The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [341]
“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’m no crook, and I can prove who I am. But I don’t like to be manhandled around, and my old man wouldn’t like it, either. He grew up with guys who got plenty of drag in this town, Barney McCormack, Judge Gorman, Judge Joe O’Reilley,” Studs said, speaking rapidly and with growing pride.
“Just a minute, fellow. I didn’t mean nothing personal. The sergeant’s just on my tail because there’s been so many histing jobs pulled off around here, and I got my orders to keep my eyes peeled for suspicious-looking characters. I seen you here, and the only way I could find out whether you was a suspicious character or not is by asking you questions and finding out, isn’t it? It’s nothing personal. And my name’s McGoorty.”
“Sure, I know,” Studs said, toning down. “I was just walking around, and it sounded kind of funny because,