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Randy comes away with the restaurant and a few million after the lawyer takes his cut. You would think the ex-wife," Fran said, "a woman with all her dough and clout, would've had Randy investigated before they got married."
    "You don't know him," Debbie said, "he's a world-class bullshitter. I believed him, didn't I? And I make a living looking for fraud."
    "I didn't mean to upset you."
    "I'm not upset, I'm still pissed, that's all." She looked over at a table where a child was crying, brought her gaze back and her expression was calm, a cool look in those blue eyes. "Have you been to the restaurant?"
    "Only for a drink. It looks like a men's club. You see tables of business suits, out-of-towners, guys calling on the car companies." Fran paused. "I'm told you might see bimbo-type ladies there in the evening."
    "It's a pickup bar?"
    "Not the kind you're thinking of. I'm told the ladies are pros, high-class call girls."
    "Imagine," Debbie said, "your purpose in life is to give blow jobs to auto execs. I'll have to drop by when I get my release, say hi to Randy. I always knew he was a pimp."
    "You realize," Fran said, "I hesitated telling you."
    "Don't worry, I won't do anything dumb."
    "Now that you know what it's like in here. You're out next week, start with a clean slate . . . Which reminds me, my brother should be home soon, from Africa."
    "That's right, the priest."
    "If he hasn't gone native on me. He writes a letter, it's about the weather. Or what the place smells like."
    "He's due for a vacation?"
    "First one in five years. There's still that tax fraud indictment hanging over him. We have to get that cleared up."
    "What'd he do, cheat on his income tax?"
    "I thought I told you about it."
    "You didn't tell me about the restaurant, either."
    Randy the snake still on her mind.
    "This is state, the Wayne County prosecutor's office. I've been on it since he left. They've just about agreed to drop the indictment, but want to talk to Terry first, when he gets home. It comes down to his word against statements made by two other guys. But since Terry's a priest, and I find out the assistant prosecutor I've been dealing with is a devout Catholic--"
    "Fran, I don't know what you're talking about."
    "Really? I would've sworn I mentioned it to you. The allegation involves Terry smuggling a truckload of cigarettes from Kentucky to Detroit, the purpose, to avoid paying the state tax, Terry and two other guys, the Pajonny brothers. Terry left right after they were busted and the Pajonnys rolled over on him to plead down, saying it was his idea and he took off with their share. So on the strength of that Terry was indicted, but by then he was in Africa."
    "Your brother the priest," Debbie said, "I want to get this straight, is a fugitive felon?"
    "He didn't know about the charge. He went over there to help out our uncle Tibor, forty years a missionary, Tibor Toreki. I told you about him, how he used to stay with us?"
    Debbie said, "I'm confused."
    And now Fran was shaking his head. "I didn't tell it right. Terry wasn't a priest yet when he got involved with the cigarettes. He wasn't ordained till he got over there, and took his vows."
    She still looked a little confused, saying, "All right, how does a guy who's about to become a priest get into smuggling cigarettes?"
    "He drove the truck, that's all. He didn't know it was the pop crime of the nineties. The state raised the tax to seventy-five cents a pack, but didn't add a stamp, so a lot of people got into it. It was low-risk, no one got hurt--" He could see Debbie, hunched over the table, thinking up another question, and he tried to head her off. "Terry gets home, you'll have to meet him. You remind me of him, your attitude about things."
    "The two guys," Debbie said, "the Pajonnys--I love the name--they were friends of his?"
    "From school, years ago."
    "It was their idea?"
    "They hired Terry to drive the truck, period."
    "And they tried to put it on him and went down."
    "The