It was an opulent Italian restaurant, with a line that trailed out past the door to check reservations. There were various configurations of parties in it. The groups of men seemed to number three or more, but there were some women in pairs, and a preponderance toward families and older couples (presumably married).

Though tempted to wait for Crane, he figured it would look less suspicious if he checked in first. Not that there was anything suspicious about dining with a friend he still stroked it to. It would have been weirder if he had not offered!

Besides, last night was the last time he was going to drink the same kind of vodka before bed. It was just the vodka.

Zechariah had chosen a green vest under the black suit (that he found so indistinguishable from the other black coats) direction this Shabbat. It was the most color he had dared wear since the tragedy of Wilde. He glanced down the line, then figured it better to keep his head turned forward so he did not look like an overeager fool. What? Good company was hard to find!