Free Funny Boys by Warren Adler Page B

out of the room.
    “You gotta point,” Mickey called after him.
    Irish stopped, turned, and pointed his fingers as if they were a gun. The image of holdup seemed complete.
    “Five is steep,” Mickey said. “Will you take three?”
    Irish’s contemplation consisted of sucking air through his teeth.
    “Four is better,” Irish said holding out his palm. Mickey counted out four bucks.
    “One smart tumler,” Irish said, putting the money in hispocket, then putting his arm on Mickey’s shoulder. “You and me is gonna get along.”
    As if to show his camaraderie, he picked up Mickey’s suitcase and carried it down the corridor. He came to another door and opened it abruptly.
    A chubby young woman was lying on a bed wearing nothing but panties. She jumped up, her huge breasts swinging, tearing the blanket off the bed and covering herself. Her face showed more anger than embarrassment.
    “You getoutahere Irish,” she screeched, as Irish lifted a fisted hand and waved it in her face.
    “Shut ya hole, Marsha, or I shut it for you.”
    The threat calmed her.
    “This is not what I bargained for,” Mickey muttered. Irish threw him a glance of contempt.
    “I give it to her as a fava,” Irish said. He turned back to Marsha. “You pack up and getoutahere.”
    “You get no more freebees from me, Irish,” Marsha said, miraculously calmed. “It’s ovah between you and me.”
    “This is your room in the foist place, tumler,” Irish said.
    “Ya lied ta me, Irish,” Marsha said, still snarling. She looked at Mickey. “He give me this room hisself.”
    Irish pulled the blanket out of her hands. She made a valiant attempt to cover her big tits with her arms, but to little avail. Irish laughed and grabbed a handful of breast.
    “I give it to her cause a these. Aint them knockers sumpin?”
    “Gettaway from me you bastard.”
    “Just showin off my goods, Marsha.”
    The girl was docile now, as of she were cowed into accepting the humiliation.
    Mickey was embarrassed and uncomfortable. He felt sorryfor the girl. Their eyes met. She shrugged and turned away.
    “This is wrong,” he said. “I don’t want to put her out.”
    “Hey tumler, you want the room or not?”
    “Not if someone else has to be punished for my comfort.”
    “Look at this, Marsha, a real softie.”
    “He’s got class,” Marsha mumbled. “Not a slob like you, Irish.” She looked at Mickey and nodded. “I appreciate this kid. I ain’t just a piece of meat.”
    “It’s okay. I’ll find another place,” Mickey said.
    “This one’s gotta heart,” Marsha said, pointing with her thumb. Her subtle change of attitude seemed puzzling.
    “Stop the hearts and flowers and get the hell outa here,” Irish said to the girl.
    The girl moved to the bed and bent to get her battered suitcase from under it.
    “You should see that big ass move, tumler,” Irish said. The girl, paying little attention, put on a robe.
    “You don’t have to go,” Mickey said.
    “It’s not my room anyway,” the girl said. “It’s his racket. It’s a scam, kiddo.”
    “For that you don’t get your cut,” Irish said, pushing a finger in the girl’s face.
    “Does Gorlick know?” Mickey snapped.
    “Won’t do no good. He don want no trouble with the help,” Marsha said, her gaze flitting between him and Irish. “Better don rock the boat. Right, Irish?”
    When she turned to face Irish again, she looked at him with squinty eyes, her lips tight with anger.
    “When the big shots come up this one will be just a little shit,” she said. Irish lifted a fisted hand.
    “Ya lookin for it, Marsha,” Irish said.

    “Yeah. Like your dick. Tough to find.”
    “Fa that I ain’t pimping ya with the help this yeah,” Irish said, sticking a finger in front of her nose. “And if ya try on yaw own I give yaw face an acid bath, you unnerstand?”
    “Big talker,” Marsha said, turning to Mickey. “Thanks, tumler.” She winked. “At least someone around here has