Jimmie Davis: Mac Taylor. Heard your voice on the phone, I couldn't believe it. Now you're standing here. Look like your old man. Been a long time, Mac.
Mac: Since we were kids.
Jimmie Davis: Yeah. Last I heard you were in New York, married, working for the mayor's office or something.
Mac: I'm a crime-scene investigator.
Jimmie Davis: Phew. Must be something, huh? What's the statute of limitations for us sneaking into Wrigley? What brings you back, Mac?
Mac: Bobby Toole is dead.
Jimmie Davis: That's supposed to be funny? He's been dead for 30 years.
Mac: Yeah. But they found his body today, in the Tribune Building.
Jimmie Davis: We swore we were never gonna talk about this. I haven't told a soul.
Mac: Somebody put his body in the Tribune Building for me to find, the word coward on the wall. Did you do it, Jimmie?
Jimmie Davis: What? What, are you out of your mind, Mac? Huh? Is this some kind of sick joke to you?
Mac: Over a month ago I got a T-shirt stained with blood. I didn't know until today, that's your brother's shirt. Will's blood. The same shirt he was wearing when Bobby Toole beat him to death.
Jimmie Davis: You feeling guilty, Mac?
Mac: I don't regret the choice I made that day.
Jimmie Davis: No, I don't imagine that you do, because you didn't lose a brother. Your family didn't fall apart. You didn't watch your father cry for the first time in your life, watch him crumble to his knees. You didn't spend ten years trying to make it up to your mother and your little brother, lying to little Andy about how Will died. Not you.

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