A lanky but broad-shouldered man in his late thirties, Chamberlin was the safety director's executive assistant, a lawyer handpicked by Ness to handle both administrative and investigative duties. His oblong, sharp-featured face was dominated by a shovel jaw and a tiny black mustache, and his dark hair was slicked back on a high forehead.

"The objective of this job," Ness told his assistant gently, "isn't winning popularity contests."

"Isn't it, Eliot?" Chamberlin asked, not so gently. "I'd say your popularity in this city has a great bearing on what you can get away with."

The other two men said nothing; Chamberlin was, after all, the only one of them who was comfortable calling the safety director by his first name.

"Go on," Ness said.

"You've got a good reputation in this town. People know you aren't afraid to throw crooked cops in jail, or to buck the local politicos. You kick doors down and collar bad guys; you-"

"Make your point, Bob."

"The point is, nobody's dead yet. Look at what's happening in strikes in other cities right now. I think you can keep the violence here down to a minimum, but you need to get into the game personally."

"Go out there to Corrigan-McKinney myself, you mean."

"Exactly."

"Then you approve of my directive."

"Limiting our boys to nightsticks and tear gas? No guns? You're damned right I approve."

Matowitz was shaking his head like a bear ducking bees. "No, no, no," he said. "You have to take a stand. You got to side with our boys."

"And which side are our boys on, Chief?"

"Well… we got to back Republic Steel, Mr. Ness."

"Not the strikers? Aren't they citizens?"

"Well, of course they are. But they're citizen's breaking the law!"

"Albert," Ness said, turning to the third man, "did you look into that union-hall incident?"

"Yes, I did," Albert Curry said. "And it's vandalism, all right."