Again they all nodded. None of them looked my way, though. “Hi, Jack,” they all said in unison. Then there was silence save for the sound of creaking chairs and cigarette puffing.
“Ask them, Jack,” said my mom.
One of the men turned his head my way. “Ask us what? You want directions? Town goes north and south. Left is north.” He went back to his cards.
“Right is south,” said another of them. They all looked the same. Interchangeable Shriners. I wondered if they drove those tiny cars during the Thanksgiving Day parade, which I imagined would’ve lasted all of ten seconds before it hit the next town over.
“Sorry, no, not directions,” I replied. “I’m sort of looking for someone. A Shriner.”
That seemed to get their attention. “You a cop, son?” asked the guy who had pointed me north.
I sh
