Chapter 2

Curtis Bell had been checking coats at St. Bridget's fundraisers since before Grant Halloway had a job.

He turned the binder sideways on the table, not handing it over, just angling it so the man in the oversized blazer could read the top sheet clipped inside the cover.

"Seating came down from the office," Curtis said. "I don't print these. I just set them out."

Ruben read the line twice.

HEAD TABLE - R. COYLE (requested by W.O.)

"W.O.," Ruben said.

"Warren Osei. Board chair." Curtis glanced toward the far end of the room, where the head table sat under the tallest chandelier. "He doesn't usually do seating."

Ruben had known Warren Osei's name for three years. He had sat across a conference table from the man in a quiet office with the blinds drawn, and he had said one thing over and over until it was understood: my name does not get printed.

Three weeks ago a cream envelope had arrived at his house on the west side. Hand-addressed. No ticket inside, no return address - just a card with one line: The head table has been set. We would be honored. No signature. He had put it in the drawer with the rest of the things he did not know what to do with, and then on Tuesday he had taken it out again.

"You got an invitation?" Halloway said. His voice had changed. It had gone from patient to flat.

"I got a card," Ruben said. "No ticket. That's why I didn't argue with you at the door."

"You should have argued with somebody." Halloway reached past Curtis and closed the binder with one flat hand. "That's internal."

"Mr. Halloway." Ruben kept his voice low, because the champagne line was six feet away and he had no interest in being a scene. "Warren Osei signed my gift agreement."

The words landed the way a dropped glass lands. Halloway's chin came up half an inch. His hand stayed on the binder, and his thumb pressed down until the cover bowed.

"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that you're-"

"I'm telling you I'd like to stand at the back and hear the wing announced. That's all I came for."

Halloway looked at him for a long, still moment. Then he reached inside his jacket, unclipped the radio from his waistband, and brought it up to his mouth without taking his eyes off Ruben's face.

"Ray. Front doors. Now."