“How long have you had those glasses, anyway?” asked Donny.

Broyles took the silver wire-frames from his face, and held them up to look at.

“Lord,” he said, as if he had never even considered that. “Since my last year in law school. I came home for Christmas break, went hunting with my dad, and realized when I went to aim that the vision had degenerated in my right eye. Doctor said the eye was essentially permanently focused at the distance of a book. Which I thought was rather annoying, until Christmas dinner when my uncle the investment banker said don’t you know the rule, Harry? Never trust a lawyer who doesn’t wear glasses.”

“I don’t wear glasses,” said Donny.

“Exactly,” said Broyles, smiling.

Donny was going to make the argument that sunglasses should count, at least for certain types of lawyers, but the door opened.

“Look what the cat drug in, Catherine,” said Broyles.

“Oh,” said Donny’s mom.

Donny was ready for her to turn red and point her finger at the door. And it looked like the thought crossed her mind. But then she smiled, a more adult variation of the “I should ground you for a year, but I’m glad you’re home” smile.

“Come here,” she said.

As Donny got up to hug her, he noticed the frames on the wall behind her in the hall. A picture of Donny, at his law school graduation. And next to that, an official portrait of the President.

It didn’t stop him from asking her for help, and a place to crash.

55

Lecker sent a limousine to pick up Donny early the next morning. When they set out, instead of heading toward Highland Park, the limo drove west through Dealey Plaza, crossed the Trinity, and got on the freeway headed in the direction of Fort Worth.

“Why aren’t you taking me to Dr. Lecker’s office?” said Donny, looking out the window at the shanties along the river.

“I am taking you to Dr. Lecker’s office,” said the limo.

“Dr. Lecker’s office is in another direction. Uptown, off Turtle Creek.”

“I am taking you to Dr. Lecker’s other office,” said the limo.

“And where is that?” said Donny.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, I’m going to see it right through the window, and on your screen there.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t do that,” said the limo.

The screen display went dark. And then the windows dissolved to black. Even the windshield. Donny had never known that was a possibility, but it immediately made sense.

Another screen dropped from the headliner, and an ad came on for commemorative plates featuring vignettes of country life before the droughts.

“Turn that off please,” said Donny.

It did.