“None,” O’Meara agreed.

Danny nodded.

O’Meara watched him. The men watched him.

“But…” Danny kept his voice level. “There was a promise made, sir. A promise that our wages would freeze for the duration of the war, but that we would be rewarded for our patience with a two-hundred-a-year increase as soon as the war ended.” Danny dared look around the room now, at all the eyes fixed upon him. He hoped they couldn’t see the tremors that rippled down the backs of his legs.

“I sympathize,” O’Meara said. “I do, Officer Coughlin. But that cost-of-living increase is a very real thing. And the city is strapped. It’s not simple. I wish it were.”

Danny nodded and went to sit back down and then found he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t let him. He looked back at O’Meara and could feel the decency that lived in the man like a vital organ. He caught Mark Denton’s eye, and Denton nodded.

“Sir,” Danny said, “we have no doubt that you sympathize. None whatsoever. And we know the city is strapped. Yes. Yes.” Danny took a breath. “But a promise, sir, is a promise. Maybe that’s what all this is about in the end. And you said it wasn’t simple, but it is, sir. I would respectfully submit that it is. Not easy. Quite hard. But simple. A lot of fine, brave men can’t make ends meet. And a promise is a promise.”

No one spoke. No one moved. It was as if a grenade had been lobbed into the center of the room and had failed to go off.

O’Meara stood. The men hastily cleared a path as he crossed in front of the hearth until he’d reached Danny. He held out his hand. Danny had to place his beer on the mantel above the hearth and then he placed his own shaky hand in the older man’s grip.

The old man held it fast, not moving his arm up or down.

“A promise is a promise,” O’Meara said.

“Yes, sir,” Danny managed.

O’Meara nodded and let go of his hand and turned to the room. Danny felt the moment freeze in time, as if woven by gods into the mural of history—Danny Coughlin and the Great Man standing side by side with the fire crackling behind them.

O’Meara raised his pint. “You are the pride of this great city, men. And I am proud to call myself one of you. And a promise is a promise.”

Danny felt the fire at his back. Felt O’Meara’s hand against his spine.

“Do you trust me?” O’Meara shouted. “Do I have your faith?”

A chorus rose up: “Yes, sir!”

“I will not let you down. I will not.”

Danny saw it rise in their faces: love. Simply that.

“A little more patience, men, that’s all I ask. I know that’s a tall order, sure. I do. But will you indulge an old man just a little longer?”

“Yes, sir!”

O’Meara took a great breath through his nose and raised his glass higher. “To the men of the Boston Police Department—you have no peers in this nation.”