The Brotherhood of Orchard Street
The jazz played from a radio on the corner of Orchard Street, a thin mechanical voice singing about love and loss while the real world moved around it—fast, loud, and indifferent. Patrick O'Sullivan stood on the steps of the warehouse with a piece of chalk in his hand and a list of names in his pocket. He was twenty-eight, Irish on his father's side, American on his mother's, and entirely...
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