“I—I guess I don’t get it,” I said, unsure what he was trying to say. “I mean, if this—De Santo—is hoarding all the resources, why don’t you just—”
“There’s someone coming,” said Caleb, after which everyone faced forward—in time to see a lithe form slink past the bars: a woman, coming to see Harry Hawkins. A woman with whom he began whispering heatedly.
I leaned close to the bars and listened, catching only snippets: something about the next race and the uppermost row of the bleachers ... about decapitating the snake, and a future free of want. Then she was gone and he had turned his attention back to us.
“You were saying? Ah, yes. Why don’t we just—what? Take our fair share? Eliminate him, perhaps, so that we may divvy things up as we please? Nay, that’s all well and good, but how does
