Free Bowery Girl by Kim Taylor Page B

them.
    Seamus picked up the Police Gazette from beside him and shook the pink pages open. “Careful there. Ya know how he don’t like his cards messed with.”
    Mollie dealt. A pair of twos and a Jack. Too bad she didn’t have a cent on her.
    Hugh smacked his lips and smiled. “You staying?”
    â€œSure.” She spread her cards before her.
    â€œNot bad.” Hugh rearranged his cards, each time lifting his shoulder and dropping it.
    â€œYou got a twitch or something?”
    â€œWhat? Little back trouble is all.” Up and down went the shoulder. Then he stood and snapped his arm. “All I need’s the queen of hearts, but I can’t seem to shake her out of my sleeve.” He rolled up his coat sleeve to show a metal contraption tied to his arm with leather straps. The queen of hearts was clamped to some spring-loaded thing. He shook his arm with more force, but the card wobbled and remained set in its mooring. “Aw, hell. She don’t want to move.” He sighed, then pulled the card free and kissed it. “You’re a hard woman.”
    Mollie laughed. “How much you pay for that thing?”
    â€œThe fella said it worked like a dream. Even showed me. See, ya palm a queen before the deck’s shuffled, and switch it out for a bum card. Then— pow —out comes the match, but only if you need it.” Hugh wrangled with the spring on his arm, snapping and unsnapping it. “I got to get some oil. Hear how loud this is? I’d be dead before the card got in my hands. This thing’s trash. I’m gonna find that fella and give him a chunk of my mind.”
    â€œ Piece of my mind,” Mollie said.
    â€œPiece of lead would be better,” Seamus added.
    Hugh put his cards back in his hat and slapped it on his head. He put his hands on his broad hips, flipping back the yellow-and-black-checked coattails, and gazed down the street. “Would ya look at that? Looks like we got a Jewboy who’s very lost.”
    A young boy walked quickly down the opposite sidewalk, his eyes scraping the ground. He wore a broad hat rimmed with fur, and two large red curls swayed and bounced next to his cheeks.
    â€œHey Jewgirl,” Hugh called. “How long’s it take your mother to fix your hair? Meeting your boyfriend for a little rump-diddle-dee?”
    The boy kept moving forward, his shoulders tight.
    â€œWhy don’t ya answer me? Didn’t no one teach you any manners?” Hugh checked both directions, and after a delivery van rolled by, crossed the street and stood directly in the middle of the sidewalk.
    The boy stopped. He kept his eyes down. He stepped right. Hugh blocked him. He stepped left, but Hugh cut off that escape, too. Hugh’s jacket blared in the sun. “Whatcha doing down here?”
    â€œHe’s gonna shit his pants, he’s so scared,” Seamus said to Mollie.
    â€œHe’s just walking.”
    Seamus handed the paper to her, then crossed the street.
    The boy took a step backwards, bumping up against Seamus. Seamus pushed him forward with his chest, until he’d squeezed the kid between himself and Hugh.
    â€œIt’s polite to answer questions,” Seamus said. “So, whatcha doing down here?”
    Hugh flipped the boy’s curls. “Such a pretty little girl.”
    Then the boy took his chance, sliding from between them. He ran down the street, Seamus and Hugh on his heels.
    Mollie chewed on her matchstick, chewed it until her teeth ground the wood to pulp. Her stomach growled, nagging her yet again for food. She spit out the hard end of the match and swallowed the rest. She hoped the boy was fast.
    When they returned, Seamus dangled a red curl in front of Mollie. “Like a souvenir?”
    â€œWhat the hell did you do that for?”
    Seamus’s smile faltered. He looked at Hugh, then back at Mollie, his face puzzled. “What are you mad about?”
    â€œWhat was