Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [79]
"I needed it," Harvey said. "I needed it to pay you."
"What else you done, Harvey?" demanded Sally, fixing him in a terrible stare. "What else you done I don't know about? You talkin to any cops lately, Harvey? You talkin' to some FBI maybe? 'Cause, so help me . . . Are you a fuckin' rat?" Sally feigned a couple of blows at Harvey's face, stopping short each time. Harvey winced and pulled away as much as he could with each near blow.
"Are you a fuckin' rat?" Sally continued. " 'Cause I know you're a treacherous, lying little cocksucker. I know that about you already. How 'bout it? You a rat, too? You been tellin' somebody some things?"
"No, no, no," insisted Harvey, gingerly feeling his upper lip. "I didn't say anything to anybody."
"You been talkin' to somebody about our business?"
"No, I swear," said Harvey.
"Them guys from Brooklyn . . . What's their names?"
"Dominic . . . Dom and Frank," said Harvey. "I don't know their last names."
"And you told them . . . you told them you owe me, right?" said Sally. "You told them that? They have to know that, don't they . . . And don't fuckin' lie to me, Harvey, 'cause I can make a fuckin' phone call and find out, I have to. Don't make me do that. You told them you owe me, right?"
"I didn't," Harvey said. "They knew already. They knew."
"Those miserable . . . " Sally muttered. He leaned out his window and signaled a young man standing across the street. He was of medium height with black hair combed straight back. He wore a loud checked jacket; a pink dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar; and beige, pleated slacks. He had a thin gold chain around his neck with a tiny gold cornucopia hanging down in his chest hairs. His shoes were white patent leather with decorative perforations on top. He crossed the street and came around the car, crouching down by Harvey's window.
"This is Victor," said Sally. Victor smiled, showing a silver-capped tooth. He didn't extend his hand. "Hi," he said.
"Victor's gonna be your new manager," said Sally. "Starting Monday, he's gonna be lookin' after my interest. He's gonna work with you, help you out, get the situation over there straightened out.
"But, but. . . but, Barry," stuttered Harvey.
"I don't care who you got over there, now. Give 'em their fuckin' walkin' papers. By Monday," growled Sally.
"I gotta give him some notice, I can't just cut him loose," said Harvey.
"Listen, asshole," said Sally. "I'm not gonna give you any notice when I shoot you inna fuckin' head."
Harvey looked silently down at his hands.
"Victor, here, is gonna be with you in there. He's gonna be right there lookin' after things. And me, I'll be comin' aroun'. We are gonna be sittin' on your fuckin' head every fuckin' minute and take every fuckin' dollar every fuckin' way we know how, until you straighten out what you owe. You don't make no more payments to them . . . When is your next time you gotta see them? When's the next payment?"
"Tuesday," said Harvey, weakly.
"Tuesdays . . ." mused Sally, "Tuesdays. I let you pay Fridays . . . You don't pay them no more. You don't have to see them. Fuck them . . . Got that?"
Harvey nodded.
"I told you before. I told you and you didn't fuckin' listen," said Sally. "Now you gotta listen to Victor. You do what Victor says. He tells you to sign somethin', you better fuckin' sign it. He tells you the place needs a fuckin' cargo container of fuckin' asswipes, you better order 'em. He says you need a thing for the restaurant, you better believe you fuckin' need it. Understand? You understand, Harvey? 'Cause I'm gonna tell you somethin' right now for free—the only thing that's keepin' you alive right now is I want my fuckin' money. That's the only thing keepin' you outta the fuckin' meat-grinder."
"I been paying . . . I been paying on time," Harvey said hopefully.
"You been fuckin' around with me is what you been doin'. I told you not to do something and you went out and did it anyway. I let you pay on Fridays,