Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [56]
Danny shrugged, his smile starting to disappear slowly from his face.
"I mean, I know it's not Winston Churchill. I'm sure of that 'cause he's dead, isn't he?" said Al.
"Who's dead?" asked Danny.
"Churchill. You know, 'We will fight them on the beaches' and all that. The English guy."
"I don't know any English guy," said Danny, confused.
Al feigned a look of shock. "You think he's dead? Freddy, I mean?"
"I have no way of knowing something like that," said Danny. "I don't recall ever meeting—whassis name? Freddy something?"
"Freddy Manso," said Al.
"Manso, Manso . . . No. It don't ring a bell. He in the produce business?"
"No," said Al. "I believe Freddy was in what you'd call the entertainment and financial services industry."
"I wouldn't know the guy then," said Danny.
"That's too bad."
"If he was in the produce business, he buys produce, he sells produce, maybe I woulda seen him around. But, no . . ."
Al rubbed his chin. "Oh well. I guess I got it wrong then. I was sure you knew the guy." He extended a hand. Danny declined to take it. Al turned to go back to his car. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I'll be seeing you around."
"Yeah, sure," said Danny.
DANNY TESTA STOOD next to Charlie Wagons in the late afternoon sun.
"Somebody from the FBI been to see you?" asked Charlie.
"Yeah," said Danny. "You too?"
"Yeah. Somethin' he said. Somethin' he said about Calabrese people—"Charlie began.
"Maybe we should take a walk," said Danny. "They got microphones. They been takin' pictures."
Charlie motioned to a tan Chevy four-door a hundred yards down the street. "That's them there. I had Mickey bring 'em coffee the other day."
"We should walk anyway. Maybe they can hear," said Danny, eyeing the surveillance car.
"Make you feel better," said Charlie. They walked down to the corner of Spring and turned downtown. "This fed, he said something about the Brooklyn people shylockin' down here."
"Oh, yeah? Maybe he's just pullin' your chain," said Danny hopefully.
"Course he's pullin' my chain. He's rubbin' my nose in something that I don't know what it is," said Charlie. "That's the thing. I don't know what it is. What is it I'm supposed to know that I don't know?"
"I don't know," said Danny.
"You hear anything?" asked Charlie.
"No, nothin'."
"What did he say to you, this guy? What did he want?" asked Charlie.
"He wanted to know about that guy. You know, that guy from over there. The one we had the problem with."
"What did you say?" asked Charlie.
"I said I didn't know the guy," said Danny. "What am I supposed to say. He said they had pictures."
"Of you and him?"
"That's what he said," said Danny. "By the club, they got pictures."
"That's not news. They got a lotta pictures. Don't mean nothin'," said Charlie dismissively.
"I don't like it," said Danny. "He wanted me to know, right? There's gotta be a reason he wants us to know something."
"Same shit. He's tellin me somethin talkin about Brooklyn," said Charlie.
"So what's goin on?" asked Danny, frustrated.
"They don't have shit. That's what's happening here. They don't have shit so they try to make you nuts. Try to make you do somethin', say somethin' stupid. You say anything?"
"He didn't get word fuckin' one outta me," said Danny.
"They're playin fuckin' games. They love that. They send you cards? They send me cards. Christmas, my birthday. 'Happy Birthday from the FBI.' I was home with a bug last year, they sent me a 'Get Well Soon card. Can you believe that shit?" Charlie shook his head in wonderment.
"They sent me a card one time," said Danny. "When I got straightened out. 'Congratulations on Your Promotion.' '
"That's your tax money at work. These guys got nothin better to do, they sit around jerkin off sending guys cards," Charlie complained.
"So it's nothin," said Danny.
"I still want to know," said Charlie. "I wanna