Two hands gripped his arms, and his feet left the floor and he sailed through the air and back through the doors. He cleared the sidewalk and landed on the street and bounced. He felt a burn in both knees and his right hand as he tried to come to a stop. And then he wasn’t bouncing anymore. Someone stepped over him and kept walking. He lay there nauseated and heard brown-toothed Rory say, “No, allow me, your lordship.”

Rory grasped Joe by his hair. Joe swatted at his arms and Rory tightened his grip.

He held Joe a few inches off the ground. Joe’s scalp screamed and Rory’s back teeth were black as he smiled. When he burped it smelled of wine and eggs again. “You’ve got trimmed nails and, sure, fine clothes, Young Lord John. You’re quite the picture.”

Joe said, “My father is—”

Rory squeezed Joe’s jaw in his hand. “You’ll be finding a new father in me, so ye might want to save your fucking energy, your lordship.”

He drew his hand back and Joe kicked him. He connected with Rory’s knee first and the man’s grip loosened in his hair and Joe got his whole body into the next kick and drove it into the man’s inner thigh. He’d been aiming for his groin but it hadn’t worked out. But the kick was sharp enough to make Rory hiss and wince and let go of his hair.

That’s when the straight razor came out.

Joe dropped to all fours and scrambled between Rory’s legs. Once he’d cleared them, he stayed that way, moving through the dense crowd on his hands and knees—between a pair of dark trousers and then a pair of tan ones, then two-toned spats followed by brown work boots caked with dried mud. He didn’t look back. He just kept crawling, feeling like a crab, scuttling left, then right, then left again, the pairs of legs growing denser and denser, the air carrying less and less oxygen as he crawled ever deeper into the heart of the mob.

At nine-fifteen, Thomas received a call from General Cole, the acting commissioner.

“Are you in contact with Captain Morton at the Sixth?” General Cole said.

“Constant contact, General.”

“How many men does he have at his command?”

“A hundred, sir. Mostly volunteers.”

“And you, Captain?”

“About the same, General.”

General Cole said, “We’re sending the Tenth Regiment of the State Guard to the Broadway Bridge. You and Captain Morton are to sweep the crowd up West Broadway toward the bridge. You understand, Captain?”

“Yes, General.”

“We’ll pin them down there. We’ll start making arrests and hauling them into trucks. That sight alone should disperse the majority of them.”

“I agree.”

“We’ll meet at the bridge at twenty-two hundred, Captain. You think that gives you enough time to push them toward my net?”

“I was just waiting on your orders, General.”

“Well, now you have them, Captain. See you soon.”

He hung up and Thomas rang Sergeant Eigen’s desk. When he answered, Thomas said, “Assemble the men immediately,” and hung up.