Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [72]
"Fuck, no. I was pissed."
"I don't want to go to jail," repeated the chef.
"You're like a fuckin' broken record. I don't want to go either, okay? I don't want to go either. I was in a holding cell for an hour, one time in my life. I didn't like it there. It smelled," said Tommy.
"I bet the food sucks," said the chef.
Tommy chuckled, "I hadn't thought about that."
"Maybe we could say we're Muslims or something, Orthodox Jews . . . Maybe we'll get better food," said the chef.
"Yeah. Now I'm all cheered up. That's a consolation. Thanks."
"On the other hand, then we'd miss pork chop night. My old junkie buddies at the clinic say that's a big thing out there. Major event of the week," the chef said with a smile.
"The thing of it is . . . the thing of it is, I just can't give up my uncle. That's a real problem I have. I know he's an asshole. I know that. I know what he's done to me. I'm not stupid. I can see how things are. But, it's my mother's brother. I just can't do that."
"Would she have to know? If you just talked to the guy. If you talked to Al. Just a few things."
"That would be sort of a break with tradition in my family, you know—talkin' to the FBI," said Tommy.
"Actually, it's the U.S. Attorney's office," said the chef.
"Same shit. Either way. I don't think they'll be satisfied with me if I just want to whisper a few things in their ear. I'm gonna have to testify to make them happy."
"You don't know that," said the chef, "Give me a break," said Tommy.
"Unusual problems require unusual solutions," said the chef.
"Unusual? That's the thing. This isn't so unusual. For me it's unusual. For Sally and them? Sally went away for five fuckin years 'cause he wouldn't talk about another guy. Five fuckin' years for a guy he didn't even like. He hated the guy! And he went away for him. Five years on a contempt charge, couple a' other things, without so much as a peep. That's what's expected."
"Yeah, well, fuck that," said the che£ "I did everything that was expected of me, I'd be the chef at Lutece or some shit."
Tommy grunted.
"Am I your friend?" asked the chef.
"Yeah, man. You're my friend," said Tommy.
"We gotta make some kind of pact. That we're not going to do anything to hurt each other. That we're gonna figure some way to get out of this shit where you and I end up okay, and nobody gets hurt."
"Nobody we like, you mean," said Tommy.
"Right," said the chef.
"Somebody always gets hurt. People are gonna get hurt over this," said Tommy.
"I'm sorry, Tommy," said the chef. "I'm sorry about before. You know. . . right? I had no choice when I did it, when I talked to them. We'll figure out something."
"Sure, Chef."
"Nobody's gonna shoot me in the head or anything, are they?" asked the chef.
" 'Cause of me?" said Tommy. " 'Cause of what you told me? I'm not going to say anything to anybody."
" 'Cause I don't want to die."
"Who does? I don't," said Tommy.
"But, I'm like okay with you now, right?" said the chef.
"You're okay. I'm not even mad. I'm not gonna say anything.
Who'm I gonna tell, anyway? My uncle? My fuckin' uncle? Then maybe he will kill me. No, forget it. You did what you had to do. I just gotta get things straight in my head. I gotta get this FBI guy off our backs, so I can live like a normal person."
"Me too, me too," said the chef.
"Maybe you should go talk to this Al. Tell him you talked to me. Tell him I'm thinking about it. Tell him anything you want. I just need more time."
"I don't know," said the chef.
"You know how to get in touch with the guy, right?"
"Yeah . . ."
"Well, buy us a little time. Tell him I'm thinking about it," said Tommy.
Thirty
TOMMY STOOD BY the information booth at Grand Central Station. He watched the recent arrivals pour off the platforms and merge with the crowd of commuters on the station floor. When he saw that the Westchester train was due to arrive, he pushed through the streams of business suits and moved closer to the platform. Cheryl was one of the last people off the train. She stood gathering her possessions, a single strand