Bone in the Throat (7 page)

Sally continued massaging Tommy's neck.

"It was a rush job, hadda be done in a hurry. Hadda be done tonight. It couldn't wait. There was no place else. I wanted to find another spot but it didn't work out. This guy, this guy was a rat bastard. He hadda disappear off the face a the earth. He hadda go. And he hadda go tonight . . ."

Tommy blinked back tears. He flashed on a moment in his mother's kitchen, Sally standing there in the doorway, holding a new basketball for Tommy, some flowers for his mother, the same look on his face he had now.

"Don't be a crybaby," Sally was saying. "Don't be pissin' and moanin' about this. Especially in fronta Skin. You don't want him to see that. He'll start to be gettin' thoughts in his mind about you."

Tommy thought about Skinny thinking about him, and he shuddered. After a minute, he said, "You put him in the garbage?" He was trying to be tougher now, trying to get the image of Freddy's eyes, jerking up into his head, out of his mind.

"Yeah, he's all mixed up with the fish heads an' the eggshells."

"Where's Skinny?" said Tommy, hearing a reach-in door open.

"Maybe Skinny found where you keep the cheesecake."

"They count that shit," said Tommy, still trying to be hard, trying to be nonchalant.

"So, blame it onna fuckin' waiter, they always stealin' shit."

"I can't believe this is happening," said Tommy, his resolve wavering. "I can't believe you did this to me."

"I dunno what you cryin' about," said Sally. "If you wanted to, this could really help you. You come in with me, this could really help."

"What did he do?" asked Tommy, ignoring the suggestion, hoping it was something really, really awful this man Freddy did, something that would make him hate Freddy, make it easier to live with the knowledge he'd been shot and stabbed and then gutted like a big striped bass just a few feet away, broken down into pieces, portioned out.

"Who?" asked Sally, "The guy?"

"Yeah, what did he do?"

"He made some people mad," said Sally.

"You whacked a guy out right in front of me," said Tommy. "Right in my fuckin' restaurant. And now you want me to clean up after, right? I heard you in there. You want me to do the fuckin' dishes, clean up the fuckin' blood?"

"It don't look bad. I rinsed it off for ya," said Sally.

"Oh, great, fuckin' great, thanks," said Tommy, incredulous, feeling sick to his stomach, all the vodka he'd had rising in his throat. "How about tomorrow? I gotta work tomorrow. I'm gonna come in here and work, and know there's a fuckin' dead guy sittin' there inna garbage the whole fuckin' night I'm workin'? I'm supposed ta act like normal?"

"So call in sick, you got a problem. Don't be a fuckin' crybaby," said Sally.

"I'm not crying!" said Tommy, grateful that he was getting angry. "What if it starts to smell?"

"It's just one day that he's gotta be there," said Sally. "I seen your garbage. I seen your garbage and it smells a fuck of a lot worse than anythin' we put in there. Don't worry about that."

"What if somebody finds him there?" Tommy whispered, aware of Skinny moving around in the kitchen.

"Nobody's gonna find him, awright?" said Sally, removing his hand from Tommy's neck, growing irritated. "Don't get all hysterical on me. I'm fuckin' countin' on you here."

"You want me to wash the dishes?" said Tommy, knowing he'd have to.

" 'Less you want me to ask Skinny to do 'em. I don't think you want me to do that," said Sally, ominously. "It's just a few things, and some pots that got a little dirty. Take you five minutes. Me and Skin, we'll have a drink upstairs while you finish up. Skinny and me, we got everything else. Tomorrow you call in sick. Awright? Now let's be a man."

Tommy finished the dirty dishes in the rack and sent them through the dishwasher. It took five loads to get them all. Then he took the sprayer and a rubber squeegee and cleaned the whole area, pushing pink water down the little drain.

He was taking off his apron when Sally and Skinny came down from the dining room.

"We all done here?" Sally asked.

Tommy nodded weakly.

"You should throw out that apron," said Skinny.

"You'll feel better tomorrow," said Sally.

"I guess so," said Tommy, for Skinny's benefit. He didn't like the way Skinny was looking at him.

They left the restaurant together. Tommy closed the metal trapdoors behind them and snapped on the Master lock. It was starting to get light on Spring Street. A bakery truck pulled up in front of the Count's, a man left brown paper bags of Italian bread in the doorway. Down West Broadway, a garbage truck hoisted a Dumpster, beeping as the driver put it in reverse.

They walked over to Varick Street and approached a dusty Buick. Somebody had written WASH ME on the rear window with their finger. Sally went around and unlocked the driver's side door, got in, and started the engine. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for Skinny.

He called out of the car to Tommy. "We give you a lift?"

"No, thanks," said Tommy, "I wanna walk for a bit."

Tommy saw Skinny looking at him through the windshield, a smirking expression on his face. He waved to Tommy as the car pulled away.

Twelve

T
OMMY WOKE UP
at one-thirty in the afternoon, still in his clothes. He wasn't due in till four—they were serving brunch today. He lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match into a beer can on the night table. The television was on with the volume down low, and Tommy searched around in the sheets for a remote. Unable to find it, he pulled himself out of bed, walked over to the set, and turned it off.

He finished his cigarette, cleared away the empty beer cans, picked up the phone, and called the restaurant.

Harvey answered.

"Harvey, it's Tommy," Tommy said, his voice constricting, "I'm not coming in today. I'm sick."

"What have you got, the flu?" asked Harvey. "You don't sound too good."

"I don't know. I just feel real sick."

"You should drink some tea. With lemon," said Harvey. "You throwing up?"

"I've been either hugging the bowl or shitting like a mink all night long," said Tommy.

"Well," said Harvey, "get some rest. I'll get Ricky or somebody to cover. My fucking luck it'll be slow tonight anyway. You just feel better. When do you think you'll be back in? You gonna be able to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah," said Tommy, "I'm sure I'll make it tomorrow. If there's any problem, I'll call you back."

"Okay. Feel better. Should you see a doctor? I can get you an appointment if you need."

"No, thanks anyway. I think I just ate something bad maybe."

"Not here?"

"No, no. I had something to eat over the Count's the day before. Maybe I ate something bad."

"That explains it," said Harvey. "That fuck poisoned you. They should close that place down. It's not safe."

"I don't know for sure, maybe it's the flu."

"I think it was something you ate over there. What did you have?"

"Please, Harvey. I'm gonna puke just thinking about that place. I gotta go."

"Okay, Tommy. Get well soon. Take care of yourself."

Tommy lay back in bed. After a while he peeled off his clothes; then, he took the longest shower of his life. He decided to try to forget the whole thing.

"I
AM HAVING
the worst fucking day of my life," said Harvey. He sat behind his desk, the sun streaming through the dirty Venetian blinds. Across from him two men in dark Brioni suits sat quietly sipping coffee. Harvey wiped his glasses with the end of his tie.

"My sous-chef isn't coming in today. I've got no porters till later and the garbage is piled up to the fucking ceiling down there. My chef is threatening to sue me 'cause somebody wrecked his knife and on top of all that it looks like it's gonna be busy. Look outside. First nice weekend we've had in I don't know how long and of course we get it today."

"That's the restaurant business for you," said the short coffee drinker.

"It's unpredictable," said the other coffee drinker, a big man with no neck.

"I've been in the restaurant business," said the short coffee drinker.

"Just when you think you know what to expect when you come in the door—" Harvey began.

"Somebody give you a good kick in the crotch," the bigger man finished.

"Listen, Harvey," said the smaller man, cheerfully, "we think we can be helpful. About what we talked about on the phone."

"That's great," said Harvey. "That's really great."

"We've spoken to our principals," said the smaller man, "and we think we can do something here."

"Well, that's great," said Harvey.

"It's a lot of money," said the larger man.

"But we think we can do the whole amount for you," said the smaller one.

"Twenty thousand?" asked Harvey.

"We just need to iron out a few things, schedule of repayments and all. You need it for six months?" asked the smaller man.

"Six months," said Harvey.

"That's no problem there. We can do that. That'll be when you pay the principal," said the smaller man, putting his empty coffee cup on the desk. "You know how this works. It's five points per week."

"Five points!" shrieked Harvey "Five points! That's completely unreasonable. Five fucking points? I can't pay that much. I won't pay that much! I don't pay the other guys that much, anywhere near that much! Two points. Two points I can do. I expected that. I can do two points. But five? Five points I may as well cut my own throat and fuckin' bleed to death right here. It's unreasonable."

"There's another thing," said the larger man.

"What other thing?" asked Harvey, patting down his hair on both sides and adjusting his tie. "What?"

"Your current lender," said the smaller one. "You're up to date with them?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harvey. "They fuckin' love me. They get theirs. Every week. If I'm short every once in a while, I have a bad week, it's no problem. They know I'll be there with the money. No problem. And two points."

"See, there's the political dimension," said the smaller man. "They lend you money, you have some understanding with them, it makes it uncomfortable if we come along and you know . . ."

"It's awkward," said the bigger man.

"So maybe, if we can work something out here, maybe it would be better if your current lender doesn't know what we do together," said the smaller one.

"We're not doing anything together at five fuckin' points, fellas," said Harvey.

"Harvey," said the smaller man, smiling again. "You're a first-time customer. And you're relatively new to the restaurant business. We understand that. We know how it is."

"So you know what it's like," said Harvey.

"It's hard. It's a hard business. We know that. So if we were to make it three points, we would expect you to make your interest payments on time. No knockdown. No excuses. You'll have to put our agreement first. What you do with the other guys we don't care so much, as long as it doesn't interfere with our business together."

"I can do three points. I can do that," said Harvey.

"When does Sally get his money?" asked the big man. "Tuesday?"

"Fridays," said Harvey.

"With us it'll be Tuesday, alright?" said the smaller man.

"No problem," said Harvey.

"Okay. We have a deal then," said the smaller man.

"Done," said Harvey. "How about a drink? I get you gentlemen a cognac? How about a nice cognac? I've got some Louis Treize'll knock your socks off. I'll buzz the girl, she'll bring it."

Harvey pressed the intercom button and shouted into the phone, "Barry, pick up! Pick up!"

Barry picked up the extension at the bar.

"Barry, send Cheryl in with three Louis Treizes. Use the big snifters. Is she here? She's here, isn't she? Tell her to hurry up, I wanna smell hair burn."

Harvey put the phone down and rubbed his hands together. Immediately there was a knock on the door.

"That was fast," said the big man.

The door opened quickly. It was the chef.

"Do you have a minute?" he asked.

"Michael, I'm busy with these people right now," said Harvey. "What is it?"

"It's about my knife," said the chef.

"Michael, I told you before about that. If you can't fix it I'll buy you another one."

"It's custom made," said the chef. "It takes weeks."

"We'll order you another knife. You can use the house knives until then, can't you?"

The chef rolled his eyes and looked pained.

"I'm sorry about the knife. I don't know what or who. But, I don't know what I can be expected to do about it right now. Especially now. I'm busy. We'll get you another, that's all I can do."

"Somebody deliberately fucked it up," said the chef. "Look at that," he said, holding up a piece of mangled steel. "Somebody did that deliberately."

"Michael, you can see I'm busy here. We'll talk about it later," said Harvey.

The chef turned on his heels and stalked off to the kitchen. Harvey smiled at the two men. "He takes his job very seriously."

Cheryl came through the door holding a tray with three brandy snifters.

"You can put that right here on the desk," said Harvey. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Cheryl gave a fake curtsy and left the room. The three men raised their glasses.

"Cheers," said Harvey.

"Salud," said the smaller man.

"Here's looking up your
assets,"
said the big man.

Thirteen

S
ALLY PUSHED
his way through the Bleecker Street foot traffic. It was hot and he was sweating under his wig. A chubby kid in a Megadeth T-shirt, wrangling over the price of a studded wristband with a Pakistani merchant in the middle of the sidewalk, blocked his way. Sally stomped on the kid's foot with his heel, and the kid moved off, yelping like an injured dog. He found Danny Testa sitting at a small cafe table at a souvlaki place near Thompson Street. Danny was reading the sports pages of the
Daily News
and sipping an iced cappuccino. Sally sat down across from him.

"Sally, how are you?" asked Danny, looking up from his paper.

"I'm good, Danny. How are you?"

"You know, same old same old," said Danny.

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "I was just over there."

"So?" asked Sally, expectantly.

"He's grateful. He's happy." He pushed a folded copy of
New York
magazine across the table. There was an envelope tucked inside the pages. "There's somethin' for you in there. And somethin' extra for your nephew. I heard from Skin."

"For Tommy?" asked Sally, startled for a second. He picked up the magazine and put it inside his jacket.

"Yeah. He should get somethin', don't you think? Fair's fair, he likes the kid. He made a point to mention it," said Danny.

"So what did he say about me?" asked Sally. "Am I gonna get a button?"

"He say wait a little longer," said Danny. "It's not a good time right now. He says he opens the books right now and people are gonna be all over him. There's a whole fuckin' line of guys waitin'. Everybody and his fuckin' brother is bustin' balls. He says he straightens you out, he's gotta straighten out all these other guys. You should wait."

"I been waiting," said Sally. "I been waitin' a long fuckin' time here. This is the third time. This is the third time I done something for him. He calls me and has me come in and asks for somethin' to happen and it happens. And then what? Nothing. Time goes by, other guys go sailin' right past me. Why doesn't the guy like me? How come I'm always the guy left standin' out there with his cock in his hand?"

"You got him all wrong," said Danny. "He likes you. He talks about you all the fuckin' time. He likes you."

"Tommy, who's never done a fuckin' thing for him until now, he likes him," complained Sally.

"You have to be patient, Sal. Your time will come. He's very grateful. He won't forget."

"My time will come. My time will come. When? That's what I wanna know. When is my time gonna come?"

"Soon, soon," said Danny.

"The man doesn't like me. I know that," said Sally.

"That's not true. Maybe you come down to the place more often, say hello to everybody. You walk by the place the other day, you don't even stop in to pay your respects. He said he was hurt."

"I hate goin' down to that fuckin' place. Those old men down there always breakin' my balls, yellin' 'Wig' this and 'Wig' that."

"They're just havin' a little fun, Sally. You shouldn't take it personal like that."

"I do. I do take it personal. There's people over there, they owe me money. How do I collect, people see a buncha old men callin' me names in the street? It's embarrassing."

"They don't mean nothin'."

"They gotta call me that? My hair look funny to you?"

A chuckle escaped from Danny's lips. "No, no. It looks real good, Sally. Can you swim in it?"

"Yeah, I can fuckin' swim in it. Son of a bitch. This is not cheap. That's genuine human hair there," said Sally.

"Don't get mad. Don't get mad. Look, I'm your best friend over there. Believe me. I'll mention it to the man you're unhappy. Just hang in there. You did well for yourself on this. Be happy."