Danny didn’t point out that two weeks earlier Steve had told Danny he was the only person from the old days who answered his calls. He just nodded and smiled his encouragement. What else could you do?

“Another?” Steve said.

Danny looked at his watch. He was meeting Nathan Bishop for dinner at seven. He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

Steve, who’d already signaled the bartender, covered the dejection that flashed across his eyes with his too-big smile and a laugh-bark. “All set, Kevin.”

The bartender scowled and removed his hand from the tap. “You owe me a dollar twenty, Coyle. And you best have it this time, rummy.”

Steve patted his pockets but Danny said, “I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.” Danny slid out of the booth and approached the bar. “Hey, Kevin. Got a sec’?”

The bartender came over like he was doing a favor. “What?”

Danny placed the dollar and four nickels on the bar. “For you.”

“Must be my birthday.”

When he reached for the money, Danny caught his wrist and pulled it toward him.

“Smile or I break it.”

“What?”

“Smile like we’re chatting about the Sox or I’ll break your fucking wrist.”

Kevin smiled, his jaw clenched, eyes starting to bulge.

“I ever hear you call my friend ‘rummy’ again, you fucking bartender, I’ll knock out all your teeth and feed them back to you through your ass.”

“I—”

Danny twisted the flesh in his hand. “Don’t you do a fucking thing but nod.”

Kevin bit his lower lip and nodded four times.

“And his next round’s on the house,” Danny said and let go of his wrist.

They walked up Hanover in the fading of the day’s light. Danny planned to slip into his rooming house and grab a few pieces of warmer clothing to bring back to his cover apartment. Steve said he just wanted to wander through his old neighborhood. They’d reached Prince Street when crowds ran past them toward Salem Street. When they reached the corner where Danny’s building stood, they saw a sea of people surrounding a black Hudson Super Six, a few men and several boys jumping on and off the running boards and the hood.

“What the hell?” Steve said.

“Officer Danny! Officer Danny!” Mrs. DiMassi waved frantically at him from the stoop. Danny lowered his head for a moment—weeks of undercover work possibly blown because an old woman recognized him, beard and all, from twenty yards away. Through the throng, Danny saw that the driver of the car had a straw hat, as did the passenger.

“They try and take my niece,” Mrs. DiMassi said when he and Steve reached her. “They try and take Arabella.”

Danny, with a fresh angle on the car, could see Rayme Finch behind the wheel, tooting the horn as he tried to move the car forward.

The crowd wasn’t having it. They weren’t throwing anything yet, but they were yelling and clenching their fists and shouting curses in Italian. Danny saw two members of the Black Hand moving along the edges of the mob.