The wedding came with ranks of people no one would remember—servers, chefs, security guards—into which I could insert my conspirators without notice. When Deonte lifts his tray back up, he leaves behind the cloth napkin he placed on the table, using the tray for cover. The napkin looks forgotten, as if it was there when “the server” first came over, but it wasn’t. Now it is. Right in front of Mitchum.
