Sam nodded, then took a hot slug of whiskey on his tongue. He almost gagged. But he held the whiskey in his mouth, letting it burn. Already, he could hear his ears buzzing. He could feel his panic subside, replaced by a warm wash of reassurance.

Harry said, “I just came from city hall. We are now under martial law.”

“Silas Wright did that?”

“We have a new mayor,” Harry said.

“Who is it, Walker Taylor? Fishblate? Or Cousin Hugh?”

Harry Calabash smiled, recalling the look of utter bewilderment on Fishblate’s face as Waddell’s coterie had marched past him into the board chambers—somebody clearly had welshed on a deal. “Waddell,” he said.

Sam took another slug of the whiskey and laughed. So Waddell had been wired in all along. Running a shadow government.

Harry clinked his glass against Sam’s. “Congratulations, Samuel. You backed the right horse. Or the right horse backed you.”

They drank together and ordered more. Sam was feeling a warm surge of euphoria. Maybe some good would come out of this after all. Maybe he and Gray Ellen would have the future here they deserved.

Harry drank hard and needed a new whiskey after two gulps. The bartender obliged. Looking away at the green-coated barman, he said to Sam, “You’re fooling yourself if you think so.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

Harry turned and drew closer to be heard above the growing noise of the newspapermen at the tables behind them. “No, but you’re working out all the angles. Your ambition is trying to fool your conscience.”

Sam finished his glass and demanded another.

Harry put a hand on his sleeve. Sam had never noticed before how crooked and bony Harry’s fingers were. The sallow skin was stippled with liver spots. Suddenly, he didn’t want Harry to touch him.

“You’re a whisker away from the sweetest deal you’ve ever known,” Harry said. “All it takes to clinch it is to say, Yes, sir,’ next time they ask you something. Doesn’t matter what they ask—might be murder, might be ‘Pass the salt.’ Just say, Yes, sir,’ and you’ll be sitting pretty. Young man on the rise. Way I was, once upon a time.”

“Lay off, Harry.”

Harry smiled. “You’re about to find out if you have any character.”

They had several more drinks, and the sun was already well down before Sam remembered he was looking for Gray Ellen. His stomach was boiling, and his cheeks were flushed. The conversations around him were just a buzzing racket. He stepped away from the bar and momentarily lost his balance. He wanted to pay for his drinks, but the barman stood in the corner and made no move to present a bill. Sam’s thinking was fuzzy. He had no idea how bills were paid at the Cape Fear Club. Let Harry handle it—he could square with Harry tomorrow.