“BILL CLAYTON Kane put on his coat and stuck his nose out the lobby entrance. The slush storm had stopped, so he decided to carry the folders with him rather than detour to his room. The bartender’s directions sent him uphill. He walked slowly, trying to stretch each step to chase some of the soreness from his muscles. I’m getting too old for the kind of roughhouse that Robert Bland threw my way, he thought. The streets were a mosaic of darkness and pools of light from the streetlamps. Few c...ars, and fewer people, moved along them. Kane walked carefully over the congealing slush. The surface would be unwalkable if it froze overnight. The hill got steeper with each block. Kane was grateful to reach the door of the church without having fallen. Inside, a light burned in the tabernacle lamp. Kane walked to the front of the church, knelt, slid a folded bill into the offering slot, and lit a votive candle. “O God, the Creator and Redeemer of all the faithful,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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