“I’ve been working on that for two weeks.”

McKenna leafed through it, his eyebrows going up a few times.

“I stained a few pages with coffee, even put a cigarette hole in one.”

McKenna whistled softly. “I noticed.”

“It’s the political musings of Daniel Sante. What do you think?”

McKenna thumbed through it. “You covered Montreal and the Spartacists. Nice. Oooh—Seattle and Ole Hanson. Good, good. You got Archangel in here?”

“Of course.”

“The Versailles Conference?”

“You mean as a world-domination conspiracy?” Danny rolled his eyes. “You think I’d miss that one?”

“Careful,” Eddie said without looking up. “Cocky gets undercover men hurt.”

“I’ve gotten nowhere in weeks, Eddie. How could I possibly be cocky? I got the notebook and Bishop said he’ll show it to Fraina, no promises. That’s it.”

Eddie handed it back. “That’s good stuff. You’d almost think you believed it.”

Danny let the comment pass and put the notebook back in his coat pocket.

Eddie flicked open his watch. “Stay away from union meetings for a while.”

“I can’t.”

Eddie closed his watch and returned it to his vest. “Oh, that’s right. You are the BSC these days.”

“Bullshit.”

“After the meeting you had with O’Meara the other night, that is the rumor, trust me.” He smiled softly. “Almost thirty years on this force and I’ll bet our dear commissioner doesn’t even know my name.”

Danny said, “Right place at the right time, I guess.”

“Wrong place.” He frowned. “You better watch yourself, boy. Because others have started watching you. Take some advice from Uncle Eddie—step back. There are storms imminent everywhere. Everywhere. On the streets, in the factory yards, and now in our own department. Power? That’s ephemeral, Dan. More so now than ever before. You keep your head down.”

“It’s already up.”

Eddie slapped the table.

Danny leaned back. He’d never seen Eddie McKenna lose his slippery calm.

“If you get your face in the paper meeting with the commissioner? The mayor? Have you thought of what that means to my investigation? I can’t use you if Daniel Sante, apprentice-Bolshevik, becomes Aiden Coughlin, face of the BSC. I need Fraina’s mailing list.”

Danny stared across at this man he’d known his whole life. Seeing a new side to him, a side he’d suspected was there all along but had never actually witnessed.

“Why the mailing lists, Eddie? I thought we were looking for evidence of May Day uprising plans.”

“We’re looking for both,” Eddie said. “But if they’re as tight-lipped as you say, Dan, and if your detecting capabilities are a little less substantial than I’d hoped, then you just get me that mailing list before your face is all over the front page. Could you do that for your uncle, pal?” He stepped out of the booth and shrugged into his coat, tossed some coins on the table. “That should do it.”

“We just got here,” Danny said.

Eddie worked his face back into the mask it had always been around Danny—impish and benign. “City never sleeps, boy. I’ve got business in Brighton.”