Ted didn’t let her surety detour him. He forged ahead. “Friday afternoon, my guy filed papers with the court on behalf of Miller. Assuming the usual level of efficiency one finds at the courthouse, the clerk didn’t even look at them. There’s a good chance I can undo everything tomorrow. Pull the filing and forget the whole damn mess. I’ve got other cases I can work on that won’t ruin people’s lives.”

Kenzie was still simmering. “That tower will affect every person in this part of Queens. All these people here”—she swept her arm to include the whole diner—“will be squeezed out. A community will die. Don’t tell me that won’t ruin lives.”

“The man is opening his heart.” The Preacher spoke softly, without anger or recrimination. “He is seeking our help.”

Kenzie stared down at the table. “I hear you,” she said after a long silence. She looked Ted in the eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Ted said.

She jerked her head in a decisive gesture. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk. Let me know when you get your head on straight.”

The Preacher moved aside and let her out. Ted watched her leave, hoping she would look back. She didn’t.

“Well, I fucked that up royally,” Ted said.

The Preacher nodded sadly in agreement. “You see that pretty waitress, you let her know I could use a refill.” He nodded at his empty cup.

The dining room was, if it was possible, even busier than when they had arrived. “We may have a bit of a wait.”

“She likes you, you know?” The Preacher leaned back, crossing his arms and giving Ted a look of deep appraisal. “These kinds of questions are easy for her. What’s hard for her is to understand your conflict. She thinks you have to think like her, or she can’t respect you. She’s wrong.”

“I find that I very much want her respect.”

“No doubt.”

The busboy swung by with the coffee carafe and gave them both refills. They sat in silence while the Preacher doctored his mug with cream and two sugars. Ted sipped his coffee black.

“And the police? Will they still think you killed your partner?” the Preacher asked after taking a long sip.

“Not my partner, please. I’m sorry Richie’s dead, and I hope they find who did it, but the guy was never a partner. Or a friend. But no, I’m not worried. There’s no case against me, and there won’t be for the simple reason, I didn’t do it.”

“But you made promises.”

“Yes. I did,” Ted said.

“And honoring those promises is important to you.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t give advice,” the Preacher said, his voice indicating that he might if asked.