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“It is. It truly is.”

For the first time all day, I almost smile.

Don sees it and points one bony finger at me. “Good. Let’s have more of that. Sit down and entertain me.”

Don nudges his glass. “Drink?”

“No.”

“Good. It’s terrible. You need to order better vodka.”

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“Because I’m supporting your business.”

“You paid?”

“I will if asked directly.”

I breathe out through my nose. Another almost-laugh.

That is one of the reasons I came here instead of going home. Don is loud until he needs not to be. He can fill a room with nonsense, then leave exactly enough space for the truth when necessary.

“Tell me about it,” he says. “Why are we here?”

I rub a thumb along the edge of the bar. There’s a small nick in the wood near my hand. I remember the night it happened. A drag queen named Vivica Whiplash had brought down a heel during a benefit number with enough force to make three lesbians at the front table gasp like she’d split the atom.

Renny forbade dancing on the bar that night.

“Met with Reggie today,” I say.

“How is he?”

I think about it for a moment.

“Taut.”

Don nods. “Attagirl. What did he say?”

“There’s a clause in the will. Something I didn’t know about or never noticed.”

Don stills, but only slightly. “Wills are mostly clauses. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s about children.” I keep my eyes on the bar. “Renny has one.”

Don’s eyes come to me sharply. “You’re lying.”

“A son.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

“How old?”

“Late twenties. I think twenty-seven or twenty-eight.”

Don blinks once. “That’s not a child. That’s a man with back pain and a mortgage.”