The Bobby Gold stories - Anthony Bourdain [6]
"Motherfuck!!" said Jerry, through clenched teeth. "It's hot. It feels hot . . . and it hurts . . ."
"Hey . . . It's over," was all Bobby could think of to say.
"Yeah . . . thanks," said Jerry. "Thanks for breaking my arm." A thin dribble of blood ran from one nostril, collecting on his lip. The whites of his eyes were turning red — as intended. Bobby felt the urge to lean over and blot the nose with a tissue, but resisted.
"It could have been those kids from Arthur Avenue, Jerry," said Bobby, lamely.
"Yeah . . . you're right. He coulda sent the kids," said Jerry, bitterly. "I love this! Like I'm supposed to be grateful? You broke my fucking arm!!"
"What hospital you want to go to? I can drop you at St. Vincent's, you want."
"Fuck you, Bobby. I'll walk over to Roosevelt."
"St. Vincent's is better . . . You won't have so much of a wait, Jerry. It's cleaner. C'mon . . . I'll take you in a cab . . ."
"Get the fuck outta here Bobby, okay?"
"It's raining, Jerry . . ."
"I know it's fucking raining, Bobby Gold . . . Stop it, already . . . You did what you hadda do. Now get the fuck outta here and leave me alone."
"I'm sorry, Jerry. It's my job. This is what I do . . ."
Jerry looked up at him with sudden and unexpected clarity. "I know . . ." he said. "That's what's fucked up about you, Bobby. You are sorry. You got no fucking heart for this shit — but you do it anyway, don't you?" He turned his face away, as if looking at Bobby disgusted him. "What the fuck happened to you, for fuck's sake? Nice Jewish boy . . . educated . . . and you're beatin' on old men — your uncle . . . your own mother's brother, for a fuckin' living. Some fuckin' life you got, Bobby . . ." His voice cracked, barely audible. "Little Bobby Goldstein, all grown up. Your father — he must be very proud . . ."
Bobby flinched. "Fuck you, Jerry . . . I wouldn't have to do this shit — you paid your debts on time. Don't start talking about family — the way you live - all right?"
"Awright . . . I'm sorry," said Jerry. "I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't have said that . .." He looked out the window, voice steadier now, and sadder. "Who am I to judge a person?"
It was coming down hard on 9th Avenue when Bobby and Jerry emerged from JayBee Seafood. The old man was looking drugged and dreamy now, his eyes pinned from the Demerol, mouth slack at the corners.
"Let me get you a cab," offered Bobby for the last time, signaling with his hand.
Jerry waved him away. "You take it. I'm not fucking helpless here, Bobby. I can take care of myself. I was having guys busted up worse than this when I was half your age — those two guinea cocksuckers he sent the last time? Next week, the very next week — from my hospital bed — I call Eddie and have him send those two down to see some other schmuck owes me money — so I ain't gonna curl up and die cause I gotta stand up for another ass-kicking, all right? Now get lost, you little pisher . . . tell that midget gonniff cocksucker you work for he can send somebody over tomorrow to pick up the money. Now leave me alone . . ."
When Bobby left him, standing hatless and coatless in the rain, looking up 9th Avenue toward Roosevelt Hospital, the old man was weeping. Bobby saw him holding the handkerchief to his nose as his cab pulled away from the curb. He watched him through the raindrop patterns of the cab window as Jerry slowly started to walk, one foot in front of the other, shoulders hunched protectively over the broken arm, growing smaller in the distance.
BOBBY THE DIPLOMAT
Bobby Gold in work clothes — black sport jacket, black button-down dress shirt, skinny black tie, black chinos and comfortable black shoes — pushed open the double doors onto the mezzanine level of NiteKlub. Below, on the dance floor, heads were bobbing in the smoke and the strobes, the heavy bass tones from the half-million-dollar sound system vibrating through the concrete. Fifty feet away, on his left, the mezzanine bar was doing big business, stacked three-deep with customers. He saw Del, the mezz security man, hurrying toward him.
"Bobby! This