Largeant opened it as a crowd began to gather. They’d been on the perimeter the whole time, but now it was really getting interesting and they closed in from either side of us. A few were the Messengers we’d seen earlier, all wide-eyed and gee-gosh-golly about this example of late-twentieth-century decadence happening right in front of them. Two men getting rousted on Beacon Street, another sure sign of the apocalypse.

Others were office workers or folks who’d been out walking their dogs or having coffee at the Starbucks fifty yards away. Some had come from the perpetual line out in front of Cheers, presumably deciding that they could take out a second mortgage to buy a beer anytime, but this was special.

And then there were a few I didn’t like seeing at all. Men, well dressed, coats closed over their waists, eyes like pinpoints bearing down on me. Sprung from the same pods as Manny. They stood on the edges of the crowd, spread out so that they surrounded me whether I headed up toward Arlington, down toward Charles, or across to the Garden. Mean-looking, serious men.

Largeant handed John’s wallet back and John gave me another little smile as he placed it in his front pants pocket.

“Now you, sir.”

I handed him my wallet and he opened it, shone his flashlight on it. As inconspicuously as possible, John tried to crane his neck around to get a look, but Largeant snapped it shut too quickly.

I caught John’s eye and smiled myself. Better luck next time, shithead.

“There you go, Mr. Kenzie,” Largeant said and I felt several of my internal organs drop into my stomach. He handed me back the wallet as John Byrne beamed a grin the size of Rhode Island, then mouthed “Kenzie” to himself with a satisfied nod.

I felt like weeping.

And then I looked out on Beacon and saw the one thing that hadn’t depressed me in the last five minutes—Angie idling by the Garden in our brown Crown Victoria. The car interior was dark, but I could see the coal of her cigarette every time she brought it to her lips.

“Mr. Kenzie?” a voice said softly.

It was Largeant and he was looking up at me like a puppy and I suddenly felt pure dread because I had a pretty good idea where this was going.

“I’d just like to shake your hand, sir.”

“No, no,” I said, a sick smile on my face.

“Go on,” John said gleefully. “Shake the man’s hand!”

“Please, sir. It would be an honor to shake the hand of the man who brought down those skells Arujo and Glynn.”

John Byrne raised an eyebrow at me.

I shook Largeant’s hand even though I wanted to coldcock the stupid bastard. “My pleasure,” I managed.

Largeant was smiling and nodding and rippling all over. “You know who this is?” he said to the crowd.