The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [40]
“Jiggers!” yelled Johnny O’Brien.
Across the street, where Johnny pointed, they saw TB’s old man, a tough, red-mustached, Irish police sergeant. They legged it to O’Brien’s basement by a circuitous route and peered up from the basement window in time to see the old man finish slapping TB around. He bawled out Monk, kicked him in the slats, and told him to go on home.
When the coast was clear, they came out and sprawled on the grass, laughing over Muggsy’s punishment. He was a goop, anyway.
They gassed. Studs suddenly reflected:
“You know, Hennessey must have some screws loose.”
“Just some? That loogin is all loose, his bean is all screwy,” said Johnny O’Brien.
“He’s a sap. The squirrels call him brother,” said Bill.
“He’s got bats in the belfry,” said Dan.
A banana man lazily shoved his cart across Fifty-seventh
Street, shouting, droning, sing-songing: Bannano-oe!
The guys had great fun listening to Bill mimic the dago. They sat around and chewed the fat. Studs said:
“You know, even my old lady warns me to keep away from Three-Star.”
“Hell, so does mine,” O’Brien said.
“Is Hennessey the bull artist?” said Danny O’Neill.
“But you know, sometimes he’s good-hearted,” said Tubby.
“Say, he’d steal your stockings without touching your shoes if he had half a chance. He’d even steal ‘em if they were stiff and full of holes,” Johnny O’Brien said.
“He’s cookoo,” said O’Neill.
“Well, Tubby, you’re older and he thought you’d make a good friend and maybe stick up for him some time, that’s why he treated you. He needs someone to protect him because there’s gangs of guys always out to get him, and nearly every guy his size in the neighborhood has cleaned on him,” said O’Brien.
“Sometimes he will get the livin’ hell pounded out of him,” Dan Donoghue said.
“Yeh,” said Studs.
“He deserves all he gets, though, the little degenerate,” said Dan.
“He should have been a nigger or a hebe instead of Irish,” said O’Brien. Johnny added that Hennessey had even been caught in a basement with his half-wit sister.
“Yeah!”
“Speak of the devil and he’s sure to appear,” said Tubby.
“Yeh, Rastus!” said Bill.
They spied Hennessey and Haggerty dragging themselves along Indiana toward them. They came closer. Both were chewing tobacco, expectorating the juice like dyed-in-the-wool hard guys. Three-Star’s face was smeary, framing his innocent blue eyes; he had a cherubic dimpled chin. He wore an old, dirty blue shirt and filthy khaki pants that were falling down. He had holes in his stockings, and no garters.
“Hello, Falling Socks!” said Studs.
“Hey, Hennessey, don’t you believe in baths?” asked Johnny O’Brien.
“Hello, Nuts and Bolts!” said Bill.
Three-Star thumbed his nose at them.
“Hey, Punk!” said Bill.
Hennessey won forgiveness by passing out wads of Tip-Top for the older guys to chew.
They goofed Three-Star about the elevated incident, but he only laughed and gave them the low-down on it; he was quite proud of the way he had given Johnny Law the slip. He told some dirty jokes he had just collected. Then he looked at Danny O’Neill, who was his own size, and said he’d like to start mooning punks. He said he was fed up on the dago chickens around State Street anyway. The guys all thought that was a new word. Studs tried to talk Hennessey into going down in O’Brien’s basement and doing his stuff, but Hennessey wouldn’t. They hung around and gassed. They got to shouting and talking loud. Studs tried to promote a fight between Danny and Hennessey, and got them to tip-tapping with open hands. George, the cranky