Once he’d toured Scollay Square, he thought he’d seen the worst of it, but then he saw the North End, and not long thereafter, South Boston. He realized that nightmares so bad he’d never dared dream them had come to fruition.

The voters had handed him a city of peerless reputation. The Athens of America, the birthplace of the American Revolution and two presidents, seat to more higher education than any other city in the nation, the Hub of the universe.

And on his watch, it was disassembling itself brick by brick.

They crossed back over the Broadway Bridge, leaving behind the flames and screams of the South Boston slum. Andrew Peters told Horace Russell to take him to the nearest phone. They found one at the Castle Square Hotel in the South End, which was, for the moment, the only quiet neighborhood they’d passed through tonight.

With the bell staff and the manager conspicuously watching, Mayor Peters called the Commonwealth Armory. He informed the soldier who answered who he was and told him to get Major Dallup to the phone on the double

“Dallup here.”

“Major. Mayor Peters.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you currently in command of the motor corps and the First Cavalry Troop?”

“I am, sir. Under the command of General Stevens and Colonel Dalton, sir.”

“Who are where presently?”

“I believe with Governor Coolidge at the State House, sir.”

“Then you are in active command, Major. Your men are to stay at the armory and stand at readiness. They are not to go home. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will be by to review them and to give you your deployment assignments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are going to put down some riots tonight, Major.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

When Peters arrived at the armory fifteen minutes later, he saw a trooper exit the building and head up Commonwealth toward Brighton.

“Trooper!” He left the car and held up a hand. “Where are you going?”

The trooper looked at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the mayor of Boston.”

The trooper immediately straightened and then saluted. “My apologies, sir.”

Peters returned the salute. “Where are you going, son?”

“Home, sir. I live right up the—”

“You were given orders to stand at the ready.”

The trooper nodded. “But those orders were countermanded by General Stevens.”

“Go back inside,” Peters said.

As the trooper opened the door, several more troopers started to file out, but the original deserter pushed them back inside, saying, “The mayor, the mayor.”

Peters strode inside and immediately spied a man with a major’s oak leaf cluster by the staircase leading up to the orderly room.

“Major Dallup!”

“Sir!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Peters’s hand swept around the armory, at the men with their collars unbuttoned, weaponless, shifting in place.

“Sir, if I could explain.”

“Please do!” Peters was surprised to hear the sound of his voice, raised, flinty.

Before Major Dallup could explain anything, however, a voice boomed from the top of the stairs.