Joe set his plate down on the table and slipped into the chair next to Levin’s, across from Novak. He pushed the tip of his spoon into the hard, grayish porridge they’d been served again this morning. In the last weeks, there had been less meat and potatoes, and more of this cereal. Levin thought it had something to do with the Vascali brothers being taken down. Levin believed James Murphy was getting cold feet, maybe even thinking of bailing out of this unforgiving country, and taking with him his American dollars and Cooke’s lofty allowance.
Joe didn’t know about all that. All he knew was, he didn’t like this porridge, and he was still chopping wood all day.
Lost in his thoughts, Joe ate the cold lump of oats and wearily surveyed the mess hall. The guards walked up and down aisles, wit
