dissertation admission. He’d have to move back into his childhood bedroom and live with Luis. He’d become one of those teetering old animals bickering with their even more ancient parent up and down the aisles of Super Foodtown.

Alfonzo needed Mitchell’s help, yet again. He scribbled a note, then taped it to the archive door: OUT OF OFFICE, BACK IN 10.

19.

Alfonzo peered around the corner, surveying the upstairs hallway landscape for predatory pigs. He knew the city council was in session, so most animals were occupied, but still he didn’t want to attract attention. As he tried to sneak soundlessly to Mitchell’s office, Alfonzo arranged his features into a neutral expression. Act natural, he told himself. Project a relaxed and yet professional vibe. His wool was springy with sweat.