Marlborough Mass, 1932
Marc Amlaw did many things which his mother lit a candle for every week and for a good reason, but as far as his little sister was concerned, he took no prisoners and felt no guilt. No one was good enough for her – especially Eddie. Slamming the car door in front of his buddy’s home with its peeling paint, the yard littered with miscellaneous auto parts, furniture and only God knew what else hid among the tall grass and unkept gardens. Most would take it to mean that Eddie needed a wife, or had given up hope from being alone in this world for so long. The truth, Eddie didn’t give a damn. It was a place to sleep off hangovers and keep woman from wanting anything more than a good time. Marc knew Eddie through his passion for gambling, not it in its self, but organizing and promoting. His favorite – street fights. Marc himself had fought a few times for Eddie when he needed bread money; Marc was deceivingly strong and fast with his wiry frame and average height. Eddie always matched him up with the biggest most intimidating bastard he could find. It was a tough way to make extra cash, but it was fast as well as lucrative and he was grateful, but none of that mattered at the moment because he was pissed and Eddie was going to pay.
Reaching into the window of his car, Marc leaned on the horn of his father’s old model T – long and hard. He stopped and listened. He heard Eddie coming down the stairs of his home, his heavy foot beats bellied the thin gangly frame. The man smiled at the sight of the familiar car, but upon exiting his house Eddie was greeted with a blinding pain to the side of his head. He had dealt with enough street fighters to know his love of beer and naps had made putting up a decent defense impossible. He stayed down until his head cleared. When it did, he viewed his friend from above – seething, then wished for the blind pain again. Eddie might be lazy but he wasn’t stupid and knew that nothing he said would be taken well – stay put and stay quiet, was todays policy.
“You asked my sister out!” Marc bellowed.
“I don’t know your sister.”
Picking up Eddie’s thin body by the front of his shirt, Marc shook him. The bone-lessness of his movements and rumpled clothes from the night before would have made anyone passing think he was scarecrow being blown by the wind. Marc could smell the stale beer and cigar smoke that clung to his person; it gave him more motivation to intervene on his sister’s behalf. “You met her today,” he said. Throwing the man across the porch. Eddie hit the railing and Marc heard the crack of wood even with his anger clouded mind. It pissed him off that the wood had too much dry rot to not break a rib.
“Hey,” Eddie put up his hands in surrender. “I did not meet anyone new today, especially a girl.”
Picking up his long time drinking and gambling buddy, he shook him with each word, “Yes. You. Did.” And then shoved him down the porch steps. “Pretty, short, burnet.”
“Marc, that describes over half the women in town!” Eddie grasped at a fragment of hope that this would not turn any uglier. “Would I lie to you.”
“You always lie Eddie. You dyed my hair black and told everyone I was from South America last fall!”
“That was to draw a bigger crowd for the fight.” Eddie dismissed.
“You told Edith Barbos that you were her distant relative so she would higher you to paint her house!”
“I could be.”
“Edith is from Brazil, you ugly Frenchman.” Marc countered.
“You might have a point there.” Eddie realized this was not getting the results he needed – less pain. “Take me to your sister. She will tell you,” Eddie said around gasps of air. He comprehended he had won this round when Marc picked him up and threw him towards the car. Now he just hoped he hadn’t asked her out, after all, he had started drinking directly after confession yesterday.
