The Deacon kept waving his arm until Luther took the chair on the left and Jessie the one on the right, and the Deacon poured them each a tall glass of bonded, prewar Canadian whiskey and slid the glasses across the table and said, “My boys. Yes, indeed. How ya’ll doing now?”

Jessie said, “Right fine, sir.”

Luther managed, “Very good, sir, thanks for asking.”

The Deacon wasn’t wearing his mask, though Smoke and Dandy were, and his smile was big and white. “Aw, that’s music to my ears, I do swear.” He reached across the table and managed to clap both of them on a shoulder. “Ya’ll making the money, right? Heh heh heh. Yeah. You liking that, right? Making them greenbacks?”

Jessie said, “We trying, sir.”

“Trying, hell. Doing is what I see. Ya’ll the best runners I got.”

“Thank you, sir. Things been a little tight of late because a that flu. So many people sick, sir, they ain’t got no heart for the numbers right now.”

The Deacon waved that away. “People get sick. What you gone do? Am I right? They sick and their loved ones be dying? Bless us, Heavenly Father, it tries the heart to see so much suffering. Everyone walking the streets with masks on and the undertakers running out of coffins? Lord. Times like these, you puts the bidness aside. You just puts it up on a shelf and pray for the misery to end. And when it do? When it do, then you go right back to bidness. Damn sure you do. But not”—he pointed his finger at them—“until then. Can I get an ‘amen’ on that, my brothers?”

“Amen,” Jessie said, then lifted his mask and ducked his glass under there and slammed back his whiskey.

“Amen,” Luther said and took a small drink from his glass.

“Shit, child,” the Deacon said. “You supposed to drink that not romance it.”

Jessie laughed and crossed his legs, getting comfy.

Luther said, “Yes, sir,” and threw the whole thing back and the Deacon refilled their glasses and Luther realized that Dandy and Smoke now stood behind them, no more than a step away, though Luther couldn’t have said when it was they’d arrived in that spot.

The Deacon took a long slow drink from his own glass and said, “Ahhh,” and licked his lips. He folded his hands and leaned into the table. “Jessie.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Clarence Jessup Tell,” Deacon Broscious said, turning those words into song.

“In the flesh, sir.”

The Deacon’s smile returned, brighter than ever. “Jessie, let me ask you something. What’s the most memorable moment of your life?”

“Sir?”

The Deacon raised his eyebrows. “You ain’t got one?”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

“The most memorable moment of your life,” the Deacon repeated.

Luther felt sweat bathe his thighs.

“Everyone’s got one,” the Deacon said. “Could be a happy experience, could be sad. Could be a night with a girl. Am I right? Am I right?” He laughed, his face folding all over his nose with the effort. “Could be a night with a boy. You like boys, Jessie? In my profession, we don’t cast aspersions on what I like to call specified taste.”