The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [151]
“Whatjahsay?”
“It’s shocking, disgraceful!”
A slick-looking tuxedoed young man, with a talcum-powdered shaven face, leaned sidewise from the wheel.
“Fran, we’ll have time to drive him around for a spin in the park and let him get some air.”
“Huh!” Studs nastily exclaimed.
“Then, a cup of black coffee might help sober him up.”
“Who in the name of all holy hell wants to get sobered up... Sobered up, huh there, Droopy Drawers? Christ is born, and I’m celebrating,” he whooped.
“William Lonigan, you’ll stop that uncouth, blasphemous talk this minute and get in here!”
“Whoops!”
“Fran, he’s drunk. Let me handle him!”
“What’s that, Charley?”
“William, don’t be so disgusting! You’re not funny.”
“Sure thing, Charley!” he said with an insulting laugh; he almost fell on his face.
“William...”
“I’m just about ready to haul off on a skunk that I see!”
“William!”
“You’re the bastard I’m talking to!” he said, stepping forwards.
Fran slammed the car door, and it shot off. Studs stumbled after it, cursing. He fell in the street. A traffic jam was caused, while he struggled to his feet, and staggered back onto the sidewalk. Slug Mason grabbed his arm, and said, with his familiar mispronunciations:
“Studs, you crazy bastard! Here we all hears that you was in bed with the flu, and what does I do but find you trying to take a nose dive in the gutter.”
“Like tuxedoes?” asked Studs.
“And I almost went and studied to be a priest. I’m no good,” he whined.
Inside the poolroom, a crowd was gathered around the telephone booth, where Red Kelly was cursing his girl. The gang laughed boisterously. Slug took Studs and Les to the can, where they secretively had a drink. When they came out, TB McCarthy tried to scrouge a nip and two bits from them. He was so insistent that Studs handed him a quarter, but said that if he ever asked again, a certain louse named McCarthy would get his consumptive face pounded full of holes.
“Yeah, up your back, Charley,” Red yelled, slamming the receiver.
He came out, and led Vinc Curley to the rear of the pool-room, telling him, as a friend, to stand there a minute. He returned to the first pool table, where Funnyface Duffy and Swede Elston were shooting a game of pool. He grabbed the balls from the table, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and hurled them at Vine’s bean. They missed Vine, and crashed into the wall. Red was grabbed. Vinc stood dumbfounded. Studs ran down, and pulled the dumbsock aside. Vine, blushing. misunderstanding, asked Kelly why he would do such a thing to a good friend of his; and they roared. George the Greek nearly went into a fit of apoplexy, sobbing about his business. Vine, still perplexed, drew Studs aside, and asked him why Kelly would do a thing like that. Studs told Vine to soak his head. He drifted off, and saw Mush Joss stemming a buck from Les; he asked Mush if he and Muggsy were making the rounds again. Slug insisted that they go to Burnham. They all went to the can and killed the gin they had. Slug again suggested that they go to Burnham. It was a good idea.
As they crowded towards the door, Vine clutched Studs’ arm, and asked him if he wanted to go to confession.
“Got your car?”
Vinc nodded. Studs said sure they were all going to church. He told the guys and they shoved Vinc out to his car. Some of the guys crowded into Vine’s car, and the others got into Nate Klein’s taxicab.
“All right, Vinc, you bastard, drive.”
“But I got to go to confession. Are you guys going?”
“Sure, but listen, Vinc, we’re goin’ to have a nice little harmless party, and we’re going to confession out in South Chicago.”
“But that takes gasoline.”
“Vine, you crazy idiot, drive and shut up!” Studs said.
Nate honked for them to get going.
“But listen,” Vine said hesitantly.
“Get going, Curley, or we’ll throw you out of the car,” Tommy threatened.
Vinc was cowed, and he started up, following Nate’s cab over to South Park Avenue, and then south.
“Hey, Vinc, look out or you’ll get run in for blocking traffic,” Mush Joss said as the car crept along.
“I’m driving all right. They can’t arrest me,