Virgin With Butterflies Read Online Free PDF Page A

came up and pocketed it. Pimples had asked what was it and the other guy had said, “None of your goddamned business—finders keepers.” And the others said so, too. So Pimples knocked him right out, went over him and put it—whatever it was—in his pocket. So Pimples took it off of him and smacked one of the other guys, too, making his lip bleed and then Pimples says, “You punks can pay for my drinks,” and waddled out.
    So I knew I wouldn’t have to look in the damp sawdust and the broken glass by the broom or out in the can in the alley.
    â€œWhat was it he found?” I says.
    â€œTencents store jewelry,” Millie says. “I seen it, close, for a minute. It was a ring,” she says, “with a glass set in it as big as your eye—bigger,” she says. “Too big it was,this set, to be mistaken for anything cost anything. Anyway, what could it be but glass, being red?” she says.
    â€œThem punks is nuts,” Red says. “They drink Mex liquor and they smoke marywanna,” he says, “and they fight over glass jewelry that wouldn’t fool a blind cat,” he says. Red’s a plumber and strictly labor union, see? Plays handball at the Y.M.C.A. twice a week and don’t approve of the customers at Butch’s Café but he seldom says anything because he ain’t there to fight—unless Curly should come in.
    So I tried to sell a pack to a girl that Butch knows that brings a man in now and then for drinks and sometimes a game of cards in the back room. And this one bought a pack of Camels and beefed because they was a quarter.
    Finally I got to where Moe was wiping off a table. He showed me right away a chain out of his pocket that he had swept up with the other stuff and I had to give him five bucks for it. He tried to get more but I thought five bucks was enough to buy back what may have been the gentleman’s mother’s neck chain or even his grandmother’s, who could tell? The links were flat oblongs with tiny foreign writing on ’em and gold.
    â€œDon’t you tell, or I’ll kill you,” I said to Moe and he looked as if he thought I meant it but I wouldn’t kill anybody, he ought to know that.
    Well, I went back to the toughie’s table, and “Gosh,” I says, “that stuff you was drinking is sure bad for the eyes,” I says. No answer.
    â€œWhere’s teacher?” I says.
    â€œWhose teacher?” one of ’em says.
    â€œYours,” I says. “Seems like somebody didn’t raisetheir hand before speaking,” I says, “and had their chewing gum took away from ’em,” I says.
    â€œChewing gum,” says Black Eye, “that’s about what that jewelry came with,” he says. “That’s a hell of a cheap trinket to go busting your gang in the puss for,” he says. “He’s washed up as far as I’m concerned. That’s the last I take from that so-and-so.”
    â€œI know how you mean,” I says. “The thing he took off of you wasn’t worth nothing,” I says, “but still it gets you sore to think of him having the satisfaction of feeling he made you give it up.”
    They didn’t say a word, or hardly even looked at me.
    â€œWouldn’t it be funny,” I says, “if he was to lose it?” I says.
    Still they took no interest. “I mean,” I says, “if he was tricked out of it to make him look a little small, not just to himself,” I says, “but in front of you four that took such pains to make look pretty small, right here, where people will likely hear about it.”
    That got ’em all right.
    â€œHow do you mean?” one of ’em says.
    â€œWell,” I says, “of course, I don’t know where he’s at now.”
    Then they was all anxious as anything to tell me. “He’ll be at Harry Mulloy’s,” they says, all of ’em at