Gone Bamboo by Anthony Bourdain Read Free Book Online

what you might do. This man Calabrese is, understandably, very anxious that this man not live to testify. I imagine he'd pay a lot of money . . ."
    "You can forget about that. I don't work on the island. You know that."
    "So. If this man Calabrese were to contact you, offer you a great deal of money, you would not consider his request?"
    "Just to make sure. What exactly is your position on this? Before I answer, I mean."
    "I would prefer - in fact, I must insist - that you resist the temptation. As this man is here through the somewhat reluctant auspices of my government, we would prefer not to have any problems with the Americans. We do not want any assassinations, any shootings, any unexplained accidents at the present time, particularly if they involve this man. It is a very sensitive situation. If even my superiors in my own service were to become aware of your presence on the island, of your previous relationship with this man, they would be very, very unhappy. Should some mishap befall Monsieur Iannello, I would of course be obliged to inform them. My career, such as it is, would be finished. And you" Monsieur Ribiere stopped again and fixed Henry with a very unpleasant stare - "You, no doubt, I would be instructed to deal with in the harshest way possible. That is the sad fact."
    "Your accent gets thicker when you're menacing," said Henry, genuinely menaced.
    Monsieur Ribiere cleared his throat. They had reached the deck of the Rastafarian bar. Ribiere rolled up his pants legs, squeezing water out, and sat down on the edge of the rough wood steps. Henry sat down next to him and lit a Gitane.
    "So," he said. "You going to chuck me off the island? Is that what this is all leading up to?"
    Monsieur Ribiere took a deep breath, smelling the heavy salt air.
    "I love it here," said Henry, sadly.
    "Yes," said Monsieur Ribiere, unusually sympathetic. "I always thought that peculiar, you coming from the City. One might expect a man like you, the money you have, to live elsewhere. But maybe it is not so strange. You know, I was born in Paris. But I came to love Algerie just as you love this place. Strange, yes?"
    It was completely dark now. Monsieur Ribiere looked up at the moon, took off his glasses for a moment, and rubbed his nose where the frames had pinched. "When a man thinks he has finally found a home, it's sad, very sad, to have to leave it."
    Encouraged by this uncharacteristic reverie, Henry still, wisely, said nothing, waiting for the old man to finish.
    "Perhaps there is another way. For me . . . for me it is always a changing situation. You say you know this man. Perhaps, as you say, he is reasonable. How well, exactly, do you know him?"
    "Pretty well," said Henry. "I even like him."
    "That didn't prevent you from trying to kill him."
    "You know how that is." Seeing light at the end of the tunnel, Henry pressed on. "He's a funny guy. All dese and dose but smart like a whip. We got along."
    "I think . . . I think you should bury the hatchet," said Monsieur Ribiere, astounding Henry. "If you were to find a way to see him, talk with him, without his guards . . . Do you think he would tell them? Myself, I don't think that a man of his experience could have much to talk about with them. They are so young. So different from him. I think, if you could talk to him, without jeopardizing your own situation, that would be for the best. Of course, if things don't work out, you will have to find someplace else to live. I would, naturally, be very sad, but . . ."
    "Sure . . . I could try . . . shit." In truth, Henry had no idea if he could pull such a thing off. "Maybe if I could arrange to bump into him. Right circumstances. Got any ideas?"
    "Well," said Monsieur Ribiere, enjoying himself, now. "I am informed about another man. A young friend of Monsieur Iannello. An expatriate New Yorker like yourself. Maybe you have seen him. He owns the little restaurant, a bar really, on the beach by your hotel. Tommy's Tropical. He's been