Ness brushed a comma of dark hair off his forehead and said, "I'd like a complete status report."

The three men pulled their eyes off Ness and bounced worried glances off each other.

One of the men was Chief of Police George Matowitz, a heavy-set six-footer in his mid-fifties with a wide, florid face, tiny blue eyes darting behind wire-frame glasses; the chief's uniform was, as usual, freshly pressed, his silver badge gleaming on his broad chest.

"How can you send my boys out there without guns?" Matowitz said, more confused than angry. "I've got two men in the hospital."

"How many strikers are in the hospital?"

"Six," Matowitz said, shrugging.

Until Ness came along a year and a half ago and began shaking up the police department, weeding out the rotten apples, raising the qualifications for cops, ending the patronage system, Matowitz had been riding his desk, waiting for retirement. Not a corrupt cop, in fact known for his doggedness and bravery in his younger days as a detective, Matowitz had for years been content to look the other way while high-ranking officers made themselves rich and the department a joke.

But ever since Ness rattled his cage, Chief Matowitz had been taking a more active role; if less than a go-getter, he had been more than cooperative.

He reminded Ness of that fact: "I've backed you all the way, Mr. Ness. Through hell and high water… your policies aren't exactly prized by every cop on the department, you know."

"They're not alone," Ness said, nodding toward the murmur of disapproval beyond the balcony doors. Smiling faintly again, he added, "I guess the honeymoon is over."

"Hell," Robert Chamberlin said wryly, thumbs looped in his vest pockets, "I'm beginning to question the marriage."