Chapter 15
Donelly
WE DIDN’T GET anywhere at the wop joint. After coffee I said I was going back to the paper, and he said he’d come along if I didn’t mind. I told him it would be all right, paid the check, bought cigars, and led the way out. He stuck pretty close. We got near the Post-Dispatch building; there was the usual bulletin hung behind the glass that showed up the working presses. Donelly swore softly.
“Hell!” he muttered. “Look at that one!”
I looked. There had been a hundred-thousand-dollar fire over on the South Side. That led off. A couple of nervy yeggs had cracked a box in a branch post office in a nearby suburb— and had got away with some stamps. A Wilkinsburg society girl had jumped from a third-story window in her home. She’d been badly bruised. A town called East McK
