Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [67]
"He's my uncle. I love him. He took care of me, looked out for me after my father was gone. He asked me to do a favor for him and I did it. I didn't want to do it. I admit . . . I didn't wanna get involved in that. I sure didn't know what was gonna happen, I can tell you that. . . But that's his business. His problem. I didn't do nothing I feel too bad about. That's Sally's business, it's not my business. If there's a problem, somebody's got a problem, it's not my problem. I put it behind me."
Danny looked pained. "What I'm askin' here, Tommy . . . is . . . Let's say there is a problem. For whatever reason, if it became your problem all of a sudden. If let's say some cops come around and wanna talk to you . . . Say you get picked up, they bring you down the station and wanna ask you all sortsa questions. Then it is your problem. I'm not sayin' that's gonna happen. Just, what if it did? You say it ain't your problem. What happens the cops come roun' askin' you questions, what do you do?"
"Is that going to happen?"
"I told you," said Danny. "I'm not sayin' that's gonna happen. I'm askin' if it did happen, what would you do? How would you handle that?"
"I . . . I . . . guess I'd keep my mouth shut and call a fuckin' lawyer," said Tommy.
"What lawyer you thinkin' about callin'?" asked Danny, looking suddenly concerned.
"I'm not thinkin' a' callin' anybody, Danny," said Tommy, realizing he'd made a slight misstep. "I never even thought about it . . . what lawyer. I hadn't thought about it a second till you fuckin' mentioned. I just said, I just said I'd talk to a lawyer 'cause that's what you do when the cops ask you questions . . . What lawyer . . . I dunno what lawyer. I don't know any fuckin' lawyers. Why don't you tell me . . . You got somebody in mind? Am I gonna be needin' a lawyer? If I am, I'd appreciate it you give me his name."
Danny nodded and reached into his jacket. He handed Tommy a business card with the names of Benson, Richardson, Hale, and Clawson and a telephone number.
"Okay, Tommy," said Danny. "You got a problem, somebody axe you any questions, you call this number and axe for this guy Benson. You don't talk to nobody else. Benson. Costs you any money, we take care of it for you. This is one smart guy. He's known to certain people. You don't talk to nobody else. No other lawyers. I don't care how fuckin' cheap they are, if you seen 'em onna television, or if they're some friend a yours, somebody recommended 'em . . . This is the guy you call. He'll know what to do."
"Sure, Danny. . . Thanks."
"Okay," said Danny. He stood up from his bench, kicked a few uneaten bread crumbs off the top of his shoe. Skinny came over from where he'd been standing by a water fountain and preceded them to the head of the stairs that led to Claremont and the car.
"Okay . . ." said Danny, like he was trying to convince himself of something. "I'm glad we had this talk together. Cleared the air a bit. I hadda take a look at the situation, you know. Always thinking . . . that's me." He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "I'm glad we talked. I don't think I seen you since . . . since that dinner over at your mother's place, the one when Charlie burned the sauce . . . You remember that, Tommy? Jeez—was he pissed. I thought your mother was gonna kill him. How is she anyway? He's always axing. . .
"She's fine," said Tommy. "She's good."
"Good to hear it," said Danny. "Good to hear it."
Nobody spoke on the ride back. Tommy wondered if Danny was satisfied with his answers. He saw Skinny looking at him again in the rearview mirror. He didn't think so. They dropped him off around the corner from the restaurant. Tommy felt dizzy. He hoped he could make it into the restaurant before his knees started to go.
Twenty-Nine
TOMMY," said the chef "Take a walk with me. I gotta talk to you."
Tommy was filleting a salmon. He looked up from the cutting board. "I'm wrestling with this, gimme a second." He zipped a long, thin knife along the length of the fish and deftly lifted the