Since 2010, however, the Lucky Lindbergh had simply been known as the Lucky and it had operated as the premiere drag club on St. Louis’s south side. North and Shaw tried the glass doors at the front, papered over with flyers for free kittens and banjo lessons and a babysitting service ad that looked like it had been made out of cut-up magazine letters, serial killer-style, and about two hundred LOST notices with a picture of a red Radio Flyer wagon hooked to a pony—it wasn’t clear whether the pony or the wagon or both had disappeared.

The front doors were locked, so they went around the side and found one of the Lucky’s service doors propped open by an aging queen in a red wig. The queen hit her cigarette once, then twice, holding the smoke with her cheeks puffed out, last night’s makeup flaking off. When North reached her, she blew it out and jiggled her falsies.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Is Regina here?”

“She’s here. Bitch.” Then she smiled at North. “You want to buy me breakfast?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t today.” North tried to step past her, but she drifted into his path, taking up the doorway like there were two or three of her instead of just the one.

“Ma’am? Well, somebody’s mother raised him right. I’ll wait. You can buy me lunch.”

“Another time.”

“Dinner, sweetheart. I can do things to you after dinner that your jankety-ass boyfriend’s never even thought of.” She waved at Shaw with the cigarette, first at the electric blue rain jacket, then at the capris with peace symbols stitched on the cuffs, and then at his face. “If you think this bony-butt boy with a face like a—”

North’s fist connected before he even knew he was throwing the punch, and he tried, at the last minute, to pull the blow so that it didn’t land quite as hard. The queen still rocked backward, and the cigarette shot up out of her hand like an emergency flare, and then she came down hard on her ass, both hands clapping over her face.

“My node. You broke my node.”

Shaw leaned past North and tugged off the wig.

North glanced at him.

“This way, you don’t have to tell people you punched a lady.”

“I did it to defend your honor.”

“My node! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“Right, I know. And I’m very impressed. It was like this quintessentially tough, very fifth-grade-playground kind of awesome.”

“Jesus, Shaw.”

“No, seriously. I mean, the only bad part is we won’t have time to hold hands while we swing on the swing set.”

“You are a total asshole sometimes. I don’t care about your honor anymore.”

“I just wanted you to know how impressed I was that you didn’t pull her hair or sit on her and shove grass down her dress.”

“Ok,” North stepped past the wailing drag queen. “I’m going.”

“But, see, people probably aren’t going to know the full context.” Shaw’s voice rose as he scrambled after North. “I’m worried people will just hear that you punched a lady, and that might ruin your reputation.”