“Catholicism. That’s right.”

Jimmy Joel Jenks checked DP’s form again, then said, “Would that stuff be the subject you’d be an expert on?”

“I suppose it would,” said Father Brady with a smile. The priest understood the boy was trying to sound important and make his job more respectable than it was.

“You know how the game works?” asked Jimmy Joel Jenks, glancing at his notes. “How you answer questions on what you’re an expert on? You get a point for every question you get right. And if you’re the first guy or girl—course you’re not a girl.” Jenks snorted a laugh. “Sorry. Anyway, if you’re the contestant with the highest score after three questions, then you go on to play the winner of the other round on the show. Each program is two rounds.”

Father Brady nodded.

“Then if you win that championship round against the winner of round two…the other way around…I mean…you can be in round two instead of round one, and…Jesus, I think I’m makin’ it worse for you.”

“I think you’re making it worse for yourself. I understand how the game works. I read the rules on the paper that was given to me when I filled out my forms. There are two rounds of three contestants each. We’re each given a number of questions to answer. If I win my round, I play the winner of the other round. We’re asked another bunch of questions. The winner of that round, what you call the championship round, goes on to try and answer the big question.”

“Perfect,” said Jimmy Joel Jenks with a big smile, exhaling a long sigh of relief.

“Glad to be of help, son,” said Father DP Brady.

“Fine. I see here,” said Jimmy Joel Jenks, holding up Brady’s questionnaire and pointing to the part he had in mind so DP could see what he was about to discuss, “you have no what we call beneyfishyaries. Is that correct? See, they get twenty-five thousand dollars if you get kilt. So it is correct that you don’t have no what we call beneyfishyaries, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Okay. That’s fine, Father. Can you please keep the month of October open? ’Specially the beginning part. That’s when we would be doin’ our first shows, if you’re selected to participate on one of our first shows, that is. Got that?”

“Yes, I’ve got that.”

Jimmy Joel checked the form. “Thank you, Father Brady.”

Outside it was raining buckets. The priest opened his umbrella and walked to the street to hail a taxi. At the same time a troubled Billy Constable sat in the Yankee Stadium dugout with the grumpy head groundskeeper, Carl Canzona Sr. It was four o’clock. Billy would have to tell Sonny Lieberman to postpone the big fight. The field was a holy mess. While Billy Constable dialed Sonny Lieberman, Carl Canzona Sr. was already ordering his crew to put tarpaulins on the field.

Father Brady was heading back to Pennsylvania Station in a taxi.