The jacob javits Convention Center on the west side was crowded with men in cheap suits. They wore color-coded identification badges and they elbowed each other to get at the free samples of portion-controlled remaki and fish sticks and Swedish meatballs and barbecue chicken wings on the trays and in the chafing dishes around them.
Harvey and Victor wore green badges identifying them as CEO and GM of NEPTUNE RESTAURANTS, INC., a fictitious restaurant chain. Harvey said they'd get better treatment from the sales reps, and he was right. The two men strolled past the latest model infrared broilers, convection ovens, dishwashing systems, nonstick waffle irons, and electric potato peelers. A busty woman with a wine-colored birthmark on her neck blocked their way and insistently offered them some cheese-filled cocktail franks. Harvey waved her away and headed purposefully to the escalator, Victor close behind him.
DETECTIVE CZERNY finished his third mini-chimichanga while he watched Harvey and Victor ride the escalator to the second floor. Detective Alvarez wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin.
"What is that in there? Shrimp and avocado?" he asked.
"I dunno," said Czerny. "It all tastes the same to me. I can't tell, chicken, shrimp, it all tastes like the same shit."
"You're eating enough a them," said Alvarez.
"They're still good. I don't have to know what a thing is to like it. Look, they're going in upstairs."
The two detectives wiped their fingers and headed slowly for the escalator
THE SALON GASTRONOMIQUE was a curtained-off area on the second floor. Classical music played through distorting speakers. It was the third day of the competition, and the prizes for excellence in garde-manger, charcuterie, chocolate, pastillage, pastry, and entrees had already been awarded. Harvey stood in front of a long table filled with rapidly decomposing pates and galantines and held his nose.
"We should of come the first day," he said. "It always stinks by the third."
Victor curled his lip and turned away. "Smells like rotten pussy in here."
"It gets ripe sitting under the lights three days," Harvey explained. "Will you look at that shit. . . It's getting brown at the edges." He pointed at a long pâté en croute with a clock face painted in aspic on the slices.
"This is some fuckin' food show," complained Victor. "There's nothin' here I'd wanna eat."
Harvey ambled over to the pastry area, to a table full of wedding cakes, chocolate sculptures, pulled sugar bouquets, and marzipan fruit cornucopias. He stopped in front of a pastillage cake. In the center of the cake, painted in chocolate, was a portrait of Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone. Harvey chuckled. "You know, last year, I was here, I saw one a these chocolate paintings . . . You know what they had on it? Reagan on the phone with Gorbachev. Can you believe that? One side a the cake they had Gorby, and the other side they had Reagan, and they're both holdin' telephones. All painted in chocolate. Like somebody'd ever eat that. . . Just what I wanna do, nibble on Reagan's face. Talk about unappetizing."
"Don't knock Reagan," said Victor. "He's alright, the guy."
They walked to the next table and a life-size tallow sculpture of a bullfighter snapping back his cape in front of a charging bull.
"That's like six hundred pounds of beef fat you're lookin' at there," said Harvey.
"You can see the bull's dick," said Victor, leaning over for a better view. "You ain't supposed to eat that?"
"No, no . . ." said Harvey. "They used to put 'em in the center of the table as like decoration. When you're doin' a banquet . . . A few places, you'd get a small one, a little Eiffel Tower or somethin' as a centerpiece."
"That's fuckin' disgustin'," said Victor. "What do I want a pile a fuckin' beef fat sittin' there onna table for? They charge money for that? I can get all the fuckin' beef fat you need."
They moved away from the display.
"Are we through here? It smells like fuckin' low tide," said Victor. "I got somethin' I gotta do later." He shot his cuffs and straightened his tie.
Harvey took a last look around the room. "Sure . . . I just wanna look at a few more things downstairs. I wanna take another look at that rotisserie they got. I think that would be great for the restaurant, don't you? We got a new menu comin' and all. I think that would be a real, nice touch. Unique. We could do a lot with one a those things. We could put all sortsa stuff on there. You could do rib-eyes, chickens, ducks. They do that in Italy, don't they? In the North?"
"Fuck if I know," said Victor, distractedly. He was looking at his watch.
Harvey and Victor managed to squeeze through the crowd and approached a triple rotisserie. Two capons and an overcooked whole tenderloin spun slowly in front of a gas-fed heating element.
"I really want one a these for the restaurant," said Harvey. "It could be a signature kind of thing. People would know us for it. And it's light. That's the thing—it's light. It's not fried or sauteed or anything. You just season the thing, slap it on there, and it cooks. People can watch it goin' round an' round. It's right there in front of'em. That's gonna be the key to the new menu. Light cooking . . . No butter, no heavy sauces. Nothing fattening. Lotta chicken. You ever notice how much chicken gets ordered? It's the ladies, they order the chicken. Chicken, salad, fish. We get one a these things, maybe we get one of those grills with the volcanic rocks, throw some a that mesquite in there. We'll be back in business. That's all we need. We'll be beatin' 'em away with a fuckin' stick."
Harvey's face shone under the track lighting. He took a napkin off a tray full of Hawaiian chicken kabobs and wiped his face. "I gotta go to the can," he said.
Victor started to say something, hesitated, and then looked at his watch again. "Hurry up, alright?" he said. "Don't be all fuckin' day in there. I gotta see somebody later. You wanna meet at the door?"
Harvey looked around the room again. "How about I meet you over there by the grills . . . It's on the way out. I just wanna take a quick peek at this thing. I'll be there in a few minutes, alright?"
Victor made a face and threw his hands up, exasperated.
"WHERE'S HE GOIN'?" said Detective Czerny.
"He's headed for the can, I think," said Alvarez. "Should we split up? I take him, you keep an eye on the other guy?"
"We got a good position here. We can keep an eye on both. We split up, we get lost in the crowd, we'll never hear the end of it. HEY—get me one a those fish sticks!"
ALONE IN THE TOILET stall, Harvey took a Sno-Seal of cocaine from his jacket pocket, dumped most of it onto the back of his hand, and snorted it. He licked the remaining crumbs and ran his tongue around over his gums.
When he left the toilet cubicle, he checked his appearance in the mirror. There was a large white smudge under his nose, and he wiped it with a tissue from his pocket. He threw some cold water in his face, dried off with a hand towel, and left the bathroom.
Just outside the bathroom door, he looked around for a phone. There was a pay phone to his left, but Harvey rejected it. Down a flight of steps, behind a column, he found another one. He took a handful of change out of his pants pocket and made a call.
"Hello," said the voice on the other end.
"This is Moses," said Harvey. "Lemme speak to Al. Now."
"Alright, he's been expecting you. Hang on just a second. I'll connect you."
When Al came on the line, he sounded distracted.
"Hi. . . uh . . . What's up?"
Harvey started right in on him. "That's it. I've had it. I can't take anymore. You gotta get me out."
"Whoa. . . Slow down," said Al. "Slow down. What's the big problem?"
"What's the problem? What's the problem? I'm hiding in a fuckin' phone booth like a fuckin' fugitive. This Victor person, this creep they got babysittin' me, is out there somewhere wanderin around the fuckin floor wonderin' where I am . . . I can't take it. I can't take it anymore."
"Wait a second. Where are you? You at the Javits thing?"
"Yeah, yeah . . . I'm at the Food Show. I thought I'd get a little fuckin' peace and quiet here, look at some things I wanna get for the restaurant—they send this, this killer, this animal with me. This guy won't let me fuckin' breathe. I can hardly take a fuckin' piss without the guy wantin' to hold my dick."
"So where does he think you are right now?"
"I said I hadda go to the bathroom."
"Where is he?"
Harvey looked nervously around him, peeking out from behind the column. "I think he's over by a display. I told him I'd meet him. I don't have long. You gotta get me outta here."
"You're not wearin' the wire or anything, right?"
"Are you crazy? Are you crazy? You think I'm outta my fuckin' mind? I don't wanna live? That, that animal, the other animal, he tore my clothes apart lookin' for it last time I saw him. You realize what woulda happened to me he found one? I wouldn't be talkin' to you, that's for sure . . ."
"Just hang on. Hang on."
"Hang on. I'll be hangin' on by my fuckin' nuts somewhere. You think I don't read the papers? I saw what happened out there . . . in Brooklyn . . . I saw what they did! That could happen to me. It's gonna happen to me I don't get out of this. I want to get out. You said you'd get me out. I wanna go somewhere, California, Florida, someplace warm . . . I want protection. You promised me . . ."
"Harvey, you're worried. I can understand that—"
"Worried? I'm worried. You're damn fuckin' right I'm worried. Two times I get roughed up for you. TWO TIMES! I'm not lookin for the hat trick. People are gettin' fuckin' killed. He's gonna kill me. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but he's gonna kill me. I know it. He as good as said so."
"Harvey. What do you have to worry about. You're not wearin' the wire. You drive there in your car?"
"Yeah, I drove here in my car. What the fuck does that mean?"
"Listen . . . Calm down for a minute and listen to me."
"They know! I know they fuckin' know! The fuckin' guy said so. You should see the way this fuckin' guy looks at me . . ."
"Okay, okay . . . Listen. We got a beeper in your car. You can't go anyplace we don't know where you're goin. I got people watching out for you. Nothing's going to happen. You just gotta hang in there a few more days . . . A few more days and we'll pull you out. You don't want the whole case to go down the drain now, do you? You want our friends to go away to prison for a long time where they're not going to bother you, right? You just have to hang in there. We're this close. Two days, three days most."
"They're tryin' to take the restaurant away from me. That Sonny character. That TV guy, the Count, he's comin' around tellin me how to run my business. They wanna take it away from me . . ."
Al sighed, "Listen, Harvey. We'll fix it so he doesn't get his hands on it. We can fix it so he goes down with them. You pull out now, you go weak in the knees now, what's to stop the guy? Humor him. Cooperate. He's not getting his hands on your place. I'll get the liquor authority lookin' at his license. All those disreputable types he hangs out with, they wont let him run a bar."
"He's runnin' a fuckin' bar now!" shouted Harvey.
"Yeah, but once we indict his buddies, it'll be different."
"I don't know. I'm worried. I'm goin' to fuckin' pieces and you won't do anything."
"Listen, Harvey, when all this is over, think of all the heads you're gonna have in your collection. It's fourth quarter here, pal, you're rackin' up the points, you're ahead . . . Don't drop the ball now. Go for it. You don't like Victor? Not crazy about the Count? Think how much fun you're gonna have seein' 'em all runnin' outta central booking with their coats over their faces. After this is all over you can go on TV, tell Geraldo all about your courageous effort that put away a major crime crew. You can write a book . . . Relax, for Christ's sake. Think about who you want to play you in the movie. I was thinking Al Pacino."
"Al Pacino?" Harvey thought about this for a second. "He's Italian."
"Pacino can play Jewish. Okay. You don't like Pacino, how about Jack Lemmon? Richard Dreyfuss?"
"Jack Lemmon's too old . . ."
"Dustin Hoffman . . ."
"I dunno . . . I was thinking, I was thinking Michael Douglas. I want somebody who's more, like, sexy."
"Fine. Michael Douglas. You want Michael Douglas, I'm sure you can get Michael Douglas. Heroic restaurateur slash dentist goes undercover to beat the mob. I'm sure they'll all be dying to play you. There you go—think about it . . . sitting out there by the side of the pool, gettin' your helmet polished, all those starlets fighting over who gets to play the love interest."
"Hmmmm . . ."
"See what I mean? We can't have the hero of the picture slinkin' off to protective custody they haven't even put the bad guys away yet. C'mon!"
"I want the Dreadnaught. When this is all over, I want the restaurant. I'll get the money. I'll find backers. The place has got a lot goin' for it. We got a new menu comin' in. I'm lookin' at some new equipment. . . I'll drive that fuckin' Count next door right outta fuckin business."
"There you go, Harvey. That's the guy I know and love."
"Alright, a few more days. After that no more."
"Okay. You got my word on it. Now get out there and knock 'em dead. You're a star."
Harvey hung up and headed out onto the main floor to find Victor.
"CAN WE FUCKIN' GO NOW?" said Victor. "I been waitin' so long I thought you fell in in there."
Harvey looked around the convention floor, looking to see if he could pick out his backup.
"I wanted to see the grills," he said.
"There they are," said Victor. "Good. Now you seen 'em. Now can we go? I got an appointment."
"Alright," said Harvey. He followed Victor to the front door, his head turning left and right at the shiny new equipment all around him. They passed through the glass doors and stood by the curb while Harvey felt around in his pocket for his car keys. Victor signaled to somebody in a tan Chevy who was idling by an entrance ramp around fifty yards away. He took Harvey by the arm firmly as the car approached at a slow roll and stopped directly in front of them. Skinny sat behind the wheel. Victor stepped forward and opened the rear door.
"Get inna car," he said to Harvey.
"I got my car here," protested Harvey. "It's parked right over there. You don't want me to drive you—"
"Get inna fuckin' car, Harvey," said Victor. His grip on Harvey's arm tightened as he bundled him into the back seat.
DETECTIVE CZERNY helped himself to an eggroll and thanked the girl.
"This looks good, you gonna try one?"
"He didn't come outta the bathroom yet. You think I should go in and check?" said Detective Alvarez.
Detective Czerny looked down onto the main floor. "I don't see the other guy either. Where'd he go?"
"Oh, shit. Don't tell me this . . ."