“Who taught you to read, Luther?” The captain’s voice was soft.

“A Mrs. Murtrey, sir. Hamilton School, just outside of Columbus.”

“What else she teach you?”

“Sir?”

“What else, Luther?” Captain Coughlin took another slow drag from his cigar.

“I don’t understand the question, sir.”

“What else?” the captain said for a third time.

“Sir, I’m not following you.”

“Grew up poor, I imagine?” The captain leaned forward ever so slightly, and Luther resisted the urge to push his chair back.

Luther nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Sharecropping?”

“Not me so much, sir. My mother and father, though, yeah.”

Captain Coughlin nodded, his lips pursed and pained. “Was born into nothing myself. A two-room thatched hut we shared with flies and field rats, it was. No place to be a child. Certainly no place to be an intelligent child. You know what an intelligent child learns in those circumstances, Mr. Laurence?”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, you do, son.” Captain Coughlin smiled a third time since Luther had met him, and this smile snaked into the air like the captain’s gaze and circled. “Don’t muck about with me, son.”

“I’m just not sure what kind of ground I’m standing on, sir.”

Captain Coughlin gave that a cock of his head and then a nod. “An intelligent child born to less than advantageous surroundings, Luther, learns to charm.” He reached across the desk; his fingers twirled through the smoke. “He learns to hide behind that charm so that no one ever sees what he’s really thinking. Or feeling.”

He went to a decanter behind his desk and poured two helpings of amber liquid into crystal scotch glasses. He brought the drinks around the desk and handed one to Luther, the first time Luther’d ever been handed a glass by a white man.

“I’m going to hire you, Luther, because you intrigue me.” The captain sat on the edge of the desk and clinked his glass off Luther’s. He reached behind him and came back with an envelope. He handed it to Luther. “Avery Wallace left that for whoever replaced him. You’ll note its seal has not been tampered with.”

Luther saw a maroon wax seal on the back of the envelope. He turned it back over, saw that it was addressed to: MY REPLACEMENT. FROM AVERY WALLACE.

Luther took a drink of scotch. As good as any he’d ever tasted. “Thank you, sir.”

Captain Coughlin nodded. “I respected Avery’s privacy. I’ll respect yours. But don’t ever think I don’t know you, son. I know you like I know the mirror.”

“Yes, sir.”

“‘Yes, sir,’ what?”

“Yes, sir, you know me.”

“And what do I know?”

“That I’m smarter than I let on.”

The captain said, “And what else?”

Luther met his eyes. “I’m not as smart as you.”

A fourth smile. Cocked up the right side and certain. Another clink of the glasses.

“Welcome to my home, Luther Laurence.”

Luther read the note from Avery Wallace on the streetcar back to the Giddreauxs.

To my replacement,