The refrigerator snickered as Sara spread a large piece of cream cheese on the bottom half of the bagel. Go ahead and laugh Mr. Smarty Pants. We/ll see who laughs last. She stuck her tongue out at the refrigerator and took a large, slow, very slow, bite out of the bagel so richly smothered with cream cheese, and smacked her lips and licked them, And Im telling you something else Mr. Chuckles, for lunch I/ll eat the herring, and maybe I wont eat it all, but save some for a nosh. Sara hummed out loud as she lovingly spread cream cheese on the other half of the bagel and raised her eyebrows and looked disdainfully at the refrigerator who was still smirking, thinking he had won the contest, that he had defeated Sara Goldfarb in the war of the calories, but Sara just shook her head, A poo, poo on you Mr. c.i.a. You think maybe you won a war but I outfoxed you Mr. Know It All. The refrigerator laughed and told her he was too old to believe her con job and Sara dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, I know youre old, I hear you grind and grunt and groan all the time, but youre not such a big shot you think you are. The refrigerator laughed out loud as Sara dunked a corner of her cheese danish and carefully placed it in her mouth so as not to drip any coffee on the table, That doesnt look like an egg or grapefruit to me, and he laughed even louder. So enjoy, enjoy, Mr. Empty Head. I/ll finish my breakfast and then I/ll go out to my public. Maybe youd better sew the seams on your dress, theyre splitting, hahahaha. So haha to you. When Im zophtic and on the television I wont even talk to you. I/ll have someone else throw you out with the junk. I wont dirty my hands. Huh, and she tossed her head and went back to humming as she finished her danish then washed the dish and cup and got ready to join the ladies on the street getting the sun. She passed by the refrigerator, who was abashed by her last remark, in triumph. The other ladies were waiting for Sara and when she arrived they gave her the special place, the place where the sun shone the longest. Sara sat and immediately the speculation about what show she would be on continued as they all anxiously waited for the mailman to see if today would be the day she would get something in the mail.
Harry knew that Tyrone would be a few hours so he settled down with a couple of joints, cigarettes, and the rinkydink radio Tyrone had on the table. He sure as hell didnt dig being away from the action for so long, but he knew he couldnt wait in the coffee shop that long. He was too conspicuous. He carefully placed the envelopes and sugar on the table then frowned and thought for a moment about what would happen if the man came in and saw the “paraphinalia” and looked around for some place to stash it, but gave up in a couple of minutes because there just didnt seem to be a good place and then it all seemed unnecessary, And what the hells the big deal, ya cant get busted for having a pound of milk sugar and some stamp envelopes. He took a few pokes of a joint then put it out, lit a cigarette then sat back to listen to the music. After a few minutes the music didnt sound as fuzzy as it had, and the longer he listened to that radio, and the more pot he smoked, the better the music sounded. As a matter of fact it wasnt half bad. Well… half of what? When somethings as bad as that sonofabitch, any improvement is something. Half bad of that is terrible, but, Harry shrugged, eh, its somethin. I guess its better than nothin. Anyway, itll help pass the time. Wont be long Tyll be back and we/ll be baggin the shit and rakin in the dough and we/ll have a couple guys peddlin the shit for us and then we can go for weight… yeah, a pound of pure right from the italians and we can have some fuckin operation goin man, GOLDFARB & LOVE INCORPORATED, none a that Inc. shit, and we/ll have everything in black and white, hahahaha, an equal opportunity employer. Shit, who knows how far we/ll be able to go. We/ll be cool and stay straight and we/ll have it knocked. In no time we/ll be coppin that pound of pure…
Harry had just finished counting the money and Tyrone double checked him, R.ight on baby, seventyfive Gs. Good. I sure as hell dont want to make any mistakes with those cats man. They dont believe in honest mistakes. Not less theys their own. They can get very bugged. Okay, lets get it packed. I gotta get goin. I dont wanta be late. They packed it neatly in an attache case, locked it, and Harry put on a light brown top coat and a dark brown hat, See ya later man. Okay baby, be cool. Harry locked the car doors and made sure the windows were closed before starting the drive to Kennedy. He kept the music low so it wouldnt be distracting, and glanced at the briefcase beside him with the seventyfive grand, smiling smugly and shrugging slightly in his tan top coat, wondering if the people on the streets and in the other cars were looking at him and wondering who he was and what he was up to, and then he realized that they didnt pay too much attention to him because he was being so cool he just melted into the traffic unnoticed. That was the way it should be. Never be noticed. Thats why he was driving a Chevy instead of a Mercedes. Thats why he made the contacts with the white guys and Tyrone made them with the black guys. Always blending in. Thats why they were successful. Thats why they were on the top and would never get busted. The man didnt know them from any other dude walking the streets. He drove cautiously but not overcautiously. He didnt believe in playing scared pool. Thats when you really get them down on you. No, you just move along with traffic and dont do nothin to attract attention. He merged easily with the traffic, looking from time to time at the people in the cars around him, wondering what the people would do if they knew he was Harry Goldfarb, one of the big drug distributors in the city, and that he had an attache case with seventyfive grand in it on the seat beside him and he was going to pick up a pound of pure???? Theyd shit a brick. Thats what theyd do, theyd shit a brick. Probably wouldnt believe it. Bet they think Im just another successful business man. Maybe a stock broker… an investments counselor. Yeah, thats what I am… sort of, an investments counselor. I bet I could go up to anybody on the streets and tell them Im a big time drug distributor and theyd laugh and say, Yeah, and Im Al Capone, hahaha. Yeah, bet I could go into a police station with the pound of pure and hang around and ask some questions about something and theyd never flash to what I was or what I was holding. Maybe I/ll go into the station house and ask them if they have much of a problem with drug addicts in the neighborhood… that might be a good way to find out about some new neighborhoods, let the man tell me where they are, as if you couldnt smell them a mile away. Might be a gas. He slowed for the toll booth then accelerated and watched the sunlight bounce off the cables of the bridge, fascinated by the brightness thinking that they were a thousand spotlights and that he was the star. He eased into the traffic for the parkway and though there was a lot of traffic it moved freely and smoothly and he relaxed behind the wheel keeping his eyes on the road and glancing from time to time at the attache case and then looking at the people in the cars around him from the corner of his eye, knowing they were either going to or coming from some job, trapped in some box in the suburbs or rat trap in the city, never knowing what was going on and never knowing what its like to be free, free man, and go where you want when you want and to have an out of sight old lady on your arm so when you walk into those uptown joints all the dudes dig your action and wish they were you… yeah, they wish they was in my shoes… Look at them the poor bastards. Twelve o’clock and theyre beat already. He felt like lowering the window and yelling out to them to hang loose. From time to time he glanced, quickly, at the gulls gliding over the water and the sunlight twinkling on the rippled surface. It looked gray and cold, but that didn’t phase him. Nothing did. Everything in his life was going great. He and Marion were grooving together. The coffe house was going great, his legitimate investments were doing great, and a few more deals like this and he would retire and just spend his time taking care of his business interests and traveling. He and Marion hadnt had a chance to do the traveling they had planned, except for a few brief trips to the Bahamas, and with all the bread he had here, and in Switzerland, he wouldnt need this anymore and he would cut it loose before it soured out. He wasnt going to be like those other guys who stayed in the business too long and got busted for heavy time or ended up in somebodys way and got burned. No, not me man. We/re going to make it. Lay on the beach on the Riviera for a while, then sit around those caf& in Paris and Rome, and then good old Istanbul and if Turhan Bey gets in the way thats just too bad. Hey, thats a great tune, man. He started nodding his head in time to the music and started singing, If Turhan Bey gets in the way, it’s just too bad. If Turhan Bey gets in the way, its just too bad. He smiled and chuckled inwardly, Not bad. Maybe I should become a song writer in my spare time. He exited from the parkway and joined the slow and heavy traffic to the airport. He glanced at his watch and smiled as he realized he had plenty of time and there was no need to rush around finding a parking space. Thats why he always left early so he wouldnt have to worry in case he got tied up in traffic or somethin. Sometimes some poor sucker gets a flat or his car conks out and it ties up traffic for a while and he never wanted to blow more than half a million dollars on some jerks flat tire… or worse that that. Those peope dont take too kindly to being hung up with a pound of pure out there in the wide open spaces like that and then having to