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’Connor said quickly, voicing the hidden, impossible hope that he had held all afternoon and evening.
To his credit, Corrigan managed not to laugh or smile. “It’s an idea worth considering,” he said. “But listen to me, Conn. Mitch Yeager’s not someone to play games with. This is serious business, and if you’re going to be my secret agent, you can’t take risks like following gangsters’ cars and writing down their license numbers while you’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk.”
“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, “Conn, if there’s one mistake repeated by generation after generation of men, it’s that they underestimate their boys.” He looked toward the dimly lit porch of the apartment building. “You be careful all the same, kid. Be careful all the same.”
Jack Corrigan’s stories on jury tampering in the Mitch Yeager trial sold a lot of copies of the Express over the next few weeks. This made Winston Wrigley happy, which meant that both Corrigan’s and O’Connor’s bosses were happy. This happiness extended to almost everyone who worked in the Wrigley Building, except, of course, the staff of the News-most especially its star reporter, the woman who came to the corner of Broadway and Magnolia one afternoon and stood watching O’Connor for fifteen nearly unbearable minutes.
The newsboy felt more nervous than the day he had seen Corrigan jostled on the street by one of Yeager’s men, not long after Jack had stopped by to talk to him. A policeman had seen that and prevented a fight. He didn’t think a copper would defend him against Helen Swan.
This wasn’t the first day she had watched him, but this time, to his horror, she was walking straight toward him. With great effort, he prevented himself from making the Sign of the Cross as she approached.
He had asked Jack about her, and Jack had laughed and said, “Swanie? Brother, when they made the first pair of trousers, they had Swanie try ’em on to make sure they’d be tough enough for any man.” Then Jack winked at him and said, “She’s the daughter of a suffragist, you know.”
It was a word O’Connor didn’t know the precise meaning of, but thought it probably meant her mother made people suffer. Helen Swan didn’t exactly look mean, O’Connor thought as she moved closer. All the same, he had stopped calling out the headlines of the Express and found himself just standing there, waiting for her. He decided there was something about Helen Swan that made you give her your attention when she wanted it. She was a brunette with big brown eyes that he couldn’t look away from. She was not exactly beautiful, not in the way Lillian Vanderveer was, but she had an unmistakable style all her own. O’Connor thought she carried herself as if everyone who hadn’t bowed or curtsied to her yet soon would.
“O’Connor, isn’t it?” she said in a low, melodic voice.
He swallowed and nodded.
She smiled. “Jack Corrigan seems to know a lot about what goes on near this corner lately.”
“He’s a fine reporter,” O’Connor said loyally.
Helen Swan gave a soft, husky laugh. “Yes, he is. Utterly shameless, but a fine reporter.” She began to walk off, then turned and said, “Be sure to tell Jack I said hello.”
It was late that evening before O’Connor saw Corrigan again, and under the circumstances, he considered not conveying Miss Swan’s regards. Jack was sitting in a booth at the back of Big Sarah’s; two women sat across from him. One was known to O’Connor-Lillian Vanderveer.
The other was a woman O’Connor had never met before. She was also a blonde, but her eyes were beer- bottle brown. Her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing hard at some remark Jack had made.
Big Sarah caught O’Connor’s eye and shook her head. O’Connor was about to leave, but Jack called out to him.
“Mr. O’Connor! Don’t rush off.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Lillian said. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m going steady with a little kid.”
“You are,” Big Sarah answered, causing Jack and the other woman to laugh again.
Corrigan had been drinking, O’Connor realized. He accepted this without great upset; over the last few years, since the accident on the oil rig, his own father was often in this state. He gauged Jack’s mood to be jovial, not surly or mean. Nevertheless, he had long ago learned to be wary of men in this condition, knowing their moods could change without warning. So it was that when he approached the booth, he stopped an arm’s distance from Jack’s side of the table.
Corrigan didn’t fail to notice this distance. The reporter said nothing, but rubbed his chin thoughtfully. O’Connor glanced at the women, who had fallen silent.
“Mr. O’Connor,” Corrigan said, without a trace of the drunkenness Conn had seen just a moment before, “allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Ducane, a good friend of Miss Vanderveer’s.”
“How do you do?” O’Connor said.
“Hiya, kid,” the woman said, smiling. “Call me Thelma. You must be the little hooligan who’s driving Lil crazy.”
“Thelma!” Lil said sharply, but Thelma only laughed.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. You know that-right, kid?”
Before he could answer, Jack said, “Mrs. Ducane and Miss Vanderveer were just leaving.”
Thelma’s laugh brayed again, but Lillian gave Jack a cool look. “First the trial,” she said, “and now this. Maybe I’ll do as Daddy suggests and go out with Harold Linworth again. “
Jack smiled. “Capital idea. And capital is what it would be, right? Aiding the cash flow at Ducane- Vanderveer?”
“That is a despicable suggestion-”
“Speaking of despicable, I suppose Daddy wouldn’t want you to start seeing your first love again. Oh, wait, that’s right-”
“Don’t say another word, damn you!”
“C’mon, Lil,” Thelma said, rising to her feet with a wobble. “This is getting boring. Let’s go play with the big boys.”
Lillian hesitated, giving Jack an opportunity he did not take. She stood and walked out without a backward glance. As the diner door closed behind them, O’Connor heard Big Sarah mutter, “Good riddance.”
“How about a cup of coffee, Sarah?” Jack said. He motioned to O’Connor. “Have a seat.”
O’Connor slid into the other side of the booth, which was still fragrant with a mixture of the women’s perfume, smoke, alcohol, and the congealing remains of a banana split. Jack saw him studying the dessert dish and said, “Booze gives Thelma a sweet tooth.”
“I don’t like her,” O’Connor blurted.
“Thelma?”
He nodded.
“I don’t like her much, either,” Jack said. “But her father is in business with Lillian’s father, so the two girls have been close friends for several years now. I think Thelma managed to introduce Lil to some bad company.” He paused and said, “But that’s no story for a kid’s ears.” He shook his head in disgust with himself. “Ungentlemanly of me to even bring it up.”
Big Sarah came over with a cup of hot, black coffee and set it in front of Jack. O’Connor stayed silent while she took the dirty dishes from the table. She gave him a wink and said, “Want anything?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
She left them to wait on two men who were sitting at the counter.
O’Connor figured he might as well tell Jack the bad news now and get it over with. “Something happened at the corner today.”
Jack paused in the act of lifting the cup of coffee.
“Miss Swan came up to me. I’m pretty sure she knows I talk to you.”
The cup rattled against the saucer as Jack set it down and started laughing. “Swanie? Swanie figured it out already?” He laughed again. “Helen Swan is smarter than any man in that building-including Old Man Wrigley. My hat’s off to her, by God!”
O’Connor was puzzled. “You aren’t upset?”
