Read Online Bone in the Throat by Anthony Bourdain - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Bourdain
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Mafia, New York (N.Y.), Cookery, Cooks, Restaurants
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filled with marijuana butts sitting on a stack of magazines in the corner. He emptied the roaches onto the floor and tapped an ash into it.
They sat in silence for a few more long minutes. At three o'clock, the exhaust fans in the kitchen clicked off, and there was only the sound of an occasional drip from the dishwasher and the whine of the compressors for the refrigeration units.
"Anybody else here?" Skinny asked.
"No," said Tommy. "Fan's on a timer. It shuts off at three."
After a few minutes more of silence, Tommy asked where Sally was.
"They'll be here soon," said Skinny, looking straight at him.
Finally, the bell rang. Tommy jumped out of his chair and walked quickly to the stairs leading up to the street-level trapdoors. Skinny remained behind in the office, fiddling with his tie.
Bounding up the cement steps, Tommy threw the latch and pushed open the metal doors. He was almost relieved to see Sally standing there next to another man. They were laughing, Sally's arm around the other man's shoulder. They looked like they had been out on the town. Sally wore a jacket and tie instead of his usual jogging suit. The other man looked drunk, his shirt was hanging out of his pants. He was short, with gold-rimmed aviator glasses, gold pinky ring, and a puffy, chinless face lit up by alcohol.
"Tommy, you gonna invite us down, or what?" laughed Sally.
Tommy backed down the steps. Sally helped the other man down.
"You should get a fuckin' light down here," said Sally as the other man stumbled. Tommy squeezed past them in the dark hallway to close and lock the doors.
"So, how you doin'?" said Tommy feebly. The man with Sally smelled of peppermint breath mints and sweat. Sally introduced him.
"This is a good friend of mine, Freddy. I promised Freddy here some a that good French food you keep tellin' me about. You ready for Freddy?" asked Sally.
"Freddy's ready," said Freddy. He patted his stomach and grinned stupidly. "Bring it on, garçon!"
Tommy led them down the hall toward the kitchen. He saw that Freddy was unsteady on his feet, heard him get his foot caught up in the dirty aprons and kitchen towels on the floor, heard him bounce drunkenly against the shelving, breathing heavily. Sally was right behind him, guiding him.
"I'm ready for one serious fuckin' meal here, Tommy," said Freddy. "Your uncle talks about you a lot."
Sensing sudden movement, Tommy turned around, thinking Freddy had tripped. He moved to catch him. Instead, he saw Sally coming up with a .22-caliber Hi-Standard pistol. Frozen, he watched as Sally put the gun behind Freddy's right ear and fired three quick rounds into his skull.
For what seemed like a very long time, Freddy stayed on his feet. His eyes jerked up into his head, a little saliva bubble forming in the corner of his mouth, his lips trembling as if he were trying to form words.
Then, suddenly, Skinny was there. He pushed roughly past Tommy, who saw that he was naked, wearing only bright blue rubber gloves and holding a kitchen apron in one hand and a boning knife in the other. He whipped the apron quickly around Freddy's leaking head and, at almost the same time, jammed the boning knife into Freddy's chest and twisted. There was a crunching sound. He withdrew the knife, and then, with Sally holding the bloody apron-wrapped head, let the body slowly down onto the floor.
"So that's that," said Sally.
"You should get him on some plastic bags," said Skinny.
"Oh, shit," said Tommy, paralyzed by what he had just seen. "Shit!" He thought for a second he was going to cry; instead, he just stood there, staring down at the dead man on the floor.
"Get some plastic bags," said Sally, pushing Tommy toward the kitchen with his palm.
Skinny poked at Freddy's buttock with his big toe.
"He's gone," he said.
"Oh, shit," said Tommy. He took a few dreamlike steps into the kitchen and returned with two large plastic trash bags. He felt like he was underwater, somehow going deaf. His vision began
They sat in silence for a few more long minutes. At three o'clock, the exhaust fans in the kitchen clicked off, and there was only the sound of an occasional drip from the dishwasher and the whine of the compressors for the refrigeration units.
"Anybody else here?" Skinny asked.
"No," said Tommy. "Fan's on a timer. It shuts off at three."
After a few minutes more of silence, Tommy asked where Sally was.
"They'll be here soon," said Skinny, looking straight at him.
Finally, the bell rang. Tommy jumped out of his chair and walked quickly to the stairs leading up to the street-level trapdoors. Skinny remained behind in the office, fiddling with his tie.
Bounding up the cement steps, Tommy threw the latch and pushed open the metal doors. He was almost relieved to see Sally standing there next to another man. They were laughing, Sally's arm around the other man's shoulder. They looked like they had been out on the town. Sally wore a jacket and tie instead of his usual jogging suit. The other man looked drunk, his shirt was hanging out of his pants. He was short, with gold-rimmed aviator glasses, gold pinky ring, and a puffy, chinless face lit up by alcohol.
"Tommy, you gonna invite us down, or what?" laughed Sally.
Tommy backed down the steps. Sally helped the other man down.
"You should get a fuckin' light down here," said Sally as the other man stumbled. Tommy squeezed past them in the dark hallway to close and lock the doors.
"So, how you doin'?" said Tommy feebly. The man with Sally smelled of peppermint breath mints and sweat. Sally introduced him.
"This is a good friend of mine, Freddy. I promised Freddy here some a that good French food you keep tellin' me about. You ready for Freddy?" asked Sally.
"Freddy's ready," said Freddy. He patted his stomach and grinned stupidly. "Bring it on, garçon!"
Tommy led them down the hall toward the kitchen. He saw that Freddy was unsteady on his feet, heard him get his foot caught up in the dirty aprons and kitchen towels on the floor, heard him bounce drunkenly against the shelving, breathing heavily. Sally was right behind him, guiding him.
"I'm ready for one serious fuckin' meal here, Tommy," said Freddy. "Your uncle talks about you a lot."
Sensing sudden movement, Tommy turned around, thinking Freddy had tripped. He moved to catch him. Instead, he saw Sally coming up with a .22-caliber Hi-Standard pistol. Frozen, he watched as Sally put the gun behind Freddy's right ear and fired three quick rounds into his skull.
For what seemed like a very long time, Freddy stayed on his feet. His eyes jerked up into his head, a little saliva bubble forming in the corner of his mouth, his lips trembling as if he were trying to form words.
Then, suddenly, Skinny was there. He pushed roughly past Tommy, who saw that he was naked, wearing only bright blue rubber gloves and holding a kitchen apron in one hand and a boning knife in the other. He whipped the apron quickly around Freddy's leaking head and, at almost the same time, jammed the boning knife into Freddy's chest and twisted. There was a crunching sound. He withdrew the knife, and then, with Sally holding the bloody apron-wrapped head, let the body slowly down onto the floor.
"So that's that," said Sally.
"You should get him on some plastic bags," said Skinny.
"Oh, shit," said Tommy, paralyzed by what he had just seen. "Shit!" He thought for a second he was going to cry; instead, he just stood there, staring down at the dead man on the floor.
"Get some plastic bags," said Sally, pushing Tommy toward the kitchen with his palm.
Skinny poked at Freddy's buttock with his big toe.
"He's gone," he said.
"Oh, shit," said Tommy. He took a few dreamlike steps into the kitchen and returned with two large plastic trash bags. He felt like he was underwater, somehow going deaf. His vision began
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