“Ever been in a police car before?”

“Never, suh.”

McKenna chuckled loud, as if he were spitting rocks. “Ah, Luther, you may find this hard to believe but before Tom Coughlin and I became brothers of the badge, we spent a fair amount of time on the wrong side of the law. Saw us some paddy wagons we did and, sure, no small amount of Friday-night drunk tanks.” He waved his hand. “It’s the way of things for the immigrant class, this oat sowing, this figuring out of the mores. I just assumed you’d taken part in the same rituals.”

“I’m not an immigrant, suh.”

McKenna looked over at him. “What’s that?”

“I was born here, suh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just…you said it was the way of things for immigrants, and that may be so, but I was saying that I’m not—”

“What may be so?”

“Sir?”

“What may be so?” McKenna smiled at him as they rolled under a streetlight.

“Suh, I don’t know what you—”

“You said.”

“Suh?”

“You said. You said jail may be the way of things for immigrants.”

“No, suh, I didn’t.”

McKenna tugged on his earlobe. “Me head must be filled with the wax then.”

Luther said nothing, just stared out the windshield as they stopped at a light at the corner of D and West Broadway.

“Do you have something against immigrants?” Eddie McKenna said.

“No, suh. No.”

“Think we haven’t earned our seat at the table yet?”

“No.”

“Supposed to wait for our children’s children to achieve that honor on our behalf, are we?”

“Suh, I never meant to—”

McKenna wagged a finger at Luther and laughed loudly. “I got you there, Luther. I pulled your leg there, I did.” He slapped Luther’s knee and let loose another hearty laugh as the light turned green. He continued up Broadway.

“Good one, suh. You sure had me.”

“I sho’ did!” McKenna said and slapped the dashboard. They drove over the Broadway Bridge. “Do you like working for the Coughlins?”

“I do, suh, yes.”

“And the Giddreauxs?”

“Suh?”

“The Giddreauxs, son. You don’t think I know of them? Isaiah’s quite the high-toned-Negroid-celebrity up in these parts. Has the ear of Du Bois, they say. Has a vision of colored equality, of all things, in our fair city. Won’t that be something?”

“Yes, suh.”

“Sure, that’d be grand stuff indeed.” He smiled the warmest of smiles. “Of course, you’d find some folk who would argue the Giddreauxs are not friends to your people. That they are, in fact, enemies. That they will push this dream of equality to a dire conclusion, and the blood of your race will flood these streets. That’s what some would say.” He placed a hand to his own chest. “Some. Not all, not all. ’Tis a shame there has to be so much discord in this world. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, suh.”

“A tragic shame.” McKenna shook his head and tsk-tsked as he turned onto St. Botolph Street. “Your family?”