The band broke up and diffused towards the bar. I slipped behind a pillar, where I was out of sight, but had a decent view of the dining hall. I saw Pinky sitting opposite some old dame I took to be his mother, and Fedora-raincoat scowling at his date. A moment later, he left the table and headed for the bar.

The owner passed by, but my attention was drawn by the chanteuse. A mature, statuesque blonde wearing a flowing scarlet dress and a shawl of deeper red, she moved with a grace and confidence that would have seemed affected in anyone younger; with her it was completely natural. Captivated, I watched her float, will-o’-the-wisp-like, over to one of the VIP booths where, I saw with a jolt, DeSibio himself was seated. She proffered a hand, and he rose to kiss it, remaining standing as a brief exchange took place. I heard her laugh as he presented some sort of gift; she reciprocated with a kiss on the cheek, before drifting away, leaving him grinning like a schoolboy.

A moment later, pandemonium erupted.