Six months later, Cully Morrigan wore a tuxedo, tugging at the collar. At his side was the shaky Paul Twitchell. They kept their eyes on the guests arriving at the church. They stood on either side of the door when the ceremony started.
Prop Wash escorted Gerry Nolan down the aisle, giving her away, as her father the governor had died some years previously. Hop Harrigan and his best man, Tank Tinker, waited with the reverend as the march played its last triumphant strains.
“Kind of chokes you up,” whispered the stool pigeon.
“Shut up,” said Morrigan. “I don’t want to be distracted.”
Adam Blake stood at the door of the building in his own black suit and gold collar pin. His neutral expression didn’t quite smile, but his metallic green eyes seemed to laugh as he turned away.