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tracing their zippers and
the insides of their thighs.  Model families sat on long,
white ottomans. Fathers wore wire-rim glasses with clear, circle
lenses. Mothers wore just enough makeup and had dresses that
matched their husbands’ ties. The children were nearly always
brother and sister and wore festive colors and khakis and dresses
with little waist belts.
      Clinking wine glasses. Plumes of
cigarette smoke. I shut my eyes.
      “Wasn’t such a bad fing we didn’t know
the time!” Squeaked Joq. “Everyfin’ worked out! I’m lucky with
these fings, Nipple! You’re lucky you ‘ave me!”
      I massaged my eyes with my knuckles,
fighting the impulse to hit him. “Yeah. Okay, we’re in. Let’s get
the food and get out.”
      “Sh!”
      “What?”
      “Shhh!” Joq pressed a finger to his
lips and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
      There was a group of six Wealthy
Devils behind us. They were talking loud so I could make out what
they were saying. My stomach knotted.
      “—just stolen, yes. Would buy another,
but you know the kind of flashy, touristy clunkers the Main Street
dealers sell. I’ll have my chauffer take me to my personal dealer
in the Hills after Julia’s show. He’s the one who makes the cars
with the ridges that snake elegantly up the hood—his signature, you
know. His work is immaculate—sartorial, in a mechanical sort of
way.”
      The man from two days ago—the man
whose crew had kicked Joq’s ass. Cranston. I remembered his name,
his handsome face, his slicked back brown hair.
      “Did-did you know?” I asked through my
teeth. Joq shook his head. He was breathing heavy.
      Cranston’s lackey, the man he’d called
Spot, was shaking his head, sniffing, murmuring his condolences and
wiping his nose.  He hadn’t taken off his bulky camel hair
cloak.
      “Truly terrible,
Cranston.” His voice made me cringe. It was choked up and whiny,
and I imagined his throat was full of mucous. “If we ever get our
hands on the pissant Cochon who did this, I’ll—I’ll—” his face went red all of
a sudden and he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes tight, balled up
his fists and throttled the air.
      The Wealthy Devils looked away, and a
man with greying sideburns glared at Cranston, tilted his head
sharply toward Spot and looked around, as some people had noticed
Spot jerking around, and were pointing with smiles frozen on their
faces.
      Cranston’s face chameleoned with his
wine glass.
      “ Remy .” He hissed. “ Remy! ” Spot froze, looked up slowly
and turned to his friends and looked over his shoulder. Then he
gazed at Cranston with puppy dog eyes and sniffed.
      Cranston loosened his
tie with a hand and gritted his teeth. A vein throbbed on his
temple. He glared away from Spot, and his eyes seemed to flick over
me and Joq. I snapped my head away instantly. He saw me! He saw us! Shit! But a
moment later I heard him whisper, “Stop that this instant , Spot. You look… epileptic .”
      I let out a ragged breath and looked
back over Joq’s trembling shoulder. The Wealthy Devils were looking
around uncomfortably, clearing their throats and draining their
wine.
      “Aw Cranston! Don’t
go back to calling me that. Please ? It makes me sound like… When
you call me that, it’s like you’re telling a dog to—”
      “Anyway,” cut in the man with the
sideburns, “how is my prodigy doing?” He leaned over to talk to
someone I hadn’t seen before, standing next to Cranston. I pushed
Joq over and squinted. When one of the men with his back turned to
me shifted, I saw that the Wealthy Devil group was accompanied by a
pretty girl who looked a couple years older than me.  “Been
practicing, darling?” He chuckled and cupped her chin and pinched
her cheek. “Hm? Not that you need practice.”
      That’s what a real British accent sounds like, Joq. I thought. But I kept my mouth shut; I was
captivated by the girl.
      Like I said, she was pretty, but