Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [167]
“Yes, Vinc, you better be careful so we don’t have an accident,” said Tommy.
“That’s all right, Tommy. Don’t worry. I had this car a year now and I never had an accident.”
“Say, you horse’s ass, drive!” Studs said.
“Why, Studs!”
“Whoops, another block,” said Taite.
II
“We’re here,” Studs whooped, as the car drove into a dreary parking yard.
To the left, there was a low, rambling structure, lit by a small electric sign: CANNONBALL INN.
“But, fellows, what place is this?” Curley asked, still sitting at the wheel after all the others had gotten out.
“Church,” Doyle snickered.
Studs and Slug pulled Vinc by the shoulders. He yelled. Slug told him to shut up and get out of the car, if he didn’t want a foot jammed through his teeth. Vine got out, and followed them, as they lurched towards the narrow doorway of the inn.
“Studs! Studs. Just a minute,” Curley yelled.
“Shut up!” Studs replied, looking back at him.
“Jesus, Studs, see what he wants,” Doyle said, when Vine continued yelling that he wanted to ask Studs something.
Studs waited. Vine put his hand to Studs’ ear, and whispered:
“Studs, there ain’t anything wrong in going here, is there?”
“No! Come on in, Vinc,” Studs said, in fake friendliness.
“Well, Studs, if you say there’s nothing wrong or sinful about going in, all right.”
They entered a narrow saloon. Four tough-looking eggs leaned against a long bar.
“Merry Christmas, Spike!” Slug said to the beefy-faced, burly bartender.
“Same to you, Mason. I see you brought the boys along to have a good time,” he replied.
The gang lined up for a drink. Vinc asked for pop. The bartender’s thick lips popped open with surprise. Slug gave him the wink, and he nodded.
“Well, here’s how, boys!” Slug said, lifting his small gin glass.
“And may it never get weaker,” Studs added, downing the stuff.
“And here’s to you, Vinc, you fuzzy wuzzy,” Red said.
Vinc drank. He coughed, sputtered, lowered a face of boiling redness, hiccoughed. The bartender gave them the wink as they laughed.
“Say, are you sure that was pop?” he asked, when he was again able to talk.
“Sure thing, Charley.”
“This guy’s a friend of ours, Vine. He wouldn’t fool you,” Benny Taite said.
“Well, it’s awfully strong pop. Maybe I better have root beer.”
“Don’t handle it.”
Vine asked for a glass of water. They paid up. Vinc laid a dime on the bar. The bartender sneered, and said it was a half a buck. Vine drawled that was awfully expensive for pop. He asked Studs if it was right. Studs nodded. Curley paid reluctantly.
Slug led them to a door in the rear of the saloon, and rapped three times. A slide opened, and an eye peered out. The slit closed, and the door was opened. A greasy, pimply-faced fellow with hollow cheeks wished them a Merry Christmas out of the side of his mouth, and told them to have a good time. They heard music as they crossed a dim hallway, and entered another door which led them into a gaudy cabaret with colored lights. A miscellaneous assortment of males were scattered around the tables or belly-dancing with girls in teddies and chemises. They saw the guys who had come with Nate and there was confusion and kidding while two ham-faced waiters placed two tables together. Girls quickly clustered around.
“Say, let’s see the snake room first,” Slug suggested.
They ordered drinks, and Slug talked to one of the bouncers. He told the girls to wait, and they all said yes, dearie.
They followed a bouncer with cauliflower ears along an aisle of tables, out a doorway, and down a narrow, dim hallway. They heard a mingled echo of moans, curses, indistinct sounds.
“It’s as soundproof as we can get it,” the bouncer said.
He opened a door. They were struck by an alcoholic stench, and drunken exclamations. The lights were shot on and they saw a bare room where drunks were crowded all over the floor.
The gang laughed at one drunk who snored in a corner, his belly rising and falling, his mouth wide open. Other drunks rolled on the floor, raved and one sat playing with his toes, his shoes beside him.