“Ain’t with me,” Jessie said. “Ain’t with you. Ain’t in this alley. I think He done left this world. Found Hisself another one to be more concerned with.” He chuckled and took a long drag on his cigarette. “How old you think that blue child was?”

“Two,” Luther said.

“’Bout what I guessed, too,” Jessie said. “Took his mama’s jewelry, though, didn’t we? Got her wedding ring right here in my pocket.” He patted his chest and smiled and said, “Heh heh yeah.”

“Why don’t we just—”

“I tell you what,” Jessie said and tugged his jacket, then shot his cuffs. “Tell you what,” he said and pointed at the back door of the club, “if that door be unlocked, you can forget what I said. That door open, though? God be in this alley. Yes indeed.”

And he walked to it and turned the knob and the door opened.

Luther said, “Don’t mean shit, Jessie. Don’t mean nothing but someone forgot to lock the door.”

“You say,” Jessie said. “You say. Let me ask you—You think I’d a forced that man to dig up his girl’s grave?”

Luther said, “’Course not. We were hot. That’s all. Hot and scared. Got crazy.”

Jessie said, “Let go of them straps, brother. We ain’t lifting nothing right now.”

Luther stepped away from the car. He said, “Jessie.”

Jessie reached out so fast his hand could have slapped Luther’s head off his neck but instead it landed soft on Luther’s ear, barely touching. “You good kin, Country.”

And Jessie went into the Club Almighty and Luther followed and they walked through a foul back hallway that stank of piss and came out near the stage through a black velvet curtain. The Deacon Broscious sat just where they’d left him at the table at the base of the stage. He sipped milky white tea from a clear glass, and he gave them the kind of smile told Luther there was more than milk in the tea.

“Stroke of twelve,” the Deacon said and waved at the darkness all around him. “Ya’ll done come at the stroke of twelve itself. Should I put my mask on?”

“Nah, sir,” Jessie said. “Ya’ll don’t need to worry.”

The Deacon reached beside himself, as if he was looking for his mask anyway. His movements were thick and jumbled and then he waved his hands at the whole idea and beamed at them with the sweat beading on his face thick as hail.

“Haw,” he said. “You niggers look tired.”

“Feel tired,” Jessie said.

“Well, come on over here and sit, then. Tell the Deacon about your travails.”

Dandy came out of the shadows on the Deacon’s left, carrying a teapot on a tray and his mask flapping from the overhead fan, and he took one look at them and said, “What ya’ll doing coming through the back door?”

Jessie said, “Just where our feets took us, Mr. Dandy,” and cleared the .45 from his belt and shot Dandy in his mask and Dandy’s face disappeared in a puff of red.