> BOBBY GOLD by Anthony Bourdain. Read this in
manuscript last night.
It's
> terrific. A modern Fawcett Gold Medal. 128 pages of
non-stop action.
I've
> avoided Bourdain up till now, largely because my
wife claims he's the
> coolest person she's ever met. Well, that was dumb,
but I'll be
making up
> for it by getting his backlist pronto. I confess,
also, that the idea
of
> celebrity chef writing hardboiled crime fiction
didn't sit too well in
my
> judgemental little brain. The reality is that
Bourdain is a
hardboiled
> crime writer who just happens to be able to cook. At
least, that's my
> opinion based on this little gem. I'm sure that he's
also very cool.
>
> BOBBY GOLD is the story of a young Jewish hood. His
story is told
> chronologically, beginning with the day he was
caught with a large
volume of
> cocaine hidden in his car. Bobby goes to prison. He
doesn't rat on
his
> partner, Eddie, who, while Bobby is serving his
time, becomes a major
player
> in the underworld. Eight years later Bobby is
released. In prison he
> learned how to fight. He pushed weights. He's now
six foot four
inches of
> solid muscle. Eddie gives him a job as head of
security at one of his
> clubs. Eddie uses him to pass on messages to people
who owe Eddie
money.
> There's a fantastic scene where Bobby is sent to
break the arm of a
> sixty-two year old man he's known since he was a
kid. It's so damned
good
> that I have to share a bit of it with you. The old
man, Jerry, has
the
> money for Eddie. But, as Bobby points out, that's
not the point. He
should
> have had it yesterday. Today's too late. Bobby gives
him some pills
to act
> as an analgesic. While they're taking effect, the
two men sit down.
>
> "They were both quiet for a while, Bobby sipping his
Scotch, gazed
idly out
> the window into JayBee's rear alleyway, listening to
the rain pelt the
thick
> panes of alarmed glass and the distant whine from
the compressors.
The
> Rottweiler, awake now, poked his head into the room,
a filthy squeaky
toy
> between his massive jaws. Seeing no one interested
in playing with
him, the
> big dog turned and left, the toy making hiccuping
sounds.
> "What's the dog's name?" asked Bobby.
> "Schtarker," said Jerry, uninterested. "That's
Yiddish, if you
didn't
> know. People used to say that about you."
> Bobby let that go - consulted his watch.
> "Few more minutes and I'll be ready, okay?" said
Jerry. "I'm
startin'
> to feel them pills."
> "No problem," said Bobby. "I don't have to be at the
club for a
while.
> I've got time."
> "How's that working out for you?"
> "Good," said Bobby. "It's going good... I'm head of
security
now."
> "Nice for you."
> "Yeah... It's okay."
> "You ever get anybody there I'd like? You
know...
somebody...somebody I
> could take Rose to see? She loves Neil Diamond. You
ever get Neil
Diamond
> there?"
> "No," said Bobby. "We had.. let's see.. we had..
Lena Home
once...we
> had Vic Damone and Jerry Vale. We had
him."
> "Yeah? Good?"
> "Yeah...they were good. You know... not my kind of
music, but
good."
> "Bobby... if you ever get anybody there...you
know...that Rose
would
> like...I'd appreciate it. If you could get us in.
She'd love that.
If I
> actually took her out sometime. They got the dinner
and the dancing
and
> everything over there, right?"
> "Yeah...the whole deal. And the food's not
bad."
> "Lamb chops? I like a good lamb chop."
> "Yeah...we got that."
> "Beautiful!"
> "I'll put you on the list any time you want to bring
her," said
Bobby.
> "Eddie...He ain't gonna mind?"
> "As long as you fucking pay on time, Jerry, he won't
give a shit.
You
> can do the fucking hokey-pokey on the table - he
won't care - he's
never
> there anyway. Just call me when you want to
come."
> "Thanks....I appreciate that."
> "So," said Bobby. "You ready?"
> "Shit," said Jerry, exhaling loudly.
> "Take off your glasses, Jer'...'
> "You gotta do that?"
> "Do what?"
> "The face... You gotta do the face?"
> "Jerry..."
> "I dunno...I thought...maybe just the arm would be
enough..."
> "Jerry..." repeated Bobby, standing up.
> "Awright...awright...Jesus fuck...Lemme get a tissue
at least."
> "I brought a handkerchief," said Bobby, reaching
again into his
jacket,
> this time for a neatly folded cotton square. "Here.
Keep it."
> "Always prepared," muttered Jerry, sourly. He
removed his glasses
and
> put them carefully on the desk. "They teach you that
in the Boy
Scouts?
> What did you used to have to say? "A Boy Scout
is...trustworthy,
loyal,
> helpful, friendly, obedient, cheerful, thrifty,
brave, courteous,
kind,
> clean and - ""
> Bobby hit him across the nose with the back of his
hand. Quickly.
It
> was a sharp, precise blow that knocked Jerry into
his chair-back.
> "Shit!" said Jerry, honking a red streak onto his
shirt front,
then
> covering his face with the handkerchief. He rocked
silently in his
chair
> for a moment while Bobby looked around the room for
a fat enough book
to
> finish with.
> "Get it over with!" said Jerry. "Do it now... while
I'm
distracted!"
> He rolled up his shirt sleeve.
> Bobby found what he was looking for - a thick,
hardbacked copy of
> MOLLUSKS AND BIVALVES OF THE NORTH ATLANTIC, and
quickly placed the
book in
> front of Jerry on the desk. Jerry knew the drill. He
compliantly
laid his
> thin, blue-veined arm against the spine so that the
hand was raised,
then
> closed his eyes. "Do it!" he said."
>
> If that doesn't whet your appetite...Well, I don't
know. There's no
> pleasing some folk. The rest of the book? Bobby
finds himself
sinking
> deeper and deeper into trouble, pissing off people
who you shoudn't
piss
> off, and having to think fast to save his
skin.
>
> Al
>
I've seen this guys books around - the similarity of his name
to (John Franklin) Bardin would catch my eye, briefly. I read
the blurbs about the guy being a chef & I just moved on.
I most definitely did not think that the books would have
something like that in them. I'll have a closer look next
time.
Rene
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