Bloodlines by Jan Burke Read Free Book Online Page B

o'clock, kid." He tucked the watch away. "Let me give you a ride home."
    "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 skinny and has frizzy red hair and freckles and a kind of pointy nose. So does he."
    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'Connor was saying. "I had to go get my papers. But I did see one other thing."
    "Much more of this, kid, and I'll have to trade jobs with you."
    O'Connor pushed up the left sleeve of his jacket--a jacket that had once been Dermot's. Jack stared at his forearm. "His license number," O'Connor said proudly. "I saw the big man leave the courthouse with the brother. They got into a black two-door Plymouth sedan."
    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'Connor tried to yank his hand back, but Corrigan held on.
    "It's nothing."
    Corrigan waited.
    "A kid at school," the boy murmured.
    "Bigger than you?"
    O'Connor nodded.
    "You fight back?" Corrigan asked, releasing him.
    O'Connor squirmed a bit, then lifted one shoulder. "I tried. But I'm no good at it."
    "What's wrong with your old man that he hasn't taught you to defend yourself?"
    "It's not his fault," O'Connor said quickly, and looked down at the table, avoiding Corrigan's gaze.
    O'Connor's view of the tabletop began to blur. He scrunched his eyes shut, only to feel hot tears rolling down his face. A baby, he thought. Always acting like a baby. And he was crying in front of Jack Corrigan, of all people.
    "Conn," Jack said quietly. "Conn of a Hundred-and-one Battles."
    "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'Connor heard Corrigan writing in his notebook and looked up. Without glancing up, Corrigan reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief and offered it across the table.
    O'Connor took it and loudly blew his nose into it. He heard Big Sarah walk out of the kitchen, but saw Corrigan wave her back.
    "Fine," she called over her shoulder, "but the shifts are going to be changin' and fellers are gonna be showin' up here any minute. I ain't turnin' away business, even for you, Handsome Jack."
    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'Connor washed up. When O'Connor came back out, Jack was saying, "No surprise, is it? Yes, I'll be by later tonight. Hell no, I won't disclose my source, and shame on you for asking."
    He hung up and smiled at Conn. "A detective friend of mine. Turns out that Plymouth is registered to one Mitch Yeager. Good work, kid."
    O'Connor thanked both Corrigan and Big Sarah before they left. She told him to come in and see her again soon. Jack seemed preoccupied; hands in his coat pockets, he didn't speak as they walked back