Bone in the Throat Read Free Page B

not an emergency. But I've got to talk to the guy. Things are getting bad here. I got hurt today. Just now. I think he broke my fuckin' nose."
    "Okay," said the voice. "Stay calm. You can meet him in . . . one hour. At the place. You know which place?"
    "Yes. I know it," said Harvey.
    "One hour then," said the voice.
    Harvey hung up the phone and called his ex-wife.

Four
    H ARVEY STOOD OUT front of Village Cigars at the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue. The evening sky-was filling with clouds. A line of Lotto players pushed past Harvey and into the store. Commuters scurried by, making for the subway entrances. Looking across the street at the Riviera Cafe, Harvey watched the busboys breaking down the cafe tables in anticipation of rain. A dirty, barefoot old man with sores on his face shook an empty cardboard coffee cup at Harvey and asked him for change. He shook his head and the man moved on to the Lotto players.
    A cherry-red Alfa Romeo two-seater pulled up to the curb on Seventh Avenue. The driver rolled down the window on the passenger side and called out to Harvey, "Hop in, Doc!"
    The driver was a heavyset man with dark hair, thinning on top, and a carefully groomed mustache. He wore a blue-and-red-striped polo shirt, open at the neck, and a tiny gold crucifix on a thin gold chain. He leaned across the passenger seat and opened the door.
    "Come on! Get in!" he said.
    Harvey slid into the black leather bucket seat just as it began to rain. "Jesus Christ," said Harvey. "Is this your car?"
    "Nope," said the driver. "Perks, man, perks. They say we should blend. I'm blending."
    "They let you people have cars like this? This is where my tax dollars are going?" said Harvey.
    The driver laughed, "Since when have you been paying your taxes?"
    Harvey sat silently for a moment as the Alfa turned right. Another turn on Hudson and they were headed uptown in the early rush hour traffic. "I could have been killed today. Right there in my fuckin' office, he smashes my face in. Look at me . . . He could have killed me. He broke my glasses."
    "It doesn't look too bad," said the driver, sneaking a quick look as he steered the car between a bus and a delivery truck. "They said you got yourself a broken nose or something. It doesn't look broken to me."
    "I think it might be broken," insisted Harvey.
    The driver pointed at his own nose. "That's what a broken nose looks like. You put ice on it?"
    Harvey nodded.
    "It looks a little swole-up maybe," said the driver. "But it doesn't look broken."
    "It hurts," said Harvey.
    It was pouring rain now. They pulled up at a stoplight, and the driver turned and looked at Harvey. "So what happened today?"
    "He wanted money. It's Friday," said Harvey.
    "So you gave him some?" asked the driver.
    "I didn't have it to give," said Harvey. "I had to pay the liquor. You have to pay them or they put you on COD. You know what happens when they put you on COD? Once that happens, I may as well close the fucking doors."
    "Harvey," said the driver, putting the Alfa into first gear as the light changed. "You are pissing me off. Our office disperses you certain funds. You, in turn, are to disperse those funds in the precise fucking manner we agreed. You are not supposed to pay your liquor bills with that money. You are not supposed to pay rent, or make payroll, or buy gifts for your bimbos. We've had this conversation before. You are to use those funds for the express purpose of making controlled payments at the appropriate times. You are supposed to give the nice Mr. Pitera his money when he asks for it." Seeing a long line of green lights in front of him, the driver quickly shifted gears and raced to make them.
    "I'm sorry, Al," said Harvey. "I'm just trying to stay afloat till Labor Day. I'm jus' tryin' to pay my bills here. Tryin' to run a fuckin business. Tryin' to make a fuckin' living. And it's getting damn near fucking impossible."
    "That's just too bad, buddy," said Al, lighting a Marlboro 100