Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [57]
"So who do you think it is?" asked Danny.
"He mentioned Sally Wig," said Charlie. "He mentioned him, so I gotta figure maybe it's one of his places."
"So which one you think it is?"
"I'm thinking maybe that new one. The Jew dentist he's got. The place next to the Count's. Wouldn't be the Count, we know him."
"So what should I do?"
"Well, you gotta talk to Sally. That you gotta do first. After that I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I can't decide who I wanna whack out first—the guys from over there, I don't know if I want to get into a big thing with Brooklyn right now, or Sally for fuckin' up. Not minding the store. There's things I'm not sure of. When I'm sure, I'll know what to do," said Charlie.
"Sally's got shit for brains he let this thing get past him," said Danny.
"Makes sense, the guy's been paying regular last few weeks. Before that every week was a fuckin' problem."
"You're talkin' about the dentist?"
"Yeah. It's the sort of thing I'm not surprised. Sally fuckin' up—that I can see. I can see that happening. And Calabrese, he don't like me anyways. I can see him tryin' to get his foot in the door over here."
"You wanna put paper out on somebody from Brooklyn, friend of ours, you gotta get permission, right? You gotta go the Commission," said Danny.
"Fuck them. Buncha old men. They'll say no. Then it'll be me gets whacked. No. I don't wanna hit any bosses. Just the people that come over. We give the paper to Sally. Let him handle it. We tell him we got permission, if it's his mess, then he can clean it up."
"So what happens later?" asked Danny.
"He done it on his own. I'm sick a his shit anyways," said Charlie. "He's a bone in my fuckin' throat since forever."
"So I should talk to some people. Find out a few things," said Danny.
"That's right. That's what you should do," said Charlie.
"And if what's happened is what we think happened—"
"Then tell Sally to fix it. He can use Skinny."
"We're not gonna have any problem with Calabrese later?"
"That faggot? I served time with him in Lewisberg. He takes it in the ass. He had some nigger car thief there suck his dick for him, some punk. Guy wears a dress around nobody's looking," said Charlie bitterly.
"You're kidding, right? The fuckin' guy's huge. He's built like a brick shithouse. I seen him—"
"I'm tellin' you he's a faggot. Everybody knows, all the bosses. They don't do nothin' 'cause he earns."
"I can't believe it," said Danny.
"Believe it," said Charlie. "He owns all those fag places on the West Side. Maybe he saw something he liked. That's how he got in Manhattan in the first place. Now he maybe wants to make a move east. Fuck him. I'll put a fuckin' rocket in his pocket," said Charlie.
"The guys that collect," said Danny. "Right?"
"Yeah, find out who that is. Then check with me before we send anybody over."
"Okay. What about the other problem?" asked Danny.
"Oh, the other thing? The guy? The guy who isn't around? Don't worry about it. They're just blowin' smoke up your ass."
"I hope this isn't gonna be a problem," said Danny nervously.
"If it's a problem, it's gonna be Sally's problem," said Charlie.
Twenty-Six
SALLY SAT behind the wheel of his new Buick. It wasn't really new, though the odometer registered only 150 miles. Sally had picked it up two hours earlier at a chop shop in Queens. There was something wrong with the power steering, it made a terrible noise when he turned too far to the left or right. The rubber insulation around the driver's window was coming off, and the car smelled bad, like somebody had kept a wet dog in it. Sally pulled the car up to a stoplight and fiddled with the dial on the radio, trying to find an easy-listening station.
A red Alfa Romeo pulled up alongside of him, and Sally looked over at it enviously. Why couldn't he have a car like that? The driver of the Alfa leaned over and rolled down the window on the passenger side. "Hey! Sally Wig!" said Al.
Sally rolled down his own window, which sucked some of the rubber stripping