"'Intellectual-type discussion'?" Shu brays, punchin' his brother on the arm. "What kind of talk is that, Old Man?"
"Paw told us big city folk talked kinda funny." Hy grinned, "but I ain't never heard nobody who sounds as weird as this guy."
"He's talked that way ever since he played one of the leads in 'Guys and Dolls' while we was in college," Nunzio sez, quick-like. "Beyond that, I strongly suggest you drop the subject."
That's when I realize that I have commenced to flex my own hands a bit ...an action which has the tendency to make Nunzio nervous. While I am not particularly sensitive to callous or ignorant remarks about my size or how I'm gettin' older, I can get a little touchy if anyone tries to poke fun at how I talk. You see, I have spent considerable time perfectin' this particular style of expression as I feel it enhances my believability as a rough and tumble leg-breaker, thereby minimizing the number of times I have to actually partake of the violent-type actions which so offend and depress my sensitive soul. Therefore, anyone who tries to state or imply that talkin' like dis is easy or stupid is issuin' an invitation to waltz with me which would best be withheld unless his or her hospitalization insurance is substantial, detailed, and paid up. This is, of course, the very button the Flie brothers is tinkerin' with, and I find their efforts sufficiently clumsy as to require immediate instruction as to the error of their ways and perhaps a little behavioral adjustment. The fact that I am still annoyed over the haircuts and uniforms and sorta lookin' for someone to take it out on has completely nothin' to do with my reactions.
"Were you in that musical, too?" Junebug sez, unwittingly steppin' between us in his eagerness to start a conversation. He is a good-Iookin' kid with the kind of soft, unblemished features usually associated with male fashion-type models. "I got to play Sky Masterson, myself. What was your major, anyway? I got my Bachelor's in Dance."
"BusAd ... a Master's," I sez, try in to ease around him.
Unfortunately he has given the Flie brothers a face-savin' out from the buildin' confrontation with Nunzio and me. Whether motivated by any native intelligence or simply saved by animal survival instinct, they switch their harassment to this new target without so much as pausin' for breath."
"A college man? ... And a dancer! Ooooo! Did you hear that, Hy?"
"Sure did," his brother responds and commences to make kissey noises at Junebug. "No wonder he's so purdy."
"Leave him alone, you guys!"
This last comes from Spyder, who for some reason has seen fit to deal herself into the situational.
"Oh yeah?" Shu sneers, turnin' his attention toward this new front. "And who's going to make me?"
"If I have to, I will," Spyder shoots back.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Well then, why don't you show us ... OW!"
By now I have cooled off enough to take advantage of the situational as it presents itself. As they puff up and start to strut toward Spyder, the two brothers have thoughtlessly and rudely turned their backs on me. Before they can close on her, I have stepped in behind and between them, and dropped a friendly arm around their shoulders.
"Excuse me, Spyder," I sez with a smile, "but I need to have a few words with these boys in private whilst they are still able to stand and walk without the aid of crutch-type assistance. Right boys?"
"OW! ... Right!"
"Yeah ... Aaah! ... Sure!"
The sudden cooperative nature of the Flie brothers is in no small way influenced by the fact that I have casually dug a thumb into the hollow of a collarbone on each of them and tend to tighten my grip another notch each time I asks them a question ... regardless of how rhetorical it might be. The real trick to this maneuver, in case any of youse is interested in technical-type details, is not to loosen your grip once you start tightenin' it. That is, it isn't squeeze ... release ... squeeze ... release ... , it's squeeze ... tighten ... tighter ... grind.....ee what I mean? Now if, perhaps, youse have developed your grip to a point where you can crumble bricks with it ... like I have ... this will prove to be a most convincin' punctuation to the weakest of logic durin' a difference of opinion.
Anyhoo, returnin' to my oration, I draws the two brothers aside for a little chat, all the while keepin' a wary eye on the hoverin' corporal.
"Now, don't you think it would be a good idea for you boys to lighten up a little? (squeeze)" I sez softly so's we are the only ones who can hear.
"There are two things you should be considerin' here. First, dis collection of individuals we is goin' through trainin' with constitutes a group, and within a group it is always better to be nice than nasty. With nice, you got friends who will cover your back in a fight ... with nasty, youse gotta watch your back from them. You got that? (tighten)"
"Right, Guido!"
"OW! Sure Guido!"
"Good. Now second, I want youse to keep in mind that if you does not abandon your querulous habits, and those habits slow or otherwise interfere with this group completin' its trainin' in the shortest possible time ..." I sneak a glance at the corporal, then lower my voice while takin' great pains to keep a smile on my face. "... then I will personally rip off each of youse guy's heads and spit down your neck! (tighter) You got that?"
"Gaah! Yeah! Got it!"
"Anything you ... Owww ... say, Guido!"
"Oh yeah. Just one more thing. I don't talk funny. (grind) Agreed?"
"Aaaahhh ..."
"God ..."
I noticed the corporal is comin' our way, thereby signalin' an end to our playtime.
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" I sez, and releases my grip all at once.
I have neglected to mention durin' my previous instructional oration that if youse relaxes the aforementioned grip suddenly and completely, the resultin' rush of blood to the area which has been assaulted by said grip causes additional discomfort to a point where some subjects have been known to faint dead away. The advantage of this is obvious, in that you are not actually even touching them at the moment the effect takes hold.
The Flie brothers are in exceptionally good shape, as I have noted before, so they merely stagger a bit. It is clear to them, however, as it is to me, that for a while they will have extreme difficulty movin' their arms with any degree of speed or strength ... like say, in a fight. This, of course, has the originally desired effect of mellowin' their previously bully in', swaggerin' behavior noticeably.
"What's going on here?" the corporal demands, burstin' in on our little group.
I blinks innocent-like and gave him a helpless shrug like he was a DA during cross examination.
"We was just discussin' the logical-type benefits of social over antisocial behavior in a group situational."
"Oh yeah? Is that right, you two?"
The Flies try to match my shrug, but wince halfway through the gesture and have to resort to nods.
The corporal glares at us suspiciously for a few, then turns to the rest of the group.
"All right, everybody form up in two lines!" he hollers in a poor imitation of the sergeant. "It's time we move out for the classrooms!"
"Did our agitators respond properly to applied logic?" Nunzio murmurs, easin' up beside me.
"Sure did," I nods. "What's more, I think they got it in one lesson. I don't know why you keep sayin' that youth today is slow learners."
He rolls his eyes at this and fakes a mock swing at me.
"Maybe we should start calling you 'Fly Swatter,'" he grins.
Some of the other recruits laugh at this, which makes me a tad nervous, as I know from the Mob just how easy it is to get saddled with a screwball nickname after some dumb incident or other. The corporal saved me the trouble of havin' to change the subject, however, as he chose that moment to start hollerin' and wavin' for us to get together for the next round of trainin'.