More shouts of “Hear! Hear!” Someone nudged someone and that someone nudged someone else and they all looked over to see Boston police commissioner Stephen O’Meara standing at the bar, waiting for his pint. Once the pint had been drawn and the quiet had fallen over the bar, the great man waited for the tender to shave off the foam with a straight razor. He paid for the pint and waited for his change, his back to the room. The bartender rang up the sale and handed the coins back to Stephen O’Meara. O’Meara left one of those coins on the bar, pocketed the rest, and turned to the room.

Deegan and Gale lowered their heads, awaiting execution.

O’Meara made his way carefully through the men, holding his pint aloft to keep it from spilling, and took a seat by the hearth between Marty Leary and Denny Toole. He looked at the assembled men with a soft sweep of his kind eyes before he sipped at his beer, and the foam crept into his mustache like a silkworm.

“Cold out there.” He took another sip of his beer and the logs crackled behind him. “A fine fire in here, though.” He nodded just once but seemed to encompass each of them with the gesture. “I’ve no answer for you, men. You aren’t getting right-paid and that’s a fact.”

No one dared speak. The men, who just moments before had been the loudest, the most profane, the angriest and most publicly injured, averted their eyes.

O’Meara gave them all a grim smile and even nudged Denny Toole’s knee with his own. “It’s a fine spot, isn’t it?” His eyes swept them again, searching for something or someone. “Young Coughlin, is that you under that beard?”

Danny found those kind eyes meeting his and his chest tightened. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll take it you’re working undercover.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As a bear?”

The room broke out in laughter.

“Not quite, sir. Close.”

O’Meara’s gaze softened and was so stripped of pride Danny felt as if they were the only two men in the room. “I’ve known your father a long time, son. How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine, sir.” Danny could feel the eyes of the other men now.

“As gracious a woman as any who ever lived. Tell her I said hello, would you?”

“I will, sir.”

“If I may inquire—what is your position on this economic stalemate?”

The men turned in his direction while O’Meara took another sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Danny’s.

“I understand,” Danny began, and then his throat went dry. He wished the room would go dark, pitch-black, so that he could stop feeling their eyes. Christ.

He took a sip from his own pint and tried again. “I understand, sir, that cost of living is affecting the city and funds are tight. I do.”

O’Meara nodded.

“And I understand, sir, that we are not private citizens but public servants, sworn to do our duty. And that there is no higher calling than that of the public servant.”