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bust them for receiving all that illegal money?”
    “Ah,” Torres said, holding up his index finger. “Great idea. You ever think about becoming a cop?”
    “Nah.”
    “You sure? You got a knack for this, Marv.”
    “I’m just a humble publican.”
    Torres chuckled and leaned in again, all conspiratorial. “The reason we can’t bust a drop bar is that no one, not even the drop bar, knows it’s gonna be the drop bar until a few hours before it happens.”
    “ No .”
    “ Yes . And then it might not be the drop bar for six months. Or it might be called into action two days later. Point is—you never know.”
    Marv scratched his stubble. “You never know,” he repeated with soft wonder.
    The three of them just stood there for a bit, nothing to say.
    “Well, you think of anything else,” Torres finally said, “you give me a call.” He handed each of them his card.
    “Chances of catching these guys?” Marv fanned his face with the card.
    “Oh,” Torres said magnanimously, “slim.”
    “At least you’re honest.”
    “At least one of us is.” Torres laughed sharp and loud.
    Marv joined him and then cut it off abruptly, let his eyes ice over like he was still a hard guy.
    Torres looked at Bob. “Shame about Saint Dom’s, ain’t it?”
    “What about it?” Bob asked, happy to talk about something—anything—else.
    “It’s gone, Bob. They’re closing their doors.”
    Bob’s mouth opened but he couldn’t speak.
    “I know, I know,” Torres said. “Just heard today. They’re folding it into Saint Cecilia’s. Believe that?” He shook his head. “The guys with the guns sound like anyone ever came in here before?”
    Bob was still back on Saint Dom’s. Torres, he suspected, liked to fuck with a man.
    “They sounded like a thousand guys who’ve been in here before.”
    “And what do those thousand guys sound like?”
    Bob gave it some thought. “Like they’re just getting over a cold.”
    Torres smiled again, but this time it seemed genuine. “That sounds about right for this part of town.”
    OUT BACK A COUPLE minutes later, Rardy sat on a gurney behind the ambulance as the two patrolwomen left in their unit, and one of the EMTs tried to get a tall can of Narragansett out of Rardy’s hand.
    “You have a concussion,” the guy said.
    Rardy snatched the beer back. “The beer didn’t cause it.”
    The EMT looked at Cousin Marv, who took the beer out of Rardy’s hand. “It’s for the best.”
    Rardy reached for the beer and called Marv a douche bag.
    Torres and Bob were watching the miniconflict when Torres said, “Whole thing’s a travesty.”
    “He’ll be okay,” Bob said.
    Torres looked at him. “I meant Saint Dom’s. Beautiful church. And they did mass right. No group hug after the Our Father, no folk singers.” He looked down the alley with a hopeless victim’s gaze. “Time the seculars get done persecuting the Church, all we’ll have left is a bunch of condos with stained glass windows.”
    Bob said, “But . . .”
    Torres gave him the righteous glare of a martyr watching pagans build his bonfire. “But what?”
    “Well . . .” Bob spread his hands.
    “No, what?”
    “If the Church’d come clean—”
    Torres squared himself, nothing playful in his eyes anymore. “That was it, uh? You don’t see the Globe doing front-page articles on abuse cases in the Muslim world.”
    Bob knew he should shut his fucking mouth, but something took hold of him. “They covered up child rape. Under Rome’s instruction.”
    “They said sorry .”
    “Was it meaningful, though?” Bob asked. “If they don’t release the names of the priests who raped—”
    Torres threw his hands at the air. “Cafeteria Catholicism did this. People wanting to be mostly Catholic, except for, you know, the hard parts. Why don’t you take Communion?”
    “ What? ”
    “I’ve seen you at mass for years. You haven’t taken Communion once.”
    Bob felt bewildered and violated. “That’s