Luther felt all the fight in him just roll up and die. Just lie down. Just wither away. “What do you want?”

“I want a vault.” McKenna’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I want the Crisis mailing list.”

“What?”

“The Crisis. The newsletter of the National Association for the Advancement of Chimpanzees.”

“I know what it is. Where would I get the mailing list?”

“Well, Isaiah Giddreaux must have access to it. There must be a copy of it somewhere in that nigger-bourgeoisie palace you call home. Find it.”

“And if I build your vault and find your mailing list?”

“Don’t adopt the tone of someone who has options, Luther.”

“Fine. What do you want me to put in this vault?” Luther asked.

“You keep asking questions?” McKenna draped his arm over Luther’s shoulders. “Maybe it’ll be you.”

Leaving another ineffectual BSC meeting, Danny was exhausted as he headed for the el stop at Roxbury Crossing, and Steve Coyle fell in beside him as Danny knew he would. Steve was still coming to meetings, still making people wish he’d go away, still talking about grander and grander fool-ambitions. Danny had to report for duty in four hours and wished only to lay his head to his pillow and sleep for a day or so.

“She’s still here,” Steve said as they walked up the stairs to the el.

“Who?”

“Tessa Ficara,” Steve said. “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten her.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Danny said, and it came out too sharp.

“I’ve been talking to people,” Steve said quickly. “People who owe me from when I worked the streets.”

Danny wondered just who these people could be. Cops were always under the misguided impression that people felt gratitude or indebtedness toward them when nothing could be further from the truth. Unless you were saving their lives or their wallets, people resented cops. They did not want you around.

“Talking to people is a bit dangerous,” he said. “In the North End particularly.”

“I told you,” Steve said, “my sources owe me. They trust me. Anyway, she’s not in the North End. She’s over here in Roxbury.”

The train entered the station with screaming brakes, and they boarded it and took seats on the empty car. “Roxbury, uh?”

“Yeah. Somewhere between Columbus and Warren, and she’s working with Galleani himself on something big.”

“Something bigger than the landmass between Columbus and Warren?”

“Look,” Steve said as they burst from a tunnel and the lights of the city suddenly dipped below them as the track rose, “this one guy told me he’ll get me an exact address for fifty bucks.”

“Fifty bucks?”

“Why do you keep repeating what I say?”

Danny held up a hand. “I’m tired. Sorry. Steve, I don’t have fifty bucks.”

“I know, I know.”

“That’s over two weeks’ pay.”

“I said I know. Jesus.”

“I could lay my hands on three. Maybe four?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean, whatever you can do. I mean, we want to get this bitch, right?”

Truth was, ever since he’d shot Federico, Danny hadn’t given Tessa a sole thought. He couldn’t explain why that was, just that it was.