The piece concluded by stating that the authorities were concerned that an escalation in violence was on the horizon, and that the Dorsey funeral might be used as an opportunity for revenge by Heathens sympathizers. Police would be taking extra precautions in the coming weeks.

I looked up to see Kit regarding me intently.

"It would be rockin' to go to that funeral."

"No way."

"The cops wil have these guys so boxed in they'l be like altar boys heading to Mass."

"No."

"The bikes wil be solid Harley."

"You're not going anywhere near that funeral."

"Al that juice pounding along in formation." He mimicked steering handlebars. "Rol ing thunder"

"Kit."

"Yeah?" His eyes were bright as a Pentecostal zealot's.

"I don't want you there."

"Aunt Tempe, you worry too much." How many times had Katy said that?

"I'l throw on jeans, then let's have dinner. I want to ask you about something."

I broached the subject during dessert.

"A Carcajou investigator came to see me today"

"Yeah?" Kit scraped the top off then scooped a spoonful of rice pudding.

"You're supposed to eat the frosting."

"It looks like silver"

"It is." I was stal ing.

"He brought a set of police surveil ance photos." A quizzical look. More pudding.

"Of you."

My nephew lowered his chin and raised his brows. "The pictures were taken at the Galveston County fairgrounds. You're with members of the Bandidos motorcycle club."

"Uh-oh," he said, giving a goofy grin. "Hanging out with bad companions."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Hang out with the Bandidos?"

"Just that once. But the big kids made me do it."

"This isn't funny, Kit! You were caught on film with drug dealers!"

He lay down his spoon and gave me another bril iant smile. I did not return it.

"Aunt Tempe. I go to flea markets. Bikers go to flea markets. Sometimes we go to the same flea markets. We talk about Harleys. That's al it is."

"The detective said you'd been arrested on a drug charge." I forced myself to speak calmly.

He slumped back and threw out his legs.

"Oh, great. That shit again."

"What shit?"

"Jesus. You'd think I was supplying a preschool." His voice was hard, the humor gone.

I waited.

"I bought a ten-dol ar bag for a friend because she left her wal et at home. Before I could give her the weed a cop pul ed me over for an il egal left and found the stuff in my pocket. How's that for a seasoned dope dealer?"

"Why did the cop search you?"

"I'd had a little beer."

He scuffed at the rug with one big toe. A long thin toe, knobby at the joints, oblong under the nail. My father's big toe. As I looked at him my heart ached.

Every cel in his body reminded me of Daddy.