Read Online Bone in the Throat by Anthony Bourdain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anthony Bourdain
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Mafia, New York (N.Y.), Cookery, Cooks, Restaurants
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to get cloudy around the edges.
Sally put the bags down on the floor, and he and Skinny rolled Freddy onto them.
"Okay, Tommy," said Sally. "You can go in there or upstairs for a little while and get yourself a drink or something. We'll let you know when to come out. You got a mop around here?"
"In the garbage area, right back there," said Tommy, pointing a shaking finger toward the cleaning supplies. He walked stiffly back into the chef's office and collapsed into the swivel chair. His head hurt. There was a pounding behind his ears and in his temples. Sally and Skinny dragged Freddy past the office door into the kitchen. Tommy heard them, the sound of dead weight on crinkling plastic, pulled along the rough concrete. He watched Freddy's feet disappear from view, leaving a long trail of blood, like snail tracks. Skinny got the mop and the bucket and cleaned up. Tommy was reminded of the little man sweeping up after the elephants in the cartoon.
"MAKE SURE IT'S CLEAN," said Sally to Skinny. "I don't wanna leave nothin' like that around." He inspected the floor.
"We got time," said Skinny. "I like to let 'em sit for a while anyways. Blood gets lumpy. Makes it cleaner, easier later on."
"Alright," said Sally, "Let's get him up on there. That's good. This is good. There's a drain and everything. We can spray it down with that thing after."
The two men lifted Freddy up off the floor and heaved him onto the prewash area of the dishwasher. Freddy's face came to rest in a pile of dirty dinner plates and half-eaten food.
"Hey, Freddy got his dinner after all," said Sally.
"I just gotta open him up a bit," said Skinny, holding the boning knife. "So nothin' floats, they take him. out on a barge. You don't know where it's gonna go. Just in case." He walked over to the sauté area and looked around under the cutting board for a minute. He came back with the chef's $450 custom-made Japanese knife. "I'm gonna need somethin' bigger like this for later. Help me get his clothes off."
M UCH LATER , Sally lit a True 100 cigarette. Skinny sucked on a Pall Mall.
"It's a fuckin' mess here. We gotta wash up these fuckin' dishes, spray down this shit," said Sally
"Let the kid do it," said Skinny. "He's just sittin' in there strokin' his fuckin' meat."
"I dunno how he's gonna like that," said Sally. "This is his first piece a' work and all."
"I'm not washin any fuckin' dishes," said Skinny. "I did the mopping. I hadda chop the cocksucker up. Somebody else gonna do the dishes."
"Don't look at me," said Sally. "I don't even know how to turn onna fuckin' machine. And I ain't gonna fuck up this suit."
Skinny peeled off the bloody rubber gloves and threw them in the garbage can, along with the bloody trash bags, the bloody apron, Freddy's bloody clothes, and the gold-rimmed aviators. "Well, I ain't doin' it, so it's gotta be the kid." Skinny used the sprayer to rinse himself off. He soaped himself up to the elbows and then rinsed again. Sally washed his hands in the pot sink.
Freddy, neatly packaged into eight plastic bundles wrapped in butcher's twine, lay stacked against a reach-in.
"So we're gonna put him out with the garbage . . ." said Skinny, looking at the bundles. "Spread him aroun' between the cans. Mix him up so the bags ain't too heavy."
"We don't want anybody gettin' a fuckin' hernia takin' it out," said Sally.
They distributed Freddy evenly among the garbage cans in the kitchen, burying each bundle under the chicken bones, fish racks, oyster shells, and coffee grounds. They tied up the bags and dragged them back to the garbage area.
"Hey," said Sally, "I just thoughta somethin'. It'll be the Brooklyn guys taking him away."
"That's good," said Skinny. "That's ironic."
"So long, dickhead," said Sally, waving to a garbage bag.
Back in the kitchen, Skinny wiped himself down from head to toe with some Handi Wipes from his jacket, while Sally helped himself to some cooking wine from the speed rack.
"I put the other one with
Sally put the bags down on the floor, and he and Skinny rolled Freddy onto them.
"Okay, Tommy," said Sally. "You can go in there or upstairs for a little while and get yourself a drink or something. We'll let you know when to come out. You got a mop around here?"
"In the garbage area, right back there," said Tommy, pointing a shaking finger toward the cleaning supplies. He walked stiffly back into the chef's office and collapsed into the swivel chair. His head hurt. There was a pounding behind his ears and in his temples. Sally and Skinny dragged Freddy past the office door into the kitchen. Tommy heard them, the sound of dead weight on crinkling plastic, pulled along the rough concrete. He watched Freddy's feet disappear from view, leaving a long trail of blood, like snail tracks. Skinny got the mop and the bucket and cleaned up. Tommy was reminded of the little man sweeping up after the elephants in the cartoon.
"MAKE SURE IT'S CLEAN," said Sally to Skinny. "I don't wanna leave nothin' like that around." He inspected the floor.
"We got time," said Skinny. "I like to let 'em sit for a while anyways. Blood gets lumpy. Makes it cleaner, easier later on."
"Alright," said Sally, "Let's get him up on there. That's good. This is good. There's a drain and everything. We can spray it down with that thing after."
The two men lifted Freddy up off the floor and heaved him onto the prewash area of the dishwasher. Freddy's face came to rest in a pile of dirty dinner plates and half-eaten food.
"Hey, Freddy got his dinner after all," said Sally.
"I just gotta open him up a bit," said Skinny, holding the boning knife. "So nothin' floats, they take him. out on a barge. You don't know where it's gonna go. Just in case." He walked over to the sauté area and looked around under the cutting board for a minute. He came back with the chef's $450 custom-made Japanese knife. "I'm gonna need somethin' bigger like this for later. Help me get his clothes off."
M UCH LATER , Sally lit a True 100 cigarette. Skinny sucked on a Pall Mall.
"It's a fuckin' mess here. We gotta wash up these fuckin' dishes, spray down this shit," said Sally
"Let the kid do it," said Skinny. "He's just sittin' in there strokin' his fuckin' meat."
"I dunno how he's gonna like that," said Sally. "This is his first piece a' work and all."
"I'm not washin any fuckin' dishes," said Skinny. "I did the mopping. I hadda chop the cocksucker up. Somebody else gonna do the dishes."
"Don't look at me," said Sally. "I don't even know how to turn onna fuckin' machine. And I ain't gonna fuck up this suit."
Skinny peeled off the bloody rubber gloves and threw them in the garbage can, along with the bloody trash bags, the bloody apron, Freddy's bloody clothes, and the gold-rimmed aviators. "Well, I ain't doin' it, so it's gotta be the kid." Skinny used the sprayer to rinse himself off. He soaped himself up to the elbows and then rinsed again. Sally washed his hands in the pot sink.
Freddy, neatly packaged into eight plastic bundles wrapped in butcher's twine, lay stacked against a reach-in.
"So we're gonna put him out with the garbage . . ." said Skinny, looking at the bundles. "Spread him aroun' between the cans. Mix him up so the bags ain't too heavy."
"We don't want anybody gettin' a fuckin' hernia takin' it out," said Sally.
They distributed Freddy evenly among the garbage cans in the kitchen, burying each bundle under the chicken bones, fish racks, oyster shells, and coffee grounds. They tied up the bags and dragged them back to the garbage area.
"Hey," said Sally, "I just thoughta somethin'. It'll be the Brooklyn guys taking him away."
"That's good," said Skinny. "That's ironic."
"So long, dickhead," said Sally, waving to a garbage bag.
Back in the kitchen, Skinny wiped himself down from head to toe with some Handi Wipes from his jacket, while Sally helped himself to some cooking wine from the speed rack.
"I put the other one with
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