Bloodlines

“Ah, yes, your benefactress.” When O’Co

“Yes, sir. What was that other word, please?”

“Benefactress.” Corrigan waited while the boy repeated it to himself several times, then prompted, “You were saying?”

“Oh. Well, mostly I could see the jury. I could see all of them. This one lady kept glancing up at the balcony, and it seemed to me that something was making her nervous.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She would twist her handkerchief. Not all the time, just after she glanced at the balcony.”

Corrigan looked away, blew out a mouthful of smoke. O’Co

“Lillian is my benefactress?”

He pronounced it perfectly, Corrigan noticed. “Yes. Miss Lillian Vanderveer. Of the Vanderveers, you understand.”

“Oh.”

“So go on, Mr. O’Co

“I figured out that the nervous lady was looking at the men sitting next to me. A big fellow and a little fellow.”

Big Sarah came by and refilled Jack’s coffee. O’Co

“Wait! I haven’t told you the most important part.”

Jack stopped in the act of pulling out his wallet.

“I kept looking at the little fellow and at the lady juror, and I realized that they might just be what my da calls me and Maureen-two glasses poured from the same bottle. They look alike.”

Jack frowned. “As much alike as you and Maureen?”

“More. I think he’s the lady’s brother-she’s pale and ski

Jack put his wallet back and took out his notebook. “Describe these people to me-the big man, the juror, the little fellow.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was shaking his head in wonder. He knew exactly which juror the kid was talking about and was fairly sure he knew which of Yeager’s men had been sitting up in the balcony. The kid was a natural.

“I had to leave before court was over,” O’Co

“Much more of this, kid, and I’ll have to trade jobs with you.”

O’Co

Jack was still staring.

“I didn’t have any paper-I mean, I only had my copies of the Express, and I had to sell those. So I wrote it on my arm.”

Corrigan reached over slowly and gently took the boy’s hand in his. “The bruises. Who gave you these bruises?”

O’Co

“It’s nothing.”

Corrigan waited.

“A kid at school,” the boy murmured.

“Bigger than you?”

O’Co

“You fight back?” Corrigan asked, releasing him.

O’Co

“What’s wrong with your old man that he hasn’t taught you to defend yourself?”

“It’s not his fault,” O’Co

O’Co

“Co

“My father got hurt,” the boy said softly, speaking down at the table. “He’d been hurt before, even lost a finger, but this last time-it’s his back. He can’t stand up straight. Can’t even be on his feet for more than a minute or two before the pain…well, anyway, he can’t work.” He pulled out his handkerchief, realized it was still damp from the sink and put it away again.

After a moment, O’Co

O’Co

“Fine,” she called over her shoulder, “but the shifts are going to be changin’ and fellers are go

Jack smiled. “Wash your face, kid, and we’ll get out of here before those spies from the News can figure out what’s up.”

Jack made a phone call while O’Co

He hung up and smiled at Co

O’Co

Jack insisted on driving him home, although O’Co

The small apartment building wasn’t far from downtown. O’Co

Corrigan was watching him, though, and not the building. “Would it help if I went in with you, explained-”

“No,” O’Co

Corrigan put a hand on his shoulder. “All right, then, kid. Maybe you know best. If I can make something of what you’ve told me about the juror, I’m in your debt.”

“I could be your secret agent,” O’Co

To his credit, Corrigan managed not to laugh or smile. “It’s an idea worth considering,” he said. “But listen to me, Co

“I didn’t,” the boy said. “I memorized it, then went into the restroom to write it down.”

Jack stared at him, then started laughing. “Oh, forgive me, kid.” He grew quiet, then said, “Co