Danny said, “Nerves?”

Fraina stroked his beard and nodded. “That’s what I thought at first. But then I began to wonder. There were three of us clustered together. Four, if we count you bringing up the rear. And beyond us? A big, heavy touring car. So, I put it to you, Comrade Sante, where did the bullets go?”

“The sidewalk, I’d guess.”

Fraina clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We checked there. We checked everywhere within a two-block radius. This was easy to do, because the police never checked. They never looked. A gun fired within city limits. Two shots discharged? And the police treated it as if it were no more than a hurled insult.”

“Hmm,” Danny said. “That is—”

“Are you federal?”

“Comrade?”

Fraina removed his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “Justice Department? Immigration? Bureau of Investigation?”

“I don’t—”

He stood and placed his glasses back on. He looked down at Danny. “Or local, perhaps? Part of this undercover dragnet we hear is sweeping the city? I understand the anarchists in Revere have a new member who claims to be from the north of Italy but speaks with the accent and cadence of one from the south.” He strolled around to the back of Danny’s chair. “And you, Daniel? Which are you?”

“I’m Daniel Sante, a machinist from Harlansburg, Pennsylvania. I’m no bull, Comrade. I’m no government slug. I am exactly who I say I am.”

Fraina crouched behind him. He leaned in and whispered in Danny’s ear, “What other response would you give?”

“None.” Danny tilted his head until he could see Fraina’s lean profile. “Because it’s the truth.”

Fraina placed his hands on the back of the chair. “A man tries to assassinate me and just happens to be a terrible shot. You come to my rescue because you just happen to be exiting at the same time as I. The police just happen to arrive within seconds of the gunshot. Everyone in the restaurant is detained and yet none are questioned. The assassin vanishes from police custody. You are released without charge and, in the height of providence, just happen to be a writer of some talent.” He strolled around to the front of the chair again and tapped his temple. “You see how fortunate all these events are?”

“Then they’re fortunate.”

“I don’t believe in luck, Comrade. I believe in logic. And this story of yours has none.” He crouched in front of Danny. “Go now. Tell your bourgeois bosses that the Lettish Workingman’s Society is above reproach and violates no law. Tell them not to send a second rube to prove otherwise.”

Danny heard footsteps enter the storeroom behind him. More than a pair. Maybe three pair, all told.

“I am exactly who I say,” Danny said. “I am dedicated to the cause and to the revolution. I’m not leaving. I refuse to deny who I am for any man.”

Fraina raised himself from his haunches. “Go.”

“No, Comrade.”