Bone in the Throat by Anthony Bourdain Read Free Book Online

things, how's business?"
    "You know," said the Count, "Usual bullshit. Your uncle's here, right over there inna corner table, with Skinny."
    Tommy gulped. He hadn't known about Skinny.
    "You gonna eat somethin', Tommy?" asked the Count.
    "I don't know, I ate at work."
    "Oooh!" blurted the Count, disappointed. "You should come over for dinner. I ain't seen you over here since we opened. You were here for the opening, right? You was here with that lady a yours, what was her name? Helen?"
    "Ellen," said Tommy.
    "Right, Ellen. Ellen. Beautiful girl. Where you hidin' her?"
    "She went out to L.A.," said Tommy.
    "Actress, right?" said the Count, nodding wisely. "All these broads are actresses, now. Well, plenty more where that came from, right?" He winked again.
    "Yeah, well . . ."
    "So, how you doin' next door? How's business? You doin' awright? Busy?"
    "Pretty busy," said Tommy "You know how it is. Summer."
    "I know, I know. At least we get the tourists. People remember the show. You know . . ."
    "They keep me pretty busy."
    "Still, you gotta make time for your friends. I see Sally alla fuckin' time. Still bouncin' aroun' with the same guys. You, I never see. I seen you goin' in and out next door, that's it."
    "Gotta keep an eye on the store," said Tommy.
    "You should eat here," said the Count. "I oughta be insulted."
    "I haven't seen you over at my place either, Sonny. So don't bust my balls too bad. I been busy, you know how it is," said Tommy.
    The Count smiled. "I never get outta this fuckin' place. I turn aroun' for a second, they robbin' me blind. I gotta be here every fuckin' minute. I gotta watch these fuckin' guys like a hawk. These fuckin' busboys, the dishwashers . . . Forget about. They smokin' shit in my walk-in, stealin' food with both hands. I caught one a the cooks, this guy is callin' Puerto Rico onna phone yesterday, he musta been on there half an hour talkin' to the whole family."
    "Wacky world of food service, right?"
    "Yeah," said the Count, his mind elsewhere. He remembered where he was. "Well, I better let you go. I see your uncle over there, givin me the evil eye. You shouldn't keep him waitin."
    "He's just wondering where his food is."
    "Nah. He got his food already," said the Count. "It's been great talkin' to ya, Tommy. I'll see ya later. Lemme know—you decide you want somethin' to eat, I'll send over a waiter."
    Tommy walked over to Sally's table and sat down across from him on a green leather banquette. A bored waiter, looking wilted and unwashed in his dirty white dress shirt and black clip-on bow tie, appeared at his elbow. Tommy waved him away.
    "You're not gonna eat, kid? Well, fuck you," said Sally. He was wearing a burgundy jogging suit, his hair shining under the bright track lighting. He leaned protectively over a huge oval plate of gummy-looking deep-fried calamari drowning in a lake of red sauce.
    Sitting further down the banquette, next to Tommy, was a tall, cadaverously thin man in his forties with bad teeth. He wore a jacket and tie, and he had sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes and a protruding brow and cheek bones that gave his head a skull-like aspect.
    "You remember Skinny," said Sally.
    "Hi, Skin," said Tommy.
    The thin man nodded back at him and returned to his plate of scampi. There was a little pile of shrimp tails in the ashtray next to his plate.
    "Listen, Tommy," said Sally, serious all of a sudden, "We need your help on somethin."
    "Sally, really—" Tommy started to protest.
    Sally raised his palm, "No. Tommy . . . Just listen to me here," he said. "It's gotta be you. It's no big deal. Just a little favor."
    "Maaan . . . " said Tommy, shaking his head. He noticed Skinny looking at him intently, one eyebrow raised.
    "Don't shake your head," said Sally "Don't shake your head. Look at me. Look at me. It's a little favor. A little one. You just gotta stay a little late at the restaurant tomorrow night."
    "My restaurant?" asked Tommy.
    "What restaurant you think I'm fuckin' talkin' about?"