Chapter 6The neon black and green of the video terminal hurt Milo Schwartz’s eyes. Ever since they had started making him use a word processor here at the Chicago Sun Times, Milo had hated the damned things. The screen hurt his eyes and he felt a lack of connection with the machine; somehow, he just didn’t feel like he was a real reporter unless he was banging out a story on a battered manual. Using the word processor was cheating. Milo was sixty-one years old, and had been in the newspaper business since he graduated from St. George High School. Things were different then. Chicago was different. Oh, sure, over the years it had known its share of crime and corruption, maybe even more than some of the other big towns, but Chicago always seemed to deal with its own. Nobody got away with anyt
