"The two guys," Debbie said, "the Pajonnys-I love the name-they were friends of his?"

"From school, years ago."

"It was their idea?"

"They hired Terry to drive the truck, period."

"And they tried to put it on him and went down."

"The state," Fran said, "claimed they were losing a hundred and fifty mil a year in tax revenues, so they made an example of the Pajonnys, hit 'em with five to ten. Johnny's already out."

Debbie said, "Johnny Pajonny. It gets better. Was he in any trouble before?"

"On occasion, but he'd never done state time."

"What about Terry?"

"Never in any trouble before this-even though he was always kind of a tough kid. When we were little and I was what you might call pudgy?"

"What're you now, hefty?"

"Be nice. Who else comes to visit?"

"The other kids picked on you."

"The morons, they'd call me Fat Francis, make fun of my name.

'Oh, Fran-cis, where're your dolls?' Or they'd call me Frannie, which I hated. But if Terry was around, uh-unh, they left me alone."

"Your big brother."

"Actually he's two years younger, but was a real hardnose, played football three years in high school, liked to box-he'd take on bigger guys, it didn't matter. Even if he was getting beat up he always hung in." Fran's expression softened, seeing Terry the priest now in his white cassock. He said, "I've been thinking, five years in an African village--he comes home, I might not even know him."

"Maybe he's a saint," Debbie said.

Fran smiled at the idea. "I wouldn't go that far. But who knows?"

Ten women, seven of them black, occupied the wooden benches that faced the TV set in C dorm, waiting for their favorite sitcom to come on. Debbie came down from the second-floor tier above their heads and stepped in front of the TV set.