The Saint's Apprentice
I. Harlem, 1924. The jazz spilled from the Cotton Club like honey—thick, golden, impossible to ignore. Thomas O'Connor stood on the corner of 126th Street, collar turned up against the November chill, listening to a trumpet solo that seemed to reach into his chest and rearrange something he hadn't known was there. He was twenty-four, newly ordained but barely dressed for the collar, and...
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