Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [71]
"So how come we're laughing?"
"I don't know."
"Let's walk some more. People are gonna talk, they see us standing here like a couple of hysterical babies," said the chef.
They crossed Hudson street. It was starting to get dark. "Who's minding the store?" said Tommy.
"Fuck it," said the chef. "We'll make it back for service. Ricky'll set up the stations if we don't show up in time."
"I guess," said Tommy, dubiously.
"So what did . . . what happened to the body? I remember the place was a fuckin' mess when I came in," said the chef.
"They threw him out with the garbage," said Tommy. "In pieces. They broke him down into his primal sections and put him in the garbage."
"You didn't come in that day. I remember. So, that was when—Wait a minute . . . You mean the whole day, that whole day you didn't come in, I'm walking around and there's a dead guy in there somewhere?"
"Yeah, the porters were off, the garbage didn't go out until that night, the next night," said Tommy. "That was the reason, that was one of the reasons I didn't show for work."
"I still can't get over it," said the chef. "A guy chopped up with my knife."
"Yeah . . . well, it's been driving me fuckin' nuts. You don't know what it's been like for me. It's not like I've seen anything like that before . . . It totally blew my mind," said Tommy. He paused. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this."
"What do you mean?" asked the chef, defensively.
"I mean, five fucking minutes ago, you tell me you're talking to the fucking FBI, and here I am telling you all this shit that happened."
"I won't say anything to anybody," said the chef. "You don't tell me it's okay first, I won't say a word."
"Who are you kidding? You're gonna have to, sooner or later." Tommy sighed, "I'm an idiot, get myself in the shit like this."
"Really," said the chef. "I won't say anything."
"You gotta understand. They fuckin' lied to me. They said they just had to talk to the guy. That wasn't too hard to believe. They're always talkin' to guys like that, having meetings in walk-ins, in cars, places nobody is gonna see. I didn't like it. I didn't want to do it, but I went ahead and did it anyway. I let them in the door and they go ahead and kill a fuckin' guy."
"We're talking about your uncle, right?" asked the chef abruptly.
"You figure it out, okay?" said Tommy. "I don't want you to know for sure anything. I told you what happened. That's enough for right now."
"That's alright. That's okay. I understand," said the chef.
"No. You gotta understand. I fuckin' freaked after. It's been driving me crazy. I can't sleep. I get stuttering fucking drunk every fucking night. I got so drunk . . . I got so drunk the other night, I went downstairs with Stephanie."
"Duuuude!" exclaimed the chef.
"I know, I know," said Tommy, sheepishly.
"Well, that's the least of your worries, right?"
"It's another one. I really like Cheryl. I really like her. I'm worried she finds out when she gets back."
"Well, Stephanie at least won't be hanging around your balls gettin' all cow-eyed on you," said the chef.
"No," said Tommy. "She's not like that."
"So, maybe you'll be okay," said the chef.
"I don't think so. She'll find out. You know how the place is. It'll be all over the place. Cheryl's not going to be too happy with me.
They crossed West Street and walked along the stretch of abandoned piers. There was a strong breeze from the Hudson. The chef wrapped his apron around his shoulders, and Tommy buttoned up his chef's coat.
"I don't want to go to jail," said the chef.
"Believe me, I don't want to go to jail either," said Tommy. "Who wants to go to jail?"
"Who was the guy?" asked the chef.
"What guy?"
"You know . . ."
"I don't know. I know his first name 'cause they introduced me. But I never seen him before."
"Wild," said the chef.
"My uncle's an asshole. Drops me in the shit. Funny thing. My whole life he treats me like I'm some sort of retard for not getting with the program. After this thing happened, he showed up, with some money, all proud of me."
"Did you take it?" asked the chef,