Читать книгу Every Man for Himself - Mark J. Hannon - Страница 10

CHAPTER 6

THE WEST SIDE, 1917

When the wagons were all out on their routes, and Joe had finished the books, he took a break and walked over to the Rowing Club. He hadn’t gone to the Friday night function last night. Those guys will stay there until they get the last drop of beer out of the keg, he thought. Too much for me nowadays, as he thought of his wife at home.

When he approached the clubhouse, he heard someone inside dragging furniture, and was surprised by the sight of broken glass and shattered windows. The inside of the club was a shambles—chairs busted up, tables knocked over, bottles and glasses all over the place. Pete Gilhooly was in the process of turning one of the tables upright and, as he did, Joe noticed the bruise around his left eye that seemed to be turning blue, green, and yellow as he looked at him.

“Jaysus, Pete, what the hell happened here?”

“Ah for fook’s sake, Joe, you missed it last night,” he said, straightening up and stretching his back, pulling up the suspenders over his long johns shirt.

“What’s the other guy look like?” Joe jibed, jerking his chin at Pete’s face.

“Which one?” Pete smiled back. “It was a regular Donnybrook, that’s for sure. Those boys from down in your wife’s old neighborhood, down in the Ward, came by, knowing we have a good feed and beer Friday nights. A few of the Mutuals, but mostly the Celtics, and they’d been drinkin’ on their way here as well.”

“Oh boy . . .”

Rubbing his chin, Pete organized the details of the conflict in his mind and continued. “Well, they’re all welcome as good sportsmen and all, and we’re having a good time with the beer flowing and some real good beefsteaks and sausages and salami that we’d got, and naturally, there’s some talk as rivals do, no problems there. Then, one of the Celtic lads, I think his name was Gerry, said something about our having Dagos in the club, and as you might expect, the gimp gets upset at this and tells Gerry, I think that was his name, anyway . . . to shut his Pig Irish trap, and that’s about all it took for those two. Well, Gerry gets up and throws a punch at the gimp, and the gimp doesn’t even feel it, he’s so mad. Grabs your man Gerry by the neck and the crotch and tosses him, hmm . . .,” looking around, he finally pointed to one of the shattered windows on the river side of the clubhouse, “through that window, I think.

“Well, their boys all jump up at that one and rush the gimp. He bein’ a member in good standing and all, we jump up and the battle’s on.” Pulling his right fist back to his chin, he continued, “I had the one guy by the collar with my left, you see, and was just about to give him the right when someone threw a great heavy mug and got me where you see here,” touching his swollen face proudly. “The room spun, I saw stars and just started swinging for me life. After a few minutes, everyone tumbles outside and the lads get wrestling on the ground.” Shaking his head, Pete went on. “I think our more judicious use of the gargle then paid off, as their boys started getting winded and eventually retreated back to the mainland, as it were. We held our own, we did,” but looking at the damaged clubhouse, even Gilhooly thought the damage may have outweighed the glory. “Next time,” he vowed, “we’ll go down there and give them a what for.”

“I dunno if that’s such a good idea, General,” Joe commented.

“What? And let those guys think we’re cowards? We’ll bring the whole club, every one of us man and boy. We’ll show ’em.”

“Ahhh, Pete. If you bring twenty guys down there, they’ll have fifty. You bring fifty and they’ll get every Mick from Exchange Street to the Buffalo River, all of ’em with clubs and bottles waiting for you.”

Pete considered this possibility, and Joe finished, “Look, lemme go back to work. When I get off, I’ll come back and give you a hand cleaning up this place. Anyone else coming by to help?”

“Uh, yeah, I got hold of a few people who said they’d be by shortly.”

“Well, look, I’m the treasurer this year, so take a few dollars and go over to Winegar’s Hardware and get some glass panes, some putty, and a box of glazier’s points so we can fix these windows. At least they didn’t smash the sashes up.”

Joe left, thinking how he used to drink when he was single like Gilhooly, but he’d never been as much of a boozer or a brawler like these guys. The gimp, he thought, was a pretty tough customer these days. A lot different from the crippled little boy he used to be. Joe also thought about how much having a wife had changed him as he went back to work, and how much happier he was with his life that way. He chuckled, thinking, yeah, much better having a wife than having a three-colored shiner as a trophy like Gilhooly.