72.

   Boris stopped in mid step. His eyes darted around the room. He focused on the balcony. The fronds of the potted plants moved again. Boris stared intensely at the balcony, clutching the dogs tightly to him as though they were about to be ripped from his grip. Claudia and I froze. Our eyes were riveted to him. “I smell politicians!”, he growled. “We are about to be attacked!” He pulled open his shirt to reveal a belt around his chest hanging with sheathed knives. “Arm yourselves!”
   Pat’s ears shot up into the air then flattened on his head. Claudia and I grabbed stilettos. Boris spun around, letting the dogs fall to the floor and, shielding us with his bulk raised his arms to his waist like a man about to be charged. Our eyes were glued to the balcony.
   Slowly the fronds parted. Withered, shrunken green creatures no more than three feet tall peered at out at us. They stood upright and looked almost human. They had beady red eyes and were naked save for red bow ties tied around their scrawny necks. They twitched and shivered. They hummed and tweeted. They slowly climbed over the plants and balanced themselves on the railing. There was an agonizing, interminable silence.