Bloodlines

“Is it in yours?”

“If need be.”

They were reporters, the other nurses said, this man and the patient. She had not imagined that the work was so rough. This one had charmed his way past the end of visiting hours with his smile and that faint echo of Ireland in his speech.

Corrigan moaned and O’Co

The nurse studied O’Co

“You need to get some sleep, Mr. O’Co

He shook his head, went back to watching Corrigan.

After a moment, she said, “Next time he wakes up, you’ll let me know?”

He looked up again. “Right away,” he said, crossing his heart in a school-boy’s gesture.

“I wonder what you were like as a child?” she said, glancing at his unmended socks and rumpled hair.

“Ah, my dear,” he said, not meeting her eyes, “no, you don’t. No, you don’t.”

He did not want to sleep, and he did not worry that he would. He washed his face with cold water, then lay back down on the bed, watching Corrigan. He spent a number of minutes in the same useless way he had spent earlier hours-speculating on who had done this to Corrigan, and why. Jack had been closemouthed about what he would be doing this evening. Thinking back on it, O’Co

“Why on earth didn’t I know you were up to something then and there?” he murmured to himself. “It’s not as if I just met you, is it?”

7

O ’CONNOR GOT HIS FIRST PAYING JOB WHEN HE WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD, in 1936. That was the year he began selling the Express on the corner of Broadway and Las Piernas Boulevard. At that time, the morning paper in Las Piernas was the News, the evening, the Express. Although the papers were owned by the same publisher-Mr. Winston Wrigley-and worked out of the same building, the two staffs were fiercely competitive, paperboys included. The star reporter of the News was a woman named Helen Swan; on the Express, young Jack Corrigan was making a name for himself.

Every day, O’Co

One day, as he was extolling Corrigan’s work he heard a woman laugh. He turned to see a beautiful young lady-blond, blue-eyed, and bow-lipped, dressed in a fur coat and walking arm in arm with none other than his champion. She laughed again and said, “I suppose you’ll be hurt if I don’t buy one from him, Jack.”

Jack winked at O’Co

“What’s your name, kid?” Corrigan asked.

“O’Co

“Hmm. Got a first name?”

O’Co

“Co

But Corrigan took his arm from hers then and hunkered down so that he was eye level with the boy. “No, it’s not. It’s a name passed down from a king. Do you know about him?”

“Co

Corrigan smiled. “So, Co

“For selling the evening edition? Corner of Broadway and Magnolia.”

Corrigan peered down the street. “Ah, yes. Southwest corner, I suppose. A courthouse, office buildings, two busy restaurants, and a bus stop.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jack…” the woman said impatiently.

“In a minute, darling. This is my fellow newspaperman. We’re talking business. Besides, my father would rise from his grave to haunt me if I didn’t show respect for one of his countrymen.” He stood and tipped his hat. “Thank you for the conversation, Mr. O’Co

“I already paid for the paper!” the woman said.

“No, my dear,” Corrigan replied. “I paid for the paper, but you tipped him, remember? A dollar. You’re the soul of generosity.”

“And you’re the soul of bunk,” she said, making him laugh as they walked off.

At home that night, Maureen explained that “redundant” meant exactly what he had guessed it meant, but O’Co

Several weeks later, he was making a heated protest to Geoffrey, the night security man, who was perhaps not ten years older than the paperboy.

“But Jack Corrigan’s my friend and it’s important!”

“O’Co

“Just try. Please!”

Geoffrey sighed, then lifted his phone. “Mr. Corrigan? Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a paperboy here who…No, sir, I haven’t taken leave of my senses, but…”

O’Co

Geoff said, “I don’t think he can be bribed for a silver dollar, kid.”

Corrigan must have heard the exchange, though, because in the next moment Geoff was listening again, and his expression changed to one of disbelief. “Yes, sir,” he said. He turned to O’Co

“No,” O’Co

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes-”

“May I please speak to him on the phone?”

Geoff handed the phone over with a “be my guest” gesture.

“Mr. Corrigan?”

“Hello, kid. Come on up, I’ll show you the newsroom.”

The temptation was mighty and he nearly gave in, but he said, “Sir, I’ve talked this over with my big sister and-”

“Your big sister? Listen, old pal, you’ve been holding out on me. How old is she?”

“Maureen? Eleven.”

“Hmm. A little young, even for me. Nevertheless, what did the glorious Maureen advise?”

He thought hard, trying to remember the exact words Maureen had told him to use. “I saw something today that seems important. It’s about the trial. But if I come up there to the newsroom, people from the News are going to know where you heard about this, and if they do, they’ll want me to be their… their…”

“Paperboy?” Corrigan supplied.

“Unidentified source,” O’Co

There was the slightest hesitation before he said, “Put Geoff back on the line, kid.”

It was not O’Co