✓ | 3. soldier, soldier, spy [STEVE HARRINGTON]

six.

CHAPTER SIX:
MINDFLAYER

[ THE MALL RATS ]

❖ ❖ ❖

At work the following day, there were dozens of people outside the mayor's grand office building.

It was a historic building — older then the shops in the town centre, older than Joyce's red brick house; with white pillars and black slates along the roof, and neat red brick, and white windows, it reminded Thomas of a scene from Gone With the Wind.

On its stretching lawn, up to the main road, almost a hundred had gathered, shouting and thrusting their signs with vigour into the air, punching upward with clenched fists. CLINE'S A SWINE, was scrawling in black across dozens of them, letters bold and furious.

As he followed Hopper toward the building, across the path and up the combed lawn, Thomas recognised a few faces in the blur, though not many. They moved so quickly, and were crammed so close to each other, that it was like trying to see without his glasses. "Is this about the mall?" he asked Hopper, who nodded once, swiftly.

"Stick close. If anyone asks, you're my deputy in training," said Hopper. He pushed on the glass of the door and stepped inside. "But let me do the talking."

The mayors office was on the upper floor, which they climbed a swirling marble staircase to reach. It opened up onto a corridor, the office through a door on the right, a secretary's desk on their left. Hopper exchanged a few words with her, then they were invited to sit on the hard plastic chairs against the wall.

          "What are we even here for?" mumbled Thomas, as he eyed the secretary. She had puffy dark hair, was very thin, and large eyes; she looked like a caricature of Nancy, if a few years older.

         "He's demanded we move the guys downstairs. The ones outside," mumbled Hopper, without looking at him. His eyes followed the figure of a tall man walking past, dressed all in black and holding a motorcycle helmet. A caricature of the Terminator. This place was full of cliches. "Bullshit, if you ask me." His voice was gruff as he lit a cigarette. "They can do what they want." He took a puff, expelled it. The smell was bitter and instantly permeating. "And trust me, if I wasn't at work, I'd be down there too. Screw that mall. Your poor mom."

          Joyce, he meant, which was a fact that made Thomas' chest twist uncomfortably. "Mayor Cline did that?" he asked, to change the subject. "Built the mall?"

"If I ever saw him move a single brick, I'd shit my pants and eat it, Byers," said Hopper. "He sold the land." He was overtaken by a thoughtful glance as he took a drag on his cigarette. "Can't remember who the deeds went to, actually. Some corporate asshole probably."