The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [246]
“Gee, fellows, I sure was sorry to see our old buddy Shrimp Haggerty go like he did. He must have suffered, too, sick for well over a year with the con,” Muggsy said, nodding a saddened head.
“Poor Shrimp. He drunk himself under the sod. He was an alcohol fiend,” Les said.
“Well, Les, nobody can accuse you of not having done your damnedest to pull off the same stunt. You drunk enough in your time to put yourself picking daisies alongside of your cousin, Tommy Doyle. And that time you went to the sanitarium, we all thought you had sure gotten yourself the works. And here you are, as hale as ever, and still doing your share to keep Al Capone in business,” Joe Thomas said, causing Les to beam.
“You know, boys, speaking straight from the shoulder, it does kind of get you the way so many of our old gang passed away. Arnold Sheehan, the Haggertys and Tommy, Hink Weber who killed himself in the nut house, Slug Mason beating the Federal Government Prohibition rap by dying of pneumonia, all our old pals. Lord have mercy on their souls. Here today and gone tomorrow, nobody ever spoke truer words,” Red said.
“Tommy Doyle always used to say that when he went to a wake, little thinking that soon others would be saying it at his wake. Poor Tommy,” Les said, while Kelly sucked contentedly on a fat cigar.
“And the only one of the old gang who got his just deserts was that bastard Weary Reilley. When he got that re-trial he should have been re-sentenced for life, instead of ten years. That poor girl he raped at our New Year’s Eve party is paralyzed for life. Reilly was one first hand skunk,” Red said vindictively.
“And you know at that party, he was a bastard, socking me when I was so plastered that I couldn’t stand up. He knew I licked him when we were kids, and he wouldn’t have had the guts to sock me if I was sober,” Studs said.
“That’s right, he broke your nose, didn’t he, Studs?” Red said innocently.
“Yeah. And it was the rottenest trick he ever pulled, getting me when I was maggoty drunk,” Studs protested.
“And Reilley came from such a decent family. He just about ruined them, too, I hear, with the expenses of his two trials,” McCarthy said.
“The family wasn’t so nice in court during the first trial.
His old lady cursed the poor paralyzed girl and spit in her face, and the sister, Fran, was so keen and such a teaser, she called her a whore,” Red said.
“Weary was a tough bastard, knocking the bailiff down in court after being sentenced on his last trial,” Stan said.
“I licked him when we were kids,” Studs growled.
“Well, I never was afraid of him and even to this day I’d like to tangle with the skunk,” Red said.
“You know, it was rotten of him, waiting for me until I was so cockeyed I couldn’t see straight, and then swinging on me,” Studs said.
Noticing McCarthy from the corner of his eye, Studs could see that it wasn’t the same old Muggsy. Fat in the face, looking well-fed, wearing decent clothes, but still as hunched as ever. And he was the guy they all had expected to be first to kick the bucket. Life was funny, all right.
“Say, Muggsy, how’s your health these days?” he asked.
“Never felt better in my life, Studs.”
“I’m getting to feel better right along, too,” Studs said.
He yawned. The jarring of the car seemed to get on his nerves, and he felt cramped. He arose and squeezed by McCarthy.
“Don’t fall in, Studs,” Joe said.
III
Studs shoved back his shoulders and tried to walk down the smoking-car aisle like a big shot. He swayed a trifle, and noticed a beefy man with bulging neck and jowls, his puffed face stupid in sleep. Red Kelly would he looking something like that in fifteen years, he thought, smiling. In the next seat two tough-looking but pretty girls sat, and one of them spoke in a loud voice.