Arthur Tucker, no longer dressed in his workaday suit but in an old work shirt and slacks and rubber-soled shoes, sat forward in the back of a taxicab and told the driver to go slower.

They were cruising along the West Side Highway.

“What're we looking for?” the man asked in a thick accent.

“A houseboat.”

“Ha. You kidding.”

“Slower.”

“Here,” he said. “Stop here.”

“You sure?” the driver asked. “Here?”

Tucker didn't answer. The Chevy pulled to a stop. He climbed out of the cab, picked up the heavy canvas bag beside him and paid the driver. He made a point of not asking for a receipt; the less evidence, he knew, the better.

Death of a Blue Movie Star

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Harris said, “ 'These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' ”

John ran his finger along his tattered King James. “ 'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain...' ”

The two men, along with William, said a perfunctory “Amen.”

John sipped his lemonade and marked the passage. There were no priests in their church. Since God's terrible and just will touched every soul (every believing, nonsinning, white soul, that is) equally, there was no need for ordination. Laymen gave sermons and conducted services. John was a favorite speaker.

He looked at his watch and glanced at the other two, who nodded. He then made a long-distance phone call.

On the fourth ring, it was answered.

“Gabriel? How are things?... Good. So pleased to hear it. Brothers Harris and William and I are here together. Our thoughts are with you... We're ready to do what you asked.”

John listened, nodding. His graying eyebrows lifted and his face flushed with excitement. “What's the number?”

He jotted down a phone number in New York.

He hung up the phone and turned to Harris. “He's had a brilliant thought. Since no one believes we exist he said he's decided to create a living testament to the will of God.” He looked at the phone number and began to dial.

The room seemed smaller with his wife in it.

Healy's impression was that she'd grown. But maybe it was just that rooms are always smaller with your ex in them.

“How you doing?” Healy asked.

“Not bad. You?” Cheryl responded. “You've gained weight.”

“I don't work out like I used to.”

“You're not spending three nights a week at the gym?”

He didn't answer and she didn't comment further.

“Adam tells me you have a girlfriend.”

“Not a girlfriend really.”

“She's young, he says.”

“You were the one —” Oops. Watch that.

“I'm not saying anything. I didn't expect you to be celibate.”

“We're just friends.”