Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [28]
"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."
Fourteen
CHARLIE WAGONS STOOD on Spring Street, smoking a cigar out front of the Evergreen Sportsmen's Club. He wore a faded cotton bathrobe, worn at the elbows, a white T-shirt, and light blue boxer shorts. Bony, white, near-hairless legs stuck out from beneath the bathrobe, ending in brown stretch socks, held up by garters, and a battered pair of brown tasseled loafers. He peered through the smoke from his cigar at the figure of Danny Testa making his way toward the club.
The old men sitting on either side of the door smoked and drank coffee and sunned themselves in the remaining afternoon light. Danny nodded in greeting to them and then locked eyes with Charlie.
"Walk?" asked Danny.
Charlie stepped out onto the sidewalk, and the two men strolled side by side down Elizabeth Street. Danny held Charlie's elbow gently with one hand.
"Well? It's okay?" asked Charlie.
"Everything's good," said Danny. "You talk to the lawyers?"
"Yes," said Charlie. "There should be no problem now. They say it should be okay."
"That's good," said Danny.
"And the Wig—what's his state of mind?"
"You know. Same shit," said Danny. "He feels neglected."
"Yeah?"
"He says he thinks he should get straightened out for this last one.
"Never in a million fuckin' years," said Charlie. "Not in a trillion fuckin' years would I make that fuckin' jerk-off."
"Don't tell him that," laughed Danny.
"What did you tell him when he asked you?"
"I told him to be patient," said Danny.
"He's gonna have to be real patient 'cause I'd have to be dead inna fuckin' ground before that hand job gets moved up. And if you move him up after I'm gone, I'd come back from the fuckin' grave to haunt you." Charlie spat forcefully on the sidewalk. "Makes me wanna clam just thinkin'."
"You really have a hot nut for this guy," said Danny.
"You ever see him eat?" said Charlie.
"Yeah," said Danny with a smile. "I seen it."
"He's not our type of person. This is not our type of person. He's not what we want. We use him. Okay. We always used people like that. But he'll never be a friend of ours."
"You know we was in Greenhaven together," said Danny.
"I don't care if you was on the fuckin' moon