Mark stood. “Let’s go, Dan.”

Curtis narrowed his eyes and they were dark marbles of wasted promise. “If you do not sit, I will suspend you—right here and right now—and you can fight your battle for reinstatement through a judge.”

Mark sat. “You are making a grave mistake, sir. When the press hear about—”

“They stayed home today,” Curtis said.

“What?”

“Once they were informed late last night that Mayor Peters would not be in attendance and that the main order of business would have very little to do with this ‘union’ you call a social club, they decided to spend time with their families. Do you know any well enough to possess their home telephone numbers, Patrolman Denton?”

Danny felt numb and sickly warm as Curtis turned his attention back to him.

“Patrolman Coughlin, I feel you are wasted in street patrol. I would like you to join Detective Sergeant Steven Harris in Internal Affairs.”

Danny felt the numbness leave him. He shook his head. “No, sir.”

“You’re refusing a request from your commissioner? You, who slept with a bomb thrower? A bomb thrower who, as far as we know, is still lurking in our streets?”

“I am, sir, but respectfully.”

“There is no respect in the denial of a superior’s request.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way, sir.”

Curtis leaned back in his chair. “So you’re a friend of the workingman, of the Bolsheviki, of the subversive who masquerades as the ‘common man.’”

“I believe the Boston Social Club represents the men of the BPD, sir.”

“I do not,” Curtis said. He drummed his hand on the desktop.

“That’s clear, sir.” This time Danny stood up.

Curtis allowed himself a pinched smile as Mark stood as well. Danny and Mark donned their topcoats and Curtis leaned back in his chair.

“The days of this department being run, sub rosa, by men like Edward McKenna and your father are over. The days the department capitulates to the demands of Bolsheviki are long gone as well. Patrolman Denton, stand at attention if you please, sir.”

Mark turned his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back.

“You are reassigned to Precinct Fifteen in Charlestown. You are to report there immediately. That means this afternoon, Patrolman, and begin your duties on the split shift from noon to midnight.”

Mark knew exactly what that meant: There’d be no way to hold meetings at Fay Hall if he was locked down in Charlestown from twelve to twelve.

“Officer Coughlin, at attention. You are reassigned as well.”

“To, sir?”

“A special detail. You’re familiar with those as a matter of record.”

“Yes, sir.”

The commissioner leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his belly. “You’re on strike detail until further notice. Anytime the workingman walks out on the good men who deem to pay him, you will be there to ensure that no violence takes place. You’ll be loaned out on an as-needed basis to police departments across the state. Until further notice, Officer Coughlin, you’re a strike breaker.”