Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [34]
"So it's got to be Tommy," said Sullivan.
"I guess. A real criminal mastermind all of a sudden, our Tommy," said Al.
"Ask your CI what he thinks Tommy's doing. What's Tommy doing in a place with a bunch of known LCN associates? Follow up on this. Tell the other one, the chef, to keep us apprised of young Mr. Pagano's activities. I want to know what the fuck is going on before this whole thing falls apart."
"What about the Brooklyn end?" asked Al. "Harvey's into them for twenty long."
"I don't know what to do about that," said Sullivan. "I was thinking that's something we can tickle Sally with at some point in the future. I don't know. If this murder thing pans out I may just give the Brooklyn DA a lay-up."
"You don't want to do anything there, right now?"
"I don't want to go down that road at this precise moment. Later. We might want to piss somebody off at some point. The Brooklyn thing might do that."
"Okay," said Al.
"Let's see what happens with Tommy. Tommy interests me."
Seventeen
HARVEY STEERED the black Toyota into the parking lot of the Skyline Motor Lodge and parked the car in the last space on the right. As he got out of the car, he looked over his shoulder at the traffic whizzing by on Route 46. It was early afternoon and very hot, and Harvey was perspiring. He reached in his pants pocket for his handkerchief and wiped his face.
The door to room twelve was unlocked, and Harvey let himself in. Al was sitting on the bed with his shirt off watching a Met game. An open bag of Cheez Doodles sat next to him on the bed. He was drinking a Diet Pepsi and trying with one finger to pick a piece of Cheez Doodle out of his navel.
"You're late," said Al.
"I'm sorry. Traffic on the bridge," said Harvey. "Help me get this fuckin' thing off. It itches like a motherfucker."
Al pushed his bulk off the bed and stood up. Harvey took off his shirt. There was a Nagra recorder adhesive-taped to the small of his back and a wire running down under his crotch and up his chest to a tiny microphone. Al turned him around and, in three quick motions, tore the whole apparatus unceremoniously from his skin.
"Jesus! That hurts!" said Harvey.
"Shave your back next time. It won't hurt so bad," said Al.
Harvey stood in front of a streaked mirror at an angle, examining the pink welts on his back. "I should put some cream on this," he said. Al went to the closet, found his jacket on a hanger, and tucked the little Nagra and the mike into the inside pocket.
"No air-conditioning," said Harvey. "You don't get any air-conditioning in here?"
"It's broken," said Al. "I'm hot too."
"You're hot," said Harvey. "I've been sweating my balls off, I can't even get a nice room to cool off in. It's like an oven in here." He wrinkled his nose. "And your feet smell."
"It's these sneakers," said Al. "I gotta get a new pair." He turned off the Met game. "You want a Diet Pepsi?"
Harvey waved his hand dismissively and sat down in a scratchy, floral-print chair that made his back itch.
"And Fort Lee," he asked. "I got to come all the way out to Fort fuckin' Lee? You know it's four fuckin' dollars get back in the city?"
"Just looking after your security there, Harvey," said Al. "So how'd it go?"
"I thought he was going to pat me down or something. I'm standing there with the guy and I'm thinking, These guys are huggin' each other all the time. What happens he gives me a hug and feels it there. I end up in the fuckin' trunk of a car. One pat on the back and that's it. You know he put his hand on my shoulder. I thought I was gonna let go in my pants."
"But it went alright?"
"I'm here aren't I?"
"So what happened?" asked Al.
"We went out for a walk-talk," said Harvey. "Down Spring, up West Broadway, over Prince, and back. He was nervous. Says people are watching him, he's got to be careful."
"Well, he's right about that," said Al.
"I gave him the money," said Harvey.
"All of it?" asked Al. "You didn't give him a story?"
"I gave him what I was supposed to. It's on tape."