Franny said. “I didn’t name Albie,” her father said, the two of them following the nurse down a long, bright hall. “If I’d named Albie I wouldn’t have given him such a stupid name. You could trace a lot of that kid’s problems back to his name.” Franny thought of her stepbrother. “There was probably more to it than that.” “Did you know I got him out of Juvenile once? Fourteen years old and he tried to set his school on fire.” “I remember,” Franny said. “Your mother called and asked me to get him out.” He tapped his chest. “She said it would be a favor to her, like I was so interested in doing her favors. When you think about all the cops Bert knew in L.A. you have to wonder why they were bothering me.” “You helped Albie,” she said. “He was a kid and you helped him. There’s nothing wrong with that.” “He didn’t even know how to set a decent fire. I drove him over to see your uncle Tom at the fire station once I got him out. Tom was back in L.A.
