get to know this Juvenal?"
"For what reason?"
"See if he's real."
"And if he is?" Lynn paused. "He was in the religious life once and he quit."
"Don't get ahead of me," Bill Hill said. "Right now I'm just curious. Aren't you?"
"You want to get out of the r.v. business, wasting your talent selling motor homes."
"Are you curious or not?"
"Maybe a little. I haven't met him yet."
He liked that word yet. Bill Hill said, "You understand why I can't do a study on him. The priest there at the Center knows all about Uni-Faith from Virginia, so he's suspicious, without coming right out and saying it. You got the anonymous part of AA to contend with; so nobody there'll give you even his last name. They're cheerful, very friendly, and they sound like they're trying to help you. But you get the feeling you're not gonna learn a thing unless you're in the club."
"What club?" Lynn said.
"AA."
She didn't see it yet and he wasn't going to rush her.
"I was thinking, how'd you like to join for a few days?"
Lynn said, "You know what I drink? Maybe two of these a week," nudging the Spumante bottle with her toe.
Bill Hill had his answer ready. "Yeah, but you got to watch Doug Whaley get smashed for ten years almost. How was he in the morning, pretty bad?"
"He was a mess. Carried on like he was gonna die till he had that first one."
"You could fake it, couldn't you? Act hung over, shake a little bit?"
"I'd never be able to throw up as well as Doug could."
"I was thinking," Bill Hill said, "you might even pretend to have some kind of ailment you tell this Juvenal about. See what he does."
He took his time, letting Lynn fool with the idea. It was still early, still quite light outside at twenty to eight, a restful time of the day.
"I don't know," Lynn said, "it seems like it'd be a waste of time. I find out he's a faith healer, so what? You're not in the business anymore."
"Does he have the power?" Bill Hill said. "If he does, why's he hiding, keeping it a secret? That's what intrigues me about it. Like Virginia says, there's something there you feel when you're with him, and I want to know what it is."
Lynn was thoughtful, off somewhere. "Pretend I have some kind of ailment? Like what?"
"Well, if you're an alcoholic it could be gastritis, I suppose ulcers, a bad liver. Didn't Bobby Forshay cure you one time?"
"That was sugar diabetes. But I couldn't pull something like that, I mean that they could check on and see I don't have."
"We'll think of something." Bill Hill wasn't worried about a detail. He had thought it was going to take more persuading and convincing, but he was almost home.
"It might be kinda fun," Lynn said. "Different anyway, huh?"
"Say, intellectually interesting," Bill Hill said, "even if it doesn't make us a dime."
She was silent again.
"What's the place like, a rest home?"
"You could say that."
"How would I get in, just tell them I'm an alcoholic?"
"It takes a little more than that. Usually there's a wait--"
"How long?"
"--unless the person that comes is in really bad shape." Bill Hill smiled at Lynn. "Have another drink, honey. Finish the bottle and we'll get you another. Though I think it'd be quicker if you switched to vodka, and you won't be so thirsty in the morning."
"You mean tonight?" Lynn was pushing herself up out of the crushed velvet. "You want me to go in there smashed?"
"They won't think anything of it," Bill Hill said.
Chapter 5
AUGUST MURRAY said later that outside of himself and of course the twenty from the Gray Army of the Holy Ghost, practically everybody in the courtroom was black. He said, "You want to see a profile of Detroit, go down to Recorder's Court in the Frank Murphy Hall of in-Justice."
The court clerk, sitting at a counter in front of the judge's bench, was black. A police sergeant, the bailiff, next to the clerk, was black. There were black probation people and skinny black policewomen with shoulderbags, three black defense lawyers, a young white-girl defense
"For what reason?"
"See if he's real."
"And if he is?" Lynn paused. "He was in the religious life once and he quit."
"Don't get ahead of me," Bill Hill said. "Right now I'm just curious. Aren't you?"
"You want to get out of the r.v. business, wasting your talent selling motor homes."
"Are you curious or not?"
"Maybe a little. I haven't met him yet."
He liked that word yet. Bill Hill said, "You understand why I can't do a study on him. The priest there at the Center knows all about Uni-Faith from Virginia, so he's suspicious, without coming right out and saying it. You got the anonymous part of AA to contend with; so nobody there'll give you even his last name. They're cheerful, very friendly, and they sound like they're trying to help you. But you get the feeling you're not gonna learn a thing unless you're in the club."
"What club?" Lynn said.
"AA."
She didn't see it yet and he wasn't going to rush her.
"I was thinking, how'd you like to join for a few days?"
Lynn said, "You know what I drink? Maybe two of these a week," nudging the Spumante bottle with her toe.
Bill Hill had his answer ready. "Yeah, but you got to watch Doug Whaley get smashed for ten years almost. How was he in the morning, pretty bad?"
"He was a mess. Carried on like he was gonna die till he had that first one."
"You could fake it, couldn't you? Act hung over, shake a little bit?"
"I'd never be able to throw up as well as Doug could."
"I was thinking," Bill Hill said, "you might even pretend to have some kind of ailment you tell this Juvenal about. See what he does."
He took his time, letting Lynn fool with the idea. It was still early, still quite light outside at twenty to eight, a restful time of the day.
"I don't know," Lynn said, "it seems like it'd be a waste of time. I find out he's a faith healer, so what? You're not in the business anymore."
"Does he have the power?" Bill Hill said. "If he does, why's he hiding, keeping it a secret? That's what intrigues me about it. Like Virginia says, there's something there you feel when you're with him, and I want to know what it is."
Lynn was thoughtful, off somewhere. "Pretend I have some kind of ailment? Like what?"
"Well, if you're an alcoholic it could be gastritis, I suppose ulcers, a bad liver. Didn't Bobby Forshay cure you one time?"
"That was sugar diabetes. But I couldn't pull something like that, I mean that they could check on and see I don't have."
"We'll think of something." Bill Hill wasn't worried about a detail. He had thought it was going to take more persuading and convincing, but he was almost home.
"It might be kinda fun," Lynn said. "Different anyway, huh?"
"Say, intellectually interesting," Bill Hill said, "even if it doesn't make us a dime."
She was silent again.
"What's the place like, a rest home?"
"You could say that."
"How would I get in, just tell them I'm an alcoholic?"
"It takes a little more than that. Usually there's a wait--"
"How long?"
"--unless the person that comes is in really bad shape." Bill Hill smiled at Lynn. "Have another drink, honey. Finish the bottle and we'll get you another. Though I think it'd be quicker if you switched to vodka, and you won't be so thirsty in the morning."
"You mean tonight?" Lynn was pushing herself up out of the crushed velvet. "You want me to go in there smashed?"
"They won't think anything of it," Bill Hill said.
Chapter 5
AUGUST MURRAY said later that outside of himself and of course the twenty from the Gray Army of the Holy Ghost, practically everybody in the courtroom was black. He said, "You want to see a profile of Detroit, go down to Recorder's Court in the Frank Murphy Hall of in-Justice."
The court clerk, sitting at a counter in front of the judge's bench, was black. A police sergeant, the bailiff, next to the clerk, was black. There were black probation people and skinny black policewomen with shoulderbags, three black defense lawyers, a young white-girl defense
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