covering the sidewalks, cars, and the people themselves. Blood revealed itself as darker patches of ash on people’s faces and the sidewalks beneath them. Frings, who lacked firsthand knowledge, imagined it looked like some wretched battlefield on the Western Front. Somme in the City.
He glanced at Reynolds, who seemed hesitant to enter the mêlée. “This seems a little extreme,” Frings said.
“The ASU is that way,” Reynolds said, motioning two uniforms toward the line of strikers waiting to be cuffed. Frings stood and watched for what seemed like several minutes, getting the description for the paper clear in his head. The ash was making breathing difficult.
Capitol Industries’ headquarters was a nondescript six stories of concrete and brick. Frings could see the silhouettes of onlookers in the windows of the top floors. Bernal would be among them. That was where his scoop would be found. Not out here where the Gazette doubtless had another reporter, not to mention the News and the Herald.
He moved toward the front door, holding his press pass in front of him like a white flag. Little pockets of order were carved into the chaos where the ASU had strikers in cuffs or lying facedown on the ground. It was, in his intoxication, slightly unreal to Frings, and even a stray elbow that caught him in the mouth was not enough to jar him from his sense of wonder—like a child’s in a fun house.
The front door was manned by two men in ASU uniforms, standing stiffly, their hands resting on their holstered pistols.
“Frings. With the Gazette.” He held his pass in the taller guard’s face. The guard looked across Frings to his partner, who shrugged.
“All right,” he said, and stepped aside to let Frings in. Frings went through the doors, then down two steps to the lobby, which was appointed with chrome and mirrors and a green-tiled floor. Beyond the empty reception desk was a bank of elevators. Only one operator was at his post. Frings guessed that employees had been removed from the lobby so they were not a temptation for the picketers.
“I have a meeting with Mr. Bernal.”
The operator gave him a fatigued look and pulled back the gate and then the elevator door. Bernal’s office was on the top floor, and the operator did not make small talk during the brief ride.
Off the elevator now, Frings faced a floor of empty oak desks that showed signs of recent use—stacks of papers, coffee mugs, telephones. Then he heard voices and followed the sound to find the office’s occupants at the windows watching the fracas below. He recognized Bernal from pictures—fat and dark, with a thin, meticulous mustache over a small, weak mouth. Bernal was talking to a graying woman in hushed, yet intense tones. Other people at the windows strained to listen while keeping their eyes focused on the activity outside.
Frings ambled over to Bernal, getting close enough that Bernal looked up. “Yes?” Malice wasn’t in his voice as much as annoyance. Frings understood, given the circumstances.
“Mr. Bernal, my name is Frings. I’m with the Gazette.”
Bernal colored momentarily, his mouth gaping to reveal little, yellowed teeth. And as quickly, the expression was gone.
“Mr. Bernal, I won’t take much of your time. I just wanted to get your comments about the strike and today’s police action.”
Bernal was wary. “Yes. Of course. Why don’t you come to my office and we can talk.”
The woman was now staring out the window with the others, and Bernal led Frings to a corner office, encased in glass. When they were safely inside and seated, Bernal said, still smiling, “What are you doing here?”
This caught Frings a little off guard since it seemed the answer was obvious. This brief pause seemed to unnerve Bernal for some reason, and he kept talking. “You’re here about the strike today, correct? The strike?” His expression was relaxed, even pleasant, but Frings would see sweat beading on his brow and glistening in his mustache.
“Yes, Mr. Bernal, the strike.” Frings wondered why Bernal needed to clarify Frings’s intent. Was there another story here, somewhere? “This is big news. Every paper will be covering it. I came up here to see if you wanted to give a statement. Pretty standard practice.”
Frings saw the tension leave Bernal’s posture, and it sent up flares inside him. Bernal started in on a statement about his company’s policies regarding the resolution of strikes. Frings dutifully took notes, his mind working on the puzzle of Bernal’s strange behavior. It was almost as