“I know what you told me. It’s for the birds, what you told me. You’re gonna get that money and you’re gonna get it tonight.”
“But they don’t have it. They swore to me—”
“They’re nothing but a bunch of goddamn liars,” Lola shouted. “I’d go up there myself and make them pay off or get the hell out, but that ain’t my department. You’re the owner of this house and it’s your job to deal with the tenants.”
“Well, after all, I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” Lola demanded. “Sitting on your rear all day and drinking beer? That’s another thing I’m fed up with. Morning, noon, and night it’s beer, beer, beer. We got enough empty bottles in the back yard to start a glass factory.”
“The doctor says it’s good for my stomach.”
“What doctor? What are you giving me? When you been to see a doctor?”
“Well, I didn’t want to worry you.”
Lola moved closer to the sofa and pointed a thick finger in Tom’s face. “You’re so goddamn healthy it’s a downright disgrace. Why shouldn’t you be healthy? All you do is eat and sleep and drink beer. If it wasn’t for your son here bringing in the pay check, we’d all be living on relief.”
Tom assumed a hurt look. “Is it my fault if times are hard?”