“My men are guardsmen—they guard. That’s it. No booze, no women, and not a step across the Borderline, on penalty of death. They know better.”

“They killed three boys.”

He stopped walking. In the middle of the street, two families huddled around a crackling bonfire, which filled the street with fragrant smoke. They were burning herbs. Rosemary, I thought, and sage. Van Alen dragged a paw across his forehead, glistening sweaty in the dancing orange light.

“Boys?” he said. “Honest to goodness boys?”

“All under fifteen.”

“The stupidity of it. The incompetence. Barbie—that coward. What a goddamned shame.”

He looked around for something to break, but everything on the block worth breaking had been shattered long ago.

“Tonight, more boys will die,” I said.

“I tell you, my men will turn them back with nothing more than a bump on the head.”

“I don’t think so. The Lower West is out for blood. They’ll get it, unless I find the guns.”

“And I tell you, we didn’t take them!”

“How can you be sure?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I know about your little operation at the Longacre. You must have gangs of thieves roaming all over the Eastside, taking whatever they can find.”

“We steal what we want, and my fences sell it right back to them. Keeps the fires burning and serves the posh bastards right.”

“I think one of your raiding parties got overambitious. They raided a shipment on the Westside docks and ended up with something impossible. I think they’ve gone rogue. I think Mrs. Greene knows and isn’t telling.”

Mrs. Greene clutched her notebook like a barber wielding a straight razor. She wanted, not for the first time that day, to take off my head. Ugly took the smallest possible step, to put himself between us, in case sweet Ida charged. Instead, she spoke, sweetly and serenely, as she took Van Alen’s hand.

“I regret terribly, Miss Carr, that you think I am capable of such unpleasant things.”

“You tried to cut off my head.”

“You were spying. You broke my lamp. You mustn’t blame me for protecting my business.”

“You said you ran a railroad station and nothing more.”

“And for telling that simple white lie, you would accuse me of betraying my employer, of bringing guns into the Upper West, of killing three young boys?”

“It’s a damned serious accusation,” said Van Alen.

“I think a woman who cuts out her workers’ tongues would be capable of anything,” I said.

“Cuts out her workers’—oh my lord!” said Mrs. Greene, chuckling. “Oh, Dick, Dick. She has no idea!”

“Please, then,” I said. “Won’t you enlighten me?”