“Ditto. Be careful.”
He nodded, stepped back. “Let’s go.”
The Singhs’ house was painted a cheerful yellow and fronted by flowerbeds lying fallow in the November cold. The walk there had taken only a minute, but it had seemed longer, dynamics bouncing invisibly between the group. Lou had led the way, a sense of purpose to his stride that made it almost a stomp. Jack and Ethan walked just behind, and at one point his neighbor had looked over at him, another inscrutable glance like he wanted to say something, though he didn’t. Kurt had trailed like an eager puppy.
They paused on the sidewalk in front of the house. Lou shifted from foot to foot. Ethan pictured the scene from Ranjeet’s perspective: four men clustered ominously outside, exchanging glances. Imagined how he would have felt, the subconscious middle-school certainty every person had that any group was looking at them, that every laugh was directed at their weakness. This is a bad idea.
Forcing a light tone, he said, “What are we waiting for, guys?” He started up the walk. He pressed the bell—nothing, right—then knocked. After a moment footsteps approached, and then the deadbolt snapped.
Ranjeet saw him first and smiled, the expression calcifying when he saw the other men. “Hey,” he said. “The neighborhood watch. You catch any bad guys?”
Lou bristled, but Ethan said, “Nope, all clear. How are you doing?”
“Wishing we’d left for Florida.”
“I hear you. We tried for Chicago, got turned back.”
“Strange days.” Ranjeet’s eyes skipped past him to the others, then returned. “So what’s up?”
“We come in?” Lou asked.
Ranjeet hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. “Yeah, sure.” He stood aside and gestured them in.
A short entrance gave way to the living room, a stylishly decorated space painted a precise shade of white. Two modernist couches were arranged on a yellow shag rug, and a book lay open atop a delicate glass table. There were toys scattered across the floor like they’d rained from the sky, stuffed animals and stacking cups and a xylophone. The sight of them gave him a flash of their future, Violet someday tottering around the house leaving a trail of toys in her wake, and the thought made him glow. “Where are the girls?”
“Upstairs. Eva is trying to convince them that it’s nap time.”
Ranjeet didn’t offer them a seat, just put his hands in his pockets and waited. The four of them stood uncertainly in front of him. It was as cold inside the house as out, their breath fogging.
Ethan caught Jack looking at him, shrugged. This was your idea, man.
“Your place is really nice,” Jack said, a bit awkwardly. “Sharp.”
“Thanks. What’s up?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard the news lately, with the power—”
“We’ve got a radio and batteries.”
“So you know that the government is asking all of us to pitch in. There’s a tip line to report anything.”
“Like what?”
“You know.” Jack shrugged. “About the Children of Darwin.”
Ranjeet made a sound that wasn’t a laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
Jack spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We’re not saying anything like that. We just wondered if maybe you’d—”
“Hung out with terrorists?”
“No, just . . . had any friends that were acting strange.”
“Yeah,” Ranjeet said, looking at Ethan. “You four.”
“Listen, I know how this sounds,” Jack said, trying for a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry to ask, but we’re all worried. Things are getting bad.”
“Really, genius? What tipped you off?”
“Now I don’t mean any offense—”
“You don’t mean any offense? You come to my house with a posse and ask if I know terrorists, but you don’t mean offense?”
“Ranjeet—” Ethan started, but his friend interrupted him.
“No, it’s okay. You got me. I’m a criminal mastermind. My cover story is that I design corporate logos, but really I spend my evenings hijacking trucks. It’s easier for me, you know, the dark skin. I’m half invisible at night.”
“Let’s stay cool,” Ethan said. Ranjeet seemed oblivious to how tense everyone else was, how tired and scared. It was one thing to put on a brave face when the supermarket shelves were empty, but when there was still no food a week later, and the power was out, and the army had quarantined the city, and the weather was growing colder, and Thanksgiving dinner would be canned beans, that was something different. The social contract was straining at the seams, and righteous as Ranjeet’s anger might be, it was the wrong response right now. “No one is making any accusations. We’re all—”
“Why do you have this?”
Lou had gone to the coffee table and picked up the book Ethan had noticed earlier. He held it up so they could all see the cover. I Am John Smith.
Ah, shit.
“Excuse me?”
“Why do you have this?”
“You want to borrow it?”
“Last time I’m asking. Why do you have this?”
Ranjeet gave a thin smile. “I told you. I’m a terrorist.”
“Lou, it’s a free country,” Jack said. “It’s just a book.”
“Yeah, a book by a murderer.”
“He was framed,” Ranjeet said. “If you caught the news every now and then, you’d know that. The government has dropped all charges against him.”
Lou started reading where Ranjeet had left off. “ ‘Here is a simple but ugly truth. Our politicians see us as little more than a medium to maintain their power. We are gasoline for an engine of corruption and selfishness. The men steering the nation care no more for us than you care for the gasoline you put in your car—gasoline which is consumed without a thought, so long as it gets the driver where he wants to be.’ ” He shut the book. “That sound American to you?”
“Yeah,” Ranjeet said. “It sounds right on the nose.”
Lou shook his head in disgust. “I was a marine. My father was a marine. He fought in Vietnam to keep this kind of crap out of our country.”
Ranjeet laughed. “Is that why you think we were in Vietnam?”
“What are you saying?” Lou stepped forward.
“Guys.” Ethan looked at Jack. His neighbor didn’t move. “This is ridiculous—”
“You saying I’m stupid? That my father was stupid?” The man was squaring up, his gaze hard and chest out. He was four inches shorter than the abnorm but sported the barrel chest and thick arms of a weightlifter. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Ranjeet’s eyes darted, but he stood his ground. “Enough. It’s time for you to leave.”
“You people.” Lou sucked air through his teeth. “You all think you’re so goddamn smart. So much better than us.”
Ethan stepped forward. “Come on, man.” He put a hand on Lou’s shoulder. The man shrugged it off.
“Which people?” Ranjeet asked, fire coming into his own voice. “Brilliants? Indian-Americans? Graphic designers?”
“Such a smart-ass.” Lou held the book in one hand and tapped it against the abnorm’s chest. “So tough.” He tapped it again.
“I mean it. Get out of my house.”
“Or what?” Another swing of the book.
Jack said, “Lou—”
Ranjeet slapped the book out of his hand. “I said, get out of my house.” He stepped forward, put his hands against Lou’s chest, and shoved.
Surprised, Lou staggered back. His foot came down on a toy truck and his leg flew up in front of him and his body canted, arms pinwheeling, and then he was falling. Ethan watched, his body frozen as his mind drew a line between Lou and the floor that went straight through the glass coffee table, and he thought that he should try to stop the fall, but thinking it was as far as he got.