Park, expressed shock and strong disapproval of drug use over the telephone to VAT inquiries.

Cartney was not in the building at the time of the arrests.

Rumors have prevailed for some time concerning the sale of this well-known nightspot and gathering place to a “black capitalist” syndicate.

During the coffee break Buchanan comes over. Rabbit touches his wallet, wondering if the touch will go up. Escalation. Foreign aid. Welfare. He’ll refuse if it does. If he asks more than twenty, let them riot in the streets. But Buchanan holds out two ten dollar bills, not the same two, but just as good. “Friend Harry,” he says, “never let it be said no black man pays his debts. I’m obliged to you a thousand and one times over, them two sawbucks turned the cards right around. Would you believe two natural full houses in a row? I couldn’t believe it myself, nobody could, those fools all stayed the second time like there was no tomorrow.” He wads the money into Rabbit’s hand, which is slow to close.

“Thanks, uh, Lester. I didn’t really—”

“Expect to get it back?”

“Not so soon.”

“Well, sometimes one man’s in need, sometimes another man is. Spread it around, isn’t that what the great ones teach us?”

“I guess they do. I haven’t talked to many great ones lately.”

Buchanan chuckles politely and rocks back and forth on his heels, estimating, rolling a toothpick in his lips, beneath the mustache no thicker than a toothpick. “I hear tell you’re so hard up over at your place you’re taking in boarders.”

“Oh. That. It’s just temporary, it wasn’t my idea.”

“I believe that.”

“Uh—I’d rather it didn’t get around.”

“That’s just what I’d rather.”

Change the subject, somehow. “How’s Babe now? Back in business?”

“What kind of business you think she’s in?”

“You know, singing. I meant after the bust and court sentence. I just set the news item.”

“I know what you meant. I know exactly. Come on down to Jimbo’s, any night of the week, get better acquainted. Babe’s estimation of you has shot way up, I tell you that. Not that she didn’t take a shine in the first place.”

“Yeah, O.K., great. Maybe I’ll get down sometime. If I can get a babysitter.” The idea of ever going into Jimbo’s again frightens him, as does the idea of leaving Nelson, Jill, and Skeeter alone in the house. He is sinking into an underworld he used to see only from a bus. Buchanan squeezes his arm.

“We’ll set something up,” the Negro promises. “Oh, yeass.” The hand squeezes tighter, as if pressing fingerprints through the screen of Harry’s blue workshirt. “Jer-ome asked me to express an especial gratitude.”

Jerome?

The yellow-faced clock ticks, the end-of-break buzzer rasps. The last to return to his machine, Farnsworth passes between the brightly lit makeup tables, a man so black he twinkles. He bobs his shaved head, wipes the whisky from his lips, and throws Harry a dazzling grin. Brothers in paternity.