“No, tell us!”

I turned my head, saw Manny standing on the landing above me, a smile even bigger than John’s on his face.

“This,” Largeant said, “is Patrick Kenzie, the private detective who helped catch that serial killer Gerry Glynn and his partner. The hero who saved that woman and her baby in Dorchester back in November? You remember?”

And a few people clapped.

But none as loud as Manny and John Byrne.

I resisted the urge to drop my head into my hands and cry.

“Here’s my card.” Largeant pressed it into my hand. “Any time, you know, you want to hang out or you need help on a case, you just pick up the phone, Mr. Kenzie.”

Any time I need help on a case. Right. Thanks.

The crowd was dispersing now that they were reasonably sure no one was going to get shot. All except for the men with the buttoned-up coats and the stony faces—they stepped aside for the other onlookers to leave and kept their eyes on me.

Manny came down the steps to the sidewalk, stood beside me, leaned in close to my ear.

“Hi,” he said.

Largeant said, “Well, I guess you have to get your friend to the hospital and I have to get over there.” He gestured in the direction of the Arlington Street corner. He clapped my shoulder with his hand. “A real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kenzie.”

“Sure,” I said as Manny took a step closer to me.

“G’night.” Largeant turned and stepped out onto Beacon, began to cross.

Manny clapped his hand on my shoulder. “A real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kenzie.”

“Officer Largeant,” I called, and Manny dropped his hand.

Largeant turned, looked back at me.

“Wait up.” I walked to the curb, and two pituitary cases stepped in front of me for a moment. Then one of them glanced over my shoulder, made a face, and then both parted grudgingly. I stepped between them and out onto Beacon.

“Yeah, Mr. Kenzie?” Largeant seemed confused.

“I thought I’d join you, see if any of my buddies are at the scene.” I nodded in the direction of Arlington.

“What about your friend, Mr. Kenzie?”

I looked back at Manny and John. They had their heads cocked, waiting for my answer.

“Manny,” I called. “You sure you’ll take him?”

Manny said, “I—”

“I guess your car is faster than walking. You’re right.”

“Oh,” Largeant said, “he’s got a car.”

“Nice one, too. Ain’t that right, Manny?”

“Cherry,” Manny said with a tight smile.

“Well,” Largeant said.

“Well,” I said, “Manny, you best get going. Good luck, John.” I waved.

Largeant said, “So, Mr. Kenzie, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Gerry Glynn. How’d you—”

The Crown Victoria slid up behind us.

“My ride!” I said.

Largeant turned and looked at the car.