The el car rolled through a shell of a city, a ghost town of ash and glass pebbles. No one on the streets but the State Guard. All that rage of the last two days gone corked up and bottled. Machine guns could have that effect, Luther didn’t doubt it, but he wondered if there were more to it than just the show of power. Maybe in the end the need to postpone the truth—we are the mob—was stronger than the ecstasy of giving in to it. Maybe everyone just woke up this morning ashamed, tired, unable to face another pointless night. Maybe they looked at those machine guns and a sigh of relief left their hearts. Daddy was home now. They no longer had to fear he’d left them alone, left them for good.

They got off the el at Roxbury Crossing and walked toward Fay Hall.

Nora said, “How are the Giddreauxs taking your departure?”

Luther shrugged. “They understand. I think Yvette had taken a bit more of a shine to me than she’d counted on, so it’s hard, but they understand.”

“You’re leaving today?”

“Tomorrow,” Luther said.

“You’ll write.”

“Yes, ma’am. Ya’ll should think of coming for a visit.”

“I’ll mention it to himself. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Luther. I surely don’t.”

Luther looked over at her, at the minute quiver in her chin. “You don’t think they’ll get their jobs back?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

At Fay Hall, they held a vote on whether to remain with the American Federation of Labor. The result was in favor, 1388 to 14. They held a second vote on whether to continue the strike. This was a bit more contentious. Men called out from the floor, asking Danny if the Central Labor Union would make right on their promise of a sympathy strike. Another cop mentioned he’d heard the firemen were waffling. They were pissed about all the false alarms during the riots, and the BFD had made a great show of advertising for volunteers to replace them. The turnout had been twice as large as expected.

Danny had left two messages with Ralph Raphelson’s office, asking him to come to Fay Hall, but he hadn’t heard back yet. He took the podium. “The Central Labor Union is still trying to pull together all their delegates. As soon as they do, they’ll vote. I’ve had no indication that they’ll vote any other way but than how they told us they expect to. Look, they’re killing us in the press. I understand. The riots hurt us.”

“They’re killing us from the pulpits, too,” Francis Leonard shouted. “You should hear what they’re saying about us in morning mass.”

Danny held up a hand. “I’ve heard, I’ve heard. But we can still win the day. We just have to hold together, stay strong in our resolve. The governor and the mayor still fear a sympathy strike, and we still have the power of the AFL behind us. We can still win.”