“Scollay Square.”

“Sir?”

“Scollay Square. That’s where you ran into Aiden, yes?”

“Uh, yes, sir, I did.”

“What brought you over there? You’ve no friends in the West End, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“And you live in the South End. As we know, you work over here, so…”

The captain rolled the glass between his hands and waited.

Luther said, “Well, you know why most men go to Scollay Square, sir.” He tried for a conspiratorial smile.

“I do,” Captain Coughlin said. “I do, Luther. But even Scollay Square has its racial principles. I’m to assume you were at Mama Hennigan’s, then? ’Tis the only place I know in the square that services coloreds.”

“Yes, sir,” Luther said, although by now he knew he’d walked into a trap.

The captain reached into his humidor. He removed two cigars and snipped the ends and handed one to Luther. He lit it for him and then lit his own.

“I understand my friend Eddie was giving you a bit of a hard time.”

Luther said, “Uh, sir, I don’t know that I would—”

“Aiden told me,” the captain said.

“Oh.”

“I’ve spoken to Eddie on your behalf. I owe you that for saving my son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I promise he’ll be a bother to you no longer.”

“I really do appreciate that, sir. Thank you again.”

The captain raised his glass and Luther did the same and they both took a drink of the fine Irish whiskey.

The captain reached behind him again and came back with a white envelope that he tapped against his thigh. “And Helen Grady, she’s working out as a house woman, she is?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“No doubts to her competency or her work ethic?”

“Absolutely none, sir.”

Helen was as cold and distant to Luther as the day she’d arrived five months ago, but that woman could work, boy.

“I’m glad to hear that.” The captain handed Luther the envelope. “Because she’ll be doing the job of two now.”

Luther opened the envelope and saw the small sheaf of money inside.

“There’s two weeks’ severance in there, Luther. We closed Mama Hennigan’s a week ago for code violations. The only person you know in Scollay Square is one who used to be in my employ. It explains the food that’s gone missing from my pantry these past few months, a theft that Helen Grady began to report to me weeks ago.” He considered Luther over his scotch glass as he drained it. “Stealing food from my home, Luther? You’re aware I’d be well within my rights to shoot you where you sit?”

Luther didn’t respond to that. He reached over and placed his glass on the edge of the desk. He stood. He held out his hand. The captain considered it for a moment, then placed his cigar in the ashtray and shook the hand.

“Good-bye, Luther,” he said pleasantly.

“Good-bye, Captain, sir.”

When he returned to the house on St. Botolph, it was empty. A note waited on the kitchen table.