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“And what do we say to landlords?”
The crowd inhales as one, through smoke and dry ice and paint fumes, and they bellow out in one resounding voice, middle fingers raised up to the lights, “Fuck you!”
Bomb Bumboclaat leaves the stage, and the alarm goes off on August’s phone.
It’s time.
August’s fingers are sweaty on her phone.
She can do this. She can.
She registered with one of those conference call services last week so they could keep a group call going while they try to pull this off—the bootleg version of Mission Impossible comms. She ducks behind a bundle of balloons and starts the call.
Myla dials in first, then Wes, Niko, and finally Jane. She knows exactly where each of them is, because they agreed on it beforehand: Wes is taking a break from the tattoo booth to smoke a cigarette dangerously close to a trash can full of alcohol-soaked paper cups. Myla is milling around the edge of the dance floor, keeping an eye on Gabe as he refills his drink. Niko is one floor up, looking over the railing of the catwalk to keep tabs on everyone.
“And I’m on the subway,” Jane says. “You know, in case anyone was wondering.”
August switches her phone to speaker and slides it upside down into the front pocket of her T-shirt, like she did the night of Isaiah’s party. Only it’s not just Jane in her pocket this time. It’s a whole family.
“Y’all ready?”
“Yep,” Myla says.
“As I’ll ever be,” Wes says.
“I like when you’re in crime boss mode,” Jane adds.
“These pancakes are fantastic,” Niko says, muffled through a mouthful. “Tell Jerry I said he’s doing great.”
“Do the spirit guides have anything to say about whether or not this is gonna work?” Jane asks.
August looks up to see Niko lick a finger and stick it in the air. “Hmm. I’m feeling pretty good about it.”
“Dope,” Myla says. “Let’s go.”
August can’t see her through the enormous crowd, but she can hear the noise shifting through the speaker as she moves.
“Hey, Gabe?” she says. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Gabe’s voice comes faintly across the line. “Sure, what’s up?”
“No, I meant… alone.” Myla leans heavily on the last word. She’s heard Myla use that voice on Niko more than she’d care to think about around the apartment, usually followed by a lot of loud music from their room and August taking a trip downstairs for an extra-long Popeyes dinner.
“Oh. Okay, yeah.”
She drags him off toward a storage closet they scouted earlier, and August finally catches a glimpse of them, Myla’s hand wrapped around his elbow. The badge is where it’s been all day—on the lanyard hanging around his neck. August watches Myla lean away from him and into the phone tucked under her bra strap, ducking her head down so he can’t see her mouth move.
“Niko, everything I’m about to say to this guy is a complete and total lie, and I love you and will marry you and adopt a hundred three-eyed ravens or whatever it is your weird ass wants instead of kids,” she mutters.
“I know,” Niko says back. “Did you just propose to me?”
“Oh shit, I guess I did?” Myla opens the door and shoves Gabe through it.
“I’m so mad at you,” Niko says. “I already have a ring at home.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” says Jane.
“Mazel,” Wes chimes in.
