Afterwards I was sorry about the picture because my mother was so pretty. She had a ribbon around her hair and big eyes a little slanty. In the picture she was turned away a little so it looked like she was smiling back at you. And the way she was smiling was different too. It wasn’t like the silly kind of a smile most people have when they’re getting their picture taken. It was more like she was laughing at something she knew but you didn’t know.
Afterwards I started snooping around but I never found another picture of her anywhere.
Chapter Five
THE two big orange tickets, almost as big as post cards, were laying right in the middle of the dresser.
Funny how something big can chase everything else out of your mind. First it was the fights, and from the time my father told me I was going I couldn’t get it out of my head.
When I was washing in front of the bathroom mirror, I would stop right in the middle to make like I was Rocks Abruzzo slamming one into Joe Shotfield’s face. Then I was Joe Shotfield trying to come out of it and I would cover up but Rocks would be all over me. I would start to go down, but then I was back being Rocks again and I was standing there while Joe was counted out.
I read about it in all the papers I could get hold of, and I even told some of the kids around the school and it went over big with them. It was the most important thing that happened to me.
But from the time Al Judge walked into the bar, I never thought about it. It just wasn’t in my mind. Too much was happening, and even walking up the stairs so slow with my father and Flanagan I didn’t think about it, because near the top my father started to let go, and if I didn’t grab him and Flanagan get an arm around him, he might have gone all the way down again on his head.
When we got him into the bedroom he dropped flat on his belly on the bed like a dead one. I got scared, but after Flanagan switched on the light and put the cashbox down, he gave him a once-over and said he was okay, only hurt bad. I knew that all right; Flanagan didn’t have to tell it me.
Then I saw the tickets on the dresser, and so many things came into my mind at once I couldn’t straighten them out. It wasn’t that I cared about not going to be fights, because after what happened it didn’t seem important any more. But then it hit me right between the eyes that Al Judge would be at the fights. He had to write about it, didn’t he? And all I could see was him sitting at the ringside with the back of his head lined right up in the sights of the revolver. Then pow! and he drops right down over the typewriter. If I waited for when there was real action in the fight and plenty of noise and excitement, nobody would ever know it was me who did it.
There was a movie I saw where a guy was gunning for one of the prizefighters just that way. I couldn’t think right then if he got away with it or not because the next thought that tangled me up was if I killed Al Judge like that, he wouldn’t know why it happened, and the big thing was he had to know why it happened before he went.
Besides, what was the use of knocking myself out over that, because if my father was hurt and couldn’t go to the fights, I knew I wasn’t going either. But I had to go. If I didn’t kill Al Judge right there, I could still keep an eye on him. Then after the fights I could shadow him until I got him in the right spot. Otherwise I might never find out where he was, and before I could it would be too late.
Those tickets cost eight dollars apiece too, and that would be an awful waste.
I picked up the tickets and stood there looking at them with my head buzzing round and round, and it was Flanagan who fixed everything up without even meaning to. He went into the bathroom, and I heard the water squirting into the bathtub. Then he came back and gave my father a boost so he was sitting up on the edge of the bed. I think maybe that shot of whisky had taken hold too, because my father’s eyes were as big and shiny as marbles and he hardly seemed to know what was going on.
Flanagan started to peel his shirt off and said, ‘A nice warm tub, Andy, and you’ll feel like the jack of trump. Then we’ll get some stuff on that back and roll you to bed.’
I don’t think my father knew what Flanagan said. He sat there looking at the wall like he was trying to remember something. Then he said, ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all. A little tired,’ and Flanagan helped him get on his feet and said, ‘Sure, sure, Andy, the tub is all ready now.’
Then they got started into the bathroom very slow, and I heard the door close and a lot of splashing, so I figured he was in the bathtub.
In all my life I never did anything my father told me not to. That little sip of beer didn’t count because Flanagan said it was tasting and not drinking. But in all the big things I did what my father wanted. Like the kids on the block had a Halloween party or something and he said don’t go, I didn’t go. I might be a little sore about it, but I didn’t let him know that.
When the kids used to go down Ehrlich’s cellar and monkey around with girls, I mean not even the works, just feeling around and looking, I wanted to go more than anything else in the world. Only some drunk in the bar started talking about it, and my father told me not to do it. So I didn’t do that either. And I didn’t smoke and I only cursed when I forgot, because on my block it didn’t even sound like cursing. I mean, some kid would want to say it’s a very hot day, and he would say it’s a f–ing hot day and you wouldn’t even notice. Everybody did it, and they laughed at me because I tried not to. I think I was a pretty good kid.
That’s why I’m glad my father didn’t think about the fights and maybe say something to me about not going. Because I was going to do something he wouldn’t like anyhow, and if he told me straight out not to do it, it would make it that much worse. I would do it even if he told me not to, but it would have been the first time, and I would feel bad about it. This way was much better.
I stood still for a long time in front of the dresser, but all I heard was a little mumbling and splashing. I was wearing a sweater and I slipped it off. My father and I kept all our clothes in the bedroom closet together, his on the right-hand side, and mine on the left. I swung open the closet door so it wouldn’t squeak and got out a necktie and put it on. Then I got my suit coat out and my overcoat. When I had them on, I took my good hat and bent the brim down in front. Even so, when I peeked in the mirror, it looked like a kid’s hat. I put it back and took out my father’s hat. It was black with a real snap brim, and I looked good in it. Like a man. I knew because I already tried it on.
When I was all dressed except for some buttons, I looked out in the hall, but everything was okay. I sneaked out as far as the stairs and then I remembered the tickets. It would have been a nice pickle if I went all the way up to Madison Square Garden and didn’t even have a ticket to get in. I went back into the room, grabbed the tickets, and looked at the clock. It was only quarter to nine, so I had plenty of time to get to the fights before they broke up. It would only take ten, fifteen minutes in the Ninth Avenue bus.
When I got out to the stairs again, I was soaked with sweat through and through. The house was pretty warm, and the coat was heavy, and besides that, I was sick with the feeling I had to go out and get it over with. I felt my face and it felt flaming hot but that was maybe because my hand was all ice-cold and wet. I wondered if I was getting sick with anything serious.
I went down the stairs on the side by the wall where it wasn’t so squeaky. Even so, the house was so quiet that every step I took sounded like a fire alarm to me. When I got to the bottom it was pitch-black there, so I had to feel around for the door-knob. Once I got the door open it was better, because the night light was on in the bar.
It was a funny feeling walking through the bar. On the table where I was eating supper was the plate with the steak bone on it and a couple of French fried potatoes. I picked one up but it felt somehow like a dead man’s finger might and I dropped it quick. The book was there too. I picked it up and put it down under the bar where I kept it.
Then I went to the cash register and opened the big drawer under it. The gun was there all right; I coul
d hear it scrape a little when I pulled the drawer out. I reached it and took it out, and it felt colder and heavier than I could ever remember. It didn’t feel like it could kill anybody. It just felt like a big heavy tool. Like a monkey wrench or something.
I stuck it in my right-hand overcoat pocket, but the pocket was too small and the butt stuck out. So I pulled it out, and then I remembered I didn’t even look to see if it was loaded. I broke it open the way Flanagan did when he cleaned it, and there were bullets in every chamber. I closed it up, and this time I stuck it into my right-hand pants pocket, because it was pretty big.
I must have shoved too hard or something, because the next thing I knew there was a rip and the barrel went right through my pants. It felt like a piece of ice rubbing along my leg, and I pulled at it but the front sight must have caught in the pocket because I could hardly get it out, and when I did there wasn’t much pocket left. My glasses were all smashed too on the floor. I forgot about them in my pocket and now they were done for, but good. I just let them lay there.
I was going to put the gun in my other pants pocket then, but the thought of having it on the left-hand side was so uncomfortable in my mind that I just stuck it right back in the torn pocket. It stayed in there all right, only the barrel was against my leg cold as death.
Then I buttoned up and went around to the door. I didn’t have my key with me, so I fixed the lock to stay open. It didn’t matter what with the money upstairs. Then I remembered something. I had the tickets and the gun, but I didn’t have any money along. And the money box was upstairs.
For a second I figured on going back to the bedroom and taking some money out of the box, but then maybe my luck would run out and Flanagan or my father would see me. Anyhow I could get a dime from Mr Ehrlich in the candy store, because he would always lend you a dime if you needed it.
I took a quick look from the corner of the window shade to see if anybody was hanging around the front of the bar, but nobody was there. When I opened the door, the wind was so bad it nearly pulled it out of my hand and banged it against the wall. I just grabbed it in time. Then I pulled it shut and stepped out into the street.
There was dust and stuff blowing along so hard it stung my eyes. All up and down the block you could hear the tin signs banging back and forth, and I saw that Mr Ehrlich had taken all the papers off the news stand. He only did that in bad weather or on Halloween night when the kids were out for a good time, so the papers wouldn’t get spoiled. He would stack them up on the candy counter in the store then, and all the guys who wanted a free look would crowd in and you could hardly breathe.
When I thought of the guys in there, and what they would be saying about my father, I almost felt like not going in. But I needed that dime bad, so I had to. I didn’t waste any time. I ran over to the door of the candy store and pushed it open. There were plenty of guys in there all right, getting their free look, and the first one to get a good look at me was Kennealy, the new cop on the beat.
Chapter Six
FOR a slow count of five I stood there frozen, with my back pasted up against the door. Maybe it’s a lucky thing I froze up like that, because if I didn’t I might have gone right out through the door again and then Kennealy would sure have started to smell something fishy.
Kennealy was a new cop, and old Mr Reardon who was retired on a pension and hung around the bar every night for a couple of hours used to say new cops were always funny the way they went looking for trouble. They figured maybe they could become heroes and get on plain-clothes, so they went around stirring up what they couldn’t see. Besides, I always used to tighten up around cops. I could walk down the street not doing a thing and when a cop came by and gave me the eye I would feel just like a crook and I could feel the way I was walking and looking, I looked just like a crook too.
And there I was standing without my glasses and with my father’s good hat shoved on my head, and that big gun scraping along my leg, and knowing in my head I was going to kill Al Judge, watching Kennealy look at me. He was standing in front of the soda fountain with a glass of seltzer and chocolate in one hand and a marshmallow cracker that was half gone in the other hand. When he first saw me he was sloshing the soda around in the glass, I guess to mix it up, then after he got a good look he drank it all down and waved the glass at me to come over.
I walked over very slow and all I knew was if he tried anything funny like frisking me or something, I would pull away and try to get the gun out and let him have it. I didn’t even get started on what I was going to do, and no cop was going to spoil it right off. There wasn’t any reason why he would even think of frisking me, but that didn’t stop me from thinking the way I did.
When I got near him, he said, ‘Hey, LaMain, what’s this I hear about your old man getting beat up tonight?’
When he said that, everybody else turned around to take a look at me. There was Mr Ehrlich with his glasses slipping down his nose looking worried, and maybe three, four other guys from the block, and they all looked at me. One of the guys said, ‘Yeah, an eyewitness came up to the whore house and told Kennealy all about it, so now he’s coming around to investigate,’ and everybody laughed except Mr Ehrlich. He didn’t like that kind of talk around the store, because sometimes Mrs Ehrlich was there, and maybe Gertrude, the baby.
I said, ‘He got beat up, but he said to forget it.’
The same guy made a face like he smelled something bad and said, ‘He must of had it coming to him, all right,’ but another one said, ‘Andy is okay. Maybe he figures to square it his own way,’ and that got a rise out of Kennealy.
He said very hot, ‘As long as this is my beat we don’t want any of that stuff around here. Is that what he’s got on his mind, LaMain?’
‘No. He said to forget it.’
One of the guys made a loud raspberry. ‘Go on. Al Judge is too big for him. If he ever started anything, the whole circulation gang of the Press would be down here to take his joint apart.’
Kennealy waved his hand at the guy to shut him up, and then he waved his empty seltzer-and-chocolate glass at me. ‘Look, kid. You tell your old man I know what happened and I know who was in it, and if anything more comes out of it, I’ll know just where to start looking. You tell him that, kid.’
One of the guys said, ‘What’s the matter, Kennealy, you figure on Al Judge to get you a promotion?’ and they all started laughing again.
Only Mr Ehrlich didn’t. He leaned over the counter and said very worried, ‘How is he now, Georgie? Is he hurt bad?’
I said, ‘He’s all right, only he’s laying down and I don’t want to bother him. So please, Mr Ehrlich, could you lend me a dime?’
The same guy made a raspberry again and said, ‘He’s an expert at laying down, ain’t he?’ and I thought someday I’ll get that guy and get him good. I wouldn’t even kill him, just beat him up with a lead pipe or something until there wasn’t one little piece left whole, and then I’d just kick him in the face laying there in front of me. Only that wasn’t the important thing then. Getting my dime and getting out of there was the important thing.
But before I could get the dime, I heard Mrs Ehrlich yelling down the back steps,‘Meyer. Meyer. If that’s Georgie, send him up please. Tell him it’s important.’
More than anything in the world, I didn’t want to go upstairs then, because I knew what Mrs Ehrlich wanted. Every now and then, she went out to do shopping or maybe to a movie, and she was afraid little Gertrude might wake up and start crying. So she would give me a dime, maybe a quarter, just to sit upstairs and read until she came back. It was all right with me because that meant I could take new comic books and stuff up from the magazine rack as long as I put them back when I went out. But tonight I only wanted to get started, and going upstairs would spoil it.
I started to tell Mr Ehrlich I had to go somewhere but he put out his hands and smiled. ‘Look, I’ll give you the dime. But do me a favour. It’s only for a couple of minutes so she can go shopping.’
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br /> It was no good to start arguing. With everybody around I was only afraid they would wonder what was so important and maybe start to ask questions. One of them even said, ‘What is it, Georgie? Got a big date tonight?’ but instead of saying anything, I pushed around them and went upstairs.
Mrs Ehrlich was standing at the top of the stairs. She was short and kind of dumpy with two big bloopers, but she had a nice face and she was always smiling.
‘Oh good, good,’ she said right away, ‘Georgie, I got to go shopping maybe ten, fifteen minutes. I promise I’ll be back quick. Meanwhile keep an eye on the baby, huh?’
Sometimes she would say that and it would be an hour before she came back. So I said, ‘Look, Mrs Ehrlich, my father is hurt and I have to get back right away. So please hurry up if you don’t mind.’
She put her hands to her head. ‘Oh, I heard about it. Such a nice man, and such a terrible thing to happen. Is he hurt bad, Georgie? Did you have a doctor?’
I said, ‘He’s hurt pretty bad, Mrs Ehrlich, and I have to be back right away. So please hurry up.’
I went into the parlour and she went to get her coat, and all the time she was putting it on she kept saying, ‘Terrible. Terrible. Such a neighbourhood,’ until I wanted to tell her to shut up. Then she ran down the stairs and I sat down in my overcoat to wait.
I know one thing always happens to me when I get all hot and bothered like before I take a big test in school. I have to take a leak bad. Even if I went only a little while before, I still feel I have to go again, and sometimes I’ll go three or four times in a row without anything happening, only I have the feeling.
That’s how I felt while I was sitting there and waiting, so I got up and went down the hall to the bathroom and it wasn’t any false alarm either. Only when I got done I still had the feeling and my knees were trembling like there was a wind blowing through them. And the funniest thing was when I put my hand in my pants pocket to straighten out the gun because it was poking me, all the feeling went away.
Dreadful Summit Page 3
