that nice. I bet they sweet, huh? Not like Ignatius."
Mrs. Reilly shook her head. "Ignatius was such a precious child. I don't know what made him change. He used to say to me, 'Momma, I love you.' He don't say that no more."
"Aw, don't cry," Patrolman Mancuso said, deeply moved. "I'll make you some more coffee."
"He don't care if they lock me up," Mrs. Reilly sniffed. She opened the oven and took out a bottle of muscatel. "You want some nice wine, Mr. Mancuso?"
"No thanks. Being on the force, I gotta make a impression. I gotta always be on the lookout for people, too."
"You don't mind?" Mrs. Reilly asked rhetorically and took a long drink from the bottle. Patrolman Mancuso began boiling the milk, hovering over the stove in a very domestic manner.
"Sometimes I sure get the blues. Life's hard. I worked hard, too. I been good."
"You oughta look on the bright side," Patrolman Mancuso said.
"I guess so," Mrs. Reilly said. "Some people got it harder than me, I guess. Like my poor cousin, wonderful woman. Went to mass every day of her life. She got knocked down by a streetcar over on Magazine Street early one morning while she was on her way to Fisherman's Mass. It was still dark out."
"Personally, I never let myself get low," Patrolman Mancuso lied. "You gotta look up. You know what I mean? I got a dangerous line of work."
"You could get yourself killed."
"Sometimes I don't apprehend nobody all day. Sometimes I apprehend the wrong person."
"Like that old man in front of D. H. Holmes. That's my fault, Mr. Mancuso. I shoulda guessed Ignatius was wrong all along.
It's just like him. All the time I'm telling him, 'Ignatius, here, put on this nice shirt. Put on this nice sweater I bought you.'
But he don't listen. Not that boy. He's got a head like a rock."
"Then sometimes I get problems at home. With three kids, my wife's very nervous."
"Nerves is a terrible thing. Poor Miss Annie, the next-door lady, she's got nerves. Always screaming about Ignatius making noise."
"That's my wife. Sometimes I gotta get outta the house. If I was another kind of man, sometimes I could really go get myself good and drunk. Just between us."
"I gotta have my little drink. It relieves the pressure. You know?"
"What I do is go bowl."
Mrs. Reilly tried to imagine little Patrolman Mancuso with a big bowling ball and said, "You like that, huh?"
"Bowling's wonderful, Miss Reilly. It takes your mind off things."
"Oh, my heavens!" a voice shouted from the parlor. "These girls are doubtless prostitutes already. How can they present horrors like this to the public?"
"I wish I had me a hobby like that."
"You oughta try bowling."
"Ay-yi-yi. I already got arthuritis in my elbow. I'm too old to play around with them balls. I'd wrench my back."
"I got a aunt, sixty-five, a grammaw, and she goes bowling all the time. She's even on a team."
"Some women are like that. Me, I never was much for sports."
"Bowling's more than a sport," Patrolman Mancuso said defensively. "You meet plenty people over by the alley. Nice people. You could make you some friends,"
"Yeah, but it's just my luck to drop one of them balls on my toe. I got bum feet already."
"Next time I go by the alley, I'll let you know. I'll bring my aunt. You and me and my aunt, we'll go down by the alley.
Okay?"
"Mother, when was this coffee dripped?" Ignatius demanded, flapping into the kitchen again.
"Just about a hour ago. Why?"
"It certainly tastes brackish."
"I thought it was very good," Patrolman Mancuso said. "Just as good as they serve at the French Market. I'm making some more now. You want a cup?"
"Pardon me," Ignatius said. "Mother, are you going to entertain this gentleman all afternoon? I would like to remind you that I am going to the movies tonight and that I am due at the theater promptly at seven so that I can see the cartoon. I would suggest that you begin preparing something to eat."
"I better go," Patrolman Mancuso said.
"Ignatius, you oughta be ashamed,"
Mrs. Reilly shook her head. "Ignatius was such a precious child. I don't know what made him change. He used to say to me, 'Momma, I love you.' He don't say that no more."
"Aw, don't cry," Patrolman Mancuso said, deeply moved. "I'll make you some more coffee."
"He don't care if they lock me up," Mrs. Reilly sniffed. She opened the oven and took out a bottle of muscatel. "You want some nice wine, Mr. Mancuso?"
"No thanks. Being on the force, I gotta make a impression. I gotta always be on the lookout for people, too."
"You don't mind?" Mrs. Reilly asked rhetorically and took a long drink from the bottle. Patrolman Mancuso began boiling the milk, hovering over the stove in a very domestic manner.
"Sometimes I sure get the blues. Life's hard. I worked hard, too. I been good."
"You oughta look on the bright side," Patrolman Mancuso said.
"I guess so," Mrs. Reilly said. "Some people got it harder than me, I guess. Like my poor cousin, wonderful woman. Went to mass every day of her life. She got knocked down by a streetcar over on Magazine Street early one morning while she was on her way to Fisherman's Mass. It was still dark out."
"Personally, I never let myself get low," Patrolman Mancuso lied. "You gotta look up. You know what I mean? I got a dangerous line of work."
"You could get yourself killed."
"Sometimes I don't apprehend nobody all day. Sometimes I apprehend the wrong person."
"Like that old man in front of D. H. Holmes. That's my fault, Mr. Mancuso. I shoulda guessed Ignatius was wrong all along.
It's just like him. All the time I'm telling him, 'Ignatius, here, put on this nice shirt. Put on this nice sweater I bought you.'
But he don't listen. Not that boy. He's got a head like a rock."
"Then sometimes I get problems at home. With three kids, my wife's very nervous."
"Nerves is a terrible thing. Poor Miss Annie, the next-door lady, she's got nerves. Always screaming about Ignatius making noise."
"That's my wife. Sometimes I gotta get outta the house. If I was another kind of man, sometimes I could really go get myself good and drunk. Just between us."
"I gotta have my little drink. It relieves the pressure. You know?"
"What I do is go bowl."
Mrs. Reilly tried to imagine little Patrolman Mancuso with a big bowling ball and said, "You like that, huh?"
"Bowling's wonderful, Miss Reilly. It takes your mind off things."
"Oh, my heavens!" a voice shouted from the parlor. "These girls are doubtless prostitutes already. How can they present horrors like this to the public?"
"I wish I had me a hobby like that."
"You oughta try bowling."
"Ay-yi-yi. I already got arthuritis in my elbow. I'm too old to play around with them balls. I'd wrench my back."
"I got a aunt, sixty-five, a grammaw, and she goes bowling all the time. She's even on a team."
"Some women are like that. Me, I never was much for sports."
"Bowling's more than a sport," Patrolman Mancuso said defensively. "You meet plenty people over by the alley. Nice people. You could make you some friends,"
"Yeah, but it's just my luck to drop one of them balls on my toe. I got bum feet already."
"Next time I go by the alley, I'll let you know. I'll bring my aunt. You and me and my aunt, we'll go down by the alley.
Okay?"
"Mother, when was this coffee dripped?" Ignatius demanded, flapping into the kitchen again.
"Just about a hour ago. Why?"
"It certainly tastes brackish."
"I thought it was very good," Patrolman Mancuso said. "Just as good as they serve at the French Market. I'm making some more now. You want a cup?"
"Pardon me," Ignatius said. "Mother, are you going to entertain this gentleman all afternoon? I would like to remind you that I am going to the movies tonight and that I am due at the theater promptly at seven so that I can see the cartoon. I would suggest that you begin preparing something to eat."
"I better go," Patrolman Mancuso said.
"Ignatius, you oughta be ashamed,"
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