The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [194]
“Where did Bain, that bastard, go?” Weary said.
“Who’s that?”
“The louse who was dancing with her.”
Weary ran about, looking, followed by a small crowd. Finally he gave it up.
“I’ll get the bastard,” Weary said.
He and Studs went to the can, in back of the stage. Twelve guys stood in a circle shooting craps. Buddy Coen, a wiry little guy with a snotty face, said hello to Weary. He and Studs were introduced. The game went on with a big ox shooting. “Come on. Shake them dice!” Buddy said.
“I’m shaking.”
“Well, shake ‘em harder!” Buddy said.
The guy looked at Buddy and shook. He won his pot. Buddy, running the game, took a ten-percent cut on the dough. The guy handed Coen five bucks.
“Five. Five bucks. Who’ll fade. Come on, you cheap skates!” Studs handed him two dollars.
“Three bucks!”
A little fellow, whom Weary had called Razz, faded another dollar. Somebody else took the last two. The fellow shook and made his seven. He shot the ten. Studs took five of it. The guy won. He shot fifteen.
“Shake ‘em this time, you!”
“I’m shaking.”
“Well, see that you do!”
Weary frowned at the guy, and faded ten of the fifteen. Studs took the other five. The guy made his point.
“Now, let’s see them dice!” said Buddy, holding the pot. “They’ll be all right!”
Buddy took a step forwards. Weary crowded in. Three husky wicks stood by the ox who held the dice. Weary grabbed the dice from the guy. He, the big ox, and three other fellows edged backwards.
“You sonofabitch! Loaded!”
Weary pumped his right into the ox’s eye. Two fellows jumped Weary. Buddy Coen swung and brought his knee into a groin. A fellow went down moaning. The ox swung at Studs. Studs ducked. He hit the wall and winced. Studs swung. The ox dropped, and Buddy kicked him in the head. He moaned, and crawled towards the door. Studs jumped on the back of a guy tackling Weary and got a stomach hold. Studs followed the group out, chasing the bunch who’d cheated in the crap game. The dancing stopped and everybody swirled about, a milling crowd. Girls screamed. Studs ran downstairs with Weary and Buddy, but the guys got away. He learned that they were from Sixty-third and Halsted. Buddy and some of the other lads shook hands with Studs, told him he was white and had guts. Studs felt good, like a hero. Coen gave him ten bucks back from the pot he had held just before the fight started. They chipped in for a bottle, and Studs went back to dance. He found Nellie. She said the fight was terrible.
“They were rats. They got what they deserved. Every one of them should have had his teeth kicked in,” Studs said.
“My, what language!”
“Thataboy, Studs,” said Phil Rolfe, passing him.
Studs felt like he belonged there, and it made all the difference in the world.
“You must be a terrible fighter.”
He shrugged his shoulders a trifle. He didn’t want to brag or talk about it a lot, but he was pleased with what she said. He started talking, against his will:
“Well, what I do is keep in good condition, and then, if any trouble starts or I have to fight, I can take care of myself.”
“That’s very sensible.”
“There’s a lot of things I can take care of,” Studs said in innuendo.
“Yes,” she said knowingly.
“Sure.”
“For instance?”
“Well, girls and .. .”
“I’ll bet you could, at that.”
“You can’t keep a good man down,” he said.
She smiled an invitation.
After the dance he left her, and decided that he wouldn’t, couldn’t be the bastard to take her cherry. But he was tempted. He’d never been first with a girl. He wouldn’t, and anyway, she was just jail bait and he could get into all kinds of trouble.
The liquor came, and he went back to the can with Weary and some of the boys. He took a swig. It was pretty strong, and he had to fight to get it down.
“Good stuff,” he said.
“Sure it is,” said Weary.
“To those bastards we cleaned! May they walk under a street car and forget to wake up,” Buddy said, raising the bottle.
He drank and they laughed.
“Say, Lonigan, where do you hang out, Fifty-eighth Street?” asked Coen.
Studs nodded.
“Well, drop around and