—Sir John Davies “ONWARD, JAMES. TO THE chapel.” Crow felt his neck go rigid. He turned around and looked at the couple sitting in the back of the limo. Carmen, looking even sleepier than usual, in her outlandish dress, conical breast cups jutting from above a fluffy, translucent skirt. Hyatt looked as awkward as a prom date in his maroon tuxedo, a goofy smile on his face, his hair nearly brushing the ceiling. The moment they’d climbed into the limo, Carmen had popped open a bottle of Champagne. Crow said, “Don’t push it, Hy. You could end up walking.” Hyatt shrugged, whispered something to Carmen, who giggled. Crow pressed a button on the dash and a privacy panel emerged from the seat back, separating him from his passengers. He put the limo in drive and pulled away from the curb. The best thing to do, he decided, would be to take whatever shit Hy dealt him and just get the whole stinking afternoon behind him. Ten minutes to the American Legion Post. He turned on Lake Street, heading east.
