The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [330]
He sauntered along to Seventy-first and Jeffrey, and bought a package of cigarettes and a telephone slug at the chain drug store. He walked out of the telephone booth, disappointed with his mother’s message that no one had telephoned him. Catherine was showing just too damn much crust, and if she could act like that, it just showed that she didn’t give two hoots in hell for him. Just as well to find it out now rather than after getting married.
But what should he do?
He walked by several store fronts, and halted at the entrance to a shoe store.
“Hello,” said a beefy young policeman whom Studs had seen before, while Studs stood slumped, looking emptily at the people passing along the street.
“How are you?” he answered as if he knew the cop, anxious to talk with him.
“I’ve seen you around before. Live in the neighborhood?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Work around here?”
“No, I work anywhere,” Studs smiled, and then, seeing the blankness and suspicion on the policeman’s face, he grew uneasy with an old fear of cops from his kid days.
“What kind of a business is that?”
“I work with my old man in the painting and decorating business. But there’s not much doing these days, and I’ve got more time on my hands than I know what to do with.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lonigan,” Studs answered, controlling sudden anger, because anyway he’d done nothing, and there was no use in getting snotty.
“Around here much in the morning?” the cop asked, and Studs wondered did he think he was Hawkshaw, the great sleuth, or what?
“Oh, now and then.”
“Listen, if you see any suspicious-looking characters around here any time, let me know. There’s been too many histing jobs pulled off lately in this neighborhood, and the sergeant has been hopping on my tail about them. Some of these bastards, you know, are just getting too goddamn reckless, even holding up stores along the street here in the day-time.”
“Sure I will,” Studs said, wondering why the queer look on the cop’s mug.
“Looks like it’s going to be a hot day.”
Studs took a cigarette and offered one to the policeman, who shook his head no. Lighting his, he tried to think of something to say to show the cop that he was somebody, and also a regular fellow. A stout, untidy woman wheeled a baby buggy by and a tall, thin young fellow with a smart-aleck smirk ambled along in her wake. A coarse-faced middle-aged woman dragged a dirty-faced inquisitive child eastward. Bells rang and a train swept by, and Studs watched people rush to catch it. His eye wandering, he casually noticed how the sun seemed to turn the steel tracks into glittering, dazzling thin bands.
“You say your old man’s in the carpenter racket and you help him?” the cop said, his puzzling suspicion seeming to persist.
“Painting and decorating.”
“Oh, yeah, painting and decorating. I see. Your old man’s in the painting and decorating racket, and you ain’t working today.”
“I can prove it, too. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Studs said, his face turning pale from a rush of anger.
“Take it easy! Take it easy! You know, we’re used to handling guys who get tough.”
“I ain’t tough or trying to get snotty. Only you’re acting as if I’d done something.”
“How do I know you didn’t?”
“I’m telling you, ain’t I?”
“If I was to pick up Al Capone this minute on suspicion, he’d tell me he ain’t done nothin’ either. I just got my orders to watch for all suspicious characters along here. How do I know you ain’t a suspicious character? Here, let’s see if you got any heat on you?” the cop said, hastily and awkwardly tapping along Studs’ pockets.
Studs was too sore to speak, and he noticed several people stop to look at the cop and himself.
“Now, what did you say your name was?”
“I told you.”
“Oh, so that’s it, huh?” the cop said ironically. “All right, you’re arrested as a suspicious character and for resisting arrest. How you like that?”
“All right, my name is Lonigan. I’ve talked straight, and if you want me to prove it, I’ll take you home with me. We own the building there. Or else you can go in the drug store and telephone my home. I