Bone in the Throat by Anthony Bourdain

Author:Anthony Bourdain
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Cooks, Mafia, Mystery & Detective, Humorous, New York (N.Y.), General, Mystery fiction, Fiction, Cookery, Restaurants
ISBN: 9781582341026
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2000-09-16T21:22:40.992491+00:00

Twenty-Seven

THE CHEF TOOK his specimen to the urine desk. A lethargic Hispanic woman interrupted her conversation with a man in a wheelchair to hand the chef a preprinted label with his name, patient identification number, and the date on it. The chef wrapped the label around his sample bottle, put the bottle in a plastic Ziploc bag from the desk and placed it in a box with a hundred or so other samples. The box was decorated with a cheerful floral-print contact paper that curled at the edges.

There were two long lines for medication. The chef took his place at the rear of the first line, behind a hulking Irishman with a red, wrinkled face and tattoos on his fingers. He had another tattoo on his forearm. It said BORN DEAD. The people on the line swayed back and forth on worn sneakers like elephants at the zoo. They muttered complaints to each other. "Let's go, let's go . . ." said one man. The Irishman said, "Let's move this line," to nobody in particular. The woman in the next line, across from the chef, held a baby in one arm. There was a hospital bracelet on her wrist. Her black skin was chalky white at the ankles, and there were open sores. She held a thick metal cane with a rubber guard on the end in her other arm.

When the chef reached the head of the line and stepped up to the window, a red-haired nurse handed him his dose. He signed his name on her clipboard after checking the dose and poured orange drink from a pitcher in the window into the clear plastic cup with the methadone. He stirred it, raised the cup to his mouth, and drank it down. Then he added a bit more juice to the empty cup and drank that, too. Then he walked out the door to Cooper Square.

Al was sitting on a bench across the street from the clinic when he came out.

"Yo! Chef!" he called out.

The chef turned, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Big Al. Saving Cooper Square for democracy?"

"Oh, yeah," said Al, grinning widely. "Lotta cominiss activity over here. Gotta stay vigilant."

"The lady who took my urine sample today looked very suspicious. She had a funny accent and she didn't know who Mookie Wilson was. Maybe you should look into it, check her out," said the chef.

Al chuckled and put his arm around the chef's shoulders. "So you finally got in the program. I'm really happy for you, Michael. Off the streets and all. That's great. That's really positive."

"You sound like my counselor," said the chef.

"Sorry, didn't mean to do that. But I am happy for you. How is it? How's it goin' so far? The meth holding you?"

"It's fine. Fine," said the chef. "It's better, anyway. A lot better. Not having to score all the time, risking my ass over there every day, waiting to get pinched or for somebody to cut my throat.

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