Funny Boys by Warren Adler Page A

said.
    “How come you don’t tank me, Pep?” the squat one said.
    “This Reles always embarrasses me in front of ladies. That’s cause he’s jealous.”
    The man called Reles laughed.
    “He’s got more notches on his shlong than Buck Jones has on his six-gun.”
    “These boys,” the man called Albert said to Mutzie. “They play like this alla time. Pay no attention.”
    “The short one is very crude,” Mutzie said when they had left.
    “Kid Twist?”
    “That his name?”
    “Monicka. Nickname.”
    “Like you’re Pittsburgh Phil, right?”
    “You don’t like that one? They call me Pep for short. Better than Harry. Harry Strauss.”
    “Much better.”
    They were silent for a while as Pep studied her closely with his confident lovely brown eyes.
    Pep was, as she had hoped, very polite and attentive. He tied a napkin around his neck to keep his shirt spotless and she noted how carefully he moved in his clothes to keep the creases neat. She liked that. When they left the restaurant, they held hands while they walked to the car. In the car, he put on soft music and she nestled in the crook of his arm as he drove, caressing her shoulder.

    “You look like a movie star, Mutzie.”
    “Really?” Mutzie said, feigning surprise, loving the comparison.
    “I like movies. Gangster stuff. You see Jimmy Cagney in Public Enemy ?”
    “I loved it.”
    “Edward G. Robinson in Little Caesar .” He held his hands as if he were working a machine gun. “Rattatatata.”
    “I’m more partial to love stories and musicals, Pep,” Mutzie said. She didn’t mind gangster movies if they had love stories in them. “Gangster movies have too much killing.”
    “Yeah,” Pep said. “That’s the fun part.”
    They talked about the movies for a while, then turned to other subjects like what she wanted out of life.
    “I want the best of everything,” Mutzie said.
    “Takes dough,” Pep said.
    “You seem to be doing great, Pep,” Mutzie said.
    “I got no complaints.”
    “What, actually, do you do?” Mutzie asked cautiously, suddenly fearful.
    There was a long silence. Pep’s tongue darted from his mouth and he licked his lips.
    “I’m sort of a contractor,” he said with a smile.
    “Oh,” Mutzie said.
    “Anyway. I do real good.” He observed her, patted her hand and they looked into each other’s eyes.
    “I could really go faw you, Mutzie. Maybe make ya my one and only.”
    His one and only. The reference was magical. It was exactly what she wanted. The suggestion validated her new makeover. She had made the right decision, indeed. She felt like somebody now.

    “Really, Pep?”
    “Really,” he said, whispering in her ear.
    She was ecstatic and she didn’t want the evening to end. It was nearly midnight when he drove her to the front of her apartment building, and when he found a parking space, he shut off the ignition and the car lights.
    Then he bent over and gave her a deep soul kiss while his hand gently squeezed her right breast, tight in its pointy brassiere cup. She wanted to unstrap her brassiere and let him kiss her bare breasts, but she didn’t want to seem too forward, afraid she might appear like one of those easy girls. It was obvious that Pep had a great deal of experience with women. She liked that. It meant she was in safe hands.
    After a few minutes of kissing, he sat up.
    “I gotta go,” he announced, turning on the ignition.
    “Me too,” Mutzie lied. It was Friday night and there was no school on Saturday.
    “We see each other tomorrow, right?” Pep asked.
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Late though. I gotta do sumpin first. You meet me on the corner, say, about ten.”
    “That late?”
    “Sure. We’ll take a drive.”
    He bent over and gave her one more deep soul kiss and a squeeze before she left.
    Seymour woke her up the next morning and sat on the edge of her bed, eager to hear how the evening had gone.
    “Great, Seymour,” she said. “Pep is a prince of a guy.”
    She told him about