“Some things you just have to do. It’s all about appearances. Did I say that already? Anyway, the trick is seeing what they’re trying to hide. What are they trying to draw your eye away from? Figure that out, and you figure out the man. Or woman. But start with men, because they’re easier. Women are more of a PhD thing.”

“Got it.” Gibson nodded sagely, then: “Like how?”

“All right, so take that fellow over there,” Duke pointed to a tall, thin man with a face like a strip of sandpaper. He was surveying the room and nursing a beer.

“Is he someone important?”

“You tell me,” Duke said.

Gibson stared at him a long time. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one is trying to talk to him. If he was important, he wouldn’t be alone.”

“Good boy.” Duke chuckled. “But just him now. Can you tell just from looking at him?”

Gibson sized the man up. He wore a suit and shiny tie. He had a lapel pin and wire-rimmed glasses. His blond hair was combed back conservatively. Gibson couldn’t see it.

“He looks like everyone else.”

“Nobody looks like everybody else. We try but fail. The trick, Gib, is not to look at the center of a man. At the center every man looks the same. Suit, tie, lapel pin. He’s wearing the uniform, and he looks good. At the center he could be the president of the United States. It’s at the edge where the truth lies. It’s like hair. Everyone brushes their hair so it looks good from straight on. Why? Because that’s how we see it in the mirror. Straight on. We only ever see ourselves straight on, so that’s the only angle we worry about.”

“So I should look at his back?”

“Not literally, but yes. Look at his shoes. What do you see?”

“They’re scuffed. One of the laces is broken.”

“What does that tell you?”

“He wears them a lot?”

“And what does that tell you?”

Gibson thought hard. The shoes reminded him of Ben Rizolli’s basketball. Ben Rizolli’s dad had split when he was little, and it was just Ben and his mom. There wasn’t a lot of money. Ben had had the same basketball since forever, and it went everywhere Ben went. The seams and lettering were worn away, and there was hardly any grip left on it at all. Gibson always felt bad that a kid who loved basketball couldn’t afford a new one.

“He doesn’t have many pairs. He probably can’t afford a lot of shoes. He’s hoping no one looks at his feet.”

“Not bad. Do you think the senator is wearing scuffed shoes tonight?”

“No way.”

“No way. That’s right. Now look at my shoes.”