The Long Good Boy by Carol Lea Benjamin Read Free Book Online Page B

fifteen. I need a cup of coffee.”
    â€œI’ll make it seven,” I told him. “We’ll get take-out and drink it on the way.”

6
    Vinnie Looked Annoyed
    There was a heavyset man in white, a transparent shower cap covering his hair, a hard hat over that, standing next to what looked like a semi full of dead pigs, its back doors open and facing the entrance to Keller’s. A thinner man, his hair as black as tar, long, pointy nose, stood next to him taking notes on a clipboard.
    We’d left the dogs home. I’d changed to a clean jacket and taken a purse, for God’s sake. We approached the younger guy, the one with the clipboard, and smiled. He didn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t us. Perhaps it was the sudden, violent death of the manager that had him on edge.
    â€œWe were wondering if we could get some pork chops,” Chip said, trying to sound as nerdy as possible. “We’ve just moved in,” he said, pointing back behind him, as if we lived in one of the refrigerated plants across the street, “and we heard—”
    â€œThis is strictly wholesale.” The tag on his white coat said V. Esposito. “You want two pork chops, try D’Agostino’s.”
    â€œBut we heard—”
    â€œOttomanelli’s. Bleecker Street. Not here.”
    â€œVinnie,” the chunky guy called out. “You checking the order in or what?”
    Vinnie shook his head, no way were we doing business with him, and walked away. Standing where we were, we could see partway into the first-floor, stainless-steel walls, giant vats for grinding meat or making sausages, several guys in white walking around in rubber boots and a hose snaking along one wall, for the afternoon cleanup. Two men from the truck were carrying in boxes. On a rack inside the truck, whole carcasses hung on hooks, like coats in the back of a classroom. At the bigger plants, on Washington Street, the apparatuses on which the carcasses were hung in the truck attached to the ones outside the market, and the meat rode inside the way clothes circle around at the dry cleaner, swinging ever so slightly from side to side as the machine sent them in for processing. Those places had permanent metal canopies that housed the moving hooks, not only to get the meat inside quickly and efficiently but so the butchers could work outside, rain or shine, in relative comfort. At Keller’s, if it was raining, snowing, hotter than hell, you were out in the weather until the order got checked in, no two ways about it. Two more men came out from inside to help with the morning’s delivery, a short, stocky young guy, kinky blond hair sticking out from under the net under his hard hat, and a dark guy with a sweet, round face he hadn’t shaved in three days. I couldn’t read their name tags.
    We were still standing there when a tired-looking guy with a little mustache, a beret on his unnaturally dark hair, showed up, pulling a handcart. Vinnie nodded to him and bellowed to someone inside.
    â€œCarl, bring out Charlie’s order.”
    Charlie looked at Chip and shrugged. “I tell him Charles.” He pronounced it Sharl . “He calls me Charlie.”
    Chip opened his mouth. Vinnie looked annoyed. “He’s buying for a restaurant. Hotels and restaurants, that’s what we do. We don’t sell to individuals.”
    â€œThis is so interesting,” I said. “Okay if we take a peek inside?”
    Vinnie turned back to the truck to check off the next eight boxes. I took that as a yes and stepped closer to the door, careful to keep out of the way of the truckers. That’s when I saw it, a small flap of heavy black rubber to the left of the door, hidden by the truck from where we stood. There was a trash can in front of it, to conceal it when the truck wasn’t there, not something they wanted to advertise.
    The cold air from inside rolled out like the waves at high tide. I shivered,