dangerous.”
“Hey, Bino, you delivered your message like a good boy. You did a real good job. Now go buy some sun block and fuck off.”
Bino smirks and starts walking out, but as he leaves he says, “Pretty touchy, kid. I was just looking out for you. Last thing anyone here wants is to see you get hurt.”
It’s about a l0-minute walk to Balducci’s office. Management offices are in a two-story building that is attached to the factory but separated by the huge warehouse. It’s right next-door, but there’s no shortcut.
Balducci’s door opens up. He is shaking hands and gently guiding a very large man toward the exit. The big man stops abruptly and says; “You’ll remember to call me about this idea?”
“Of course, Petro, I’ll call later this week.” Balducci practically shoves his guest toward the exit. When the big guy is gone, Balducci looks at me and motions me into the office. He looks toward the exit. “That’s Petro. He’s what the founders of Kosher World would call a real putz.”
I sit on the other side of his huge oak desk. It almost looks like the headmaster’s desk at Remington Academy. The factory is hardcore industrial, but this is a civilized office. Balducci lights a cigar and stares at it for a few seconds in appreciation. I’m not sure if he appreciates the cigar or how he got it-he only smokes Cubans-or the fact that he couldn’t care less about the laws against smoking indoors. Mostly, I think he is staring in appreciation of his own righteous indignation.
“Thanks for coming over here, Kevin. Listen, there’s something you can do for us. I know I said it may be a while, but I need something now. Ready?”
“Name it.”
“It’s real easy. Your last fight in the Industrial Road bouts is next Friday, and I want you to lay down for me.”
He’s not kidding. He wants to bet some wood against me and I’ve got to throw the fight. This sucks. Right now the guys love me. They’ve made a few extra bucks, and in a small, weird way I help give some pride to Kosher World. I don’t even know how to flop. Shit, I’ll do anything for a few bucks, but I don’t want to screw the guys. They’ve been talking about betting their whole month’s pay on me. I’ve gotten a lot of respect with the bookmakers now. I’m actually the favorite next week. The guys are gonna be bummed. Sev will be bummed.
Balducci looks at me and I think he’s surprised I didn’t snap an answer back at him. “There’s no problem here, is there, Kevin?”
Well, I’m not going to say ‘no’ to Balducci. I remember what it’s like not to breathe. “No problem, Jimmy. Consider it done.” I guess I just got on the train to Douchebagville.
Every time someone slaps me on the back, every time someone tells me how they’re going to spend their winnings next Friday, it feels like needles sticking into me. It feels worse than if all of a sudden I woke up and looked just like Bino, if you can imagine that.
I like what I got going here, but now I’m heading back to the proverbial Tongue Room again. Man, this sucks. At least I’ll be done here soon. It’ll be like a drive-by shooting. Fuck these guys and disappear. But what happens when Balducci needs me down the road? No doubt I’ll have to deal with Kosher World again. It’s Balducci’s HQ. Man, I don’t want to face these guys after flopping on their dime.
On the other hand, I don’t want to end up as hamburger meat. Haven’t I always said that I’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead? Now it’s time to shit or get off the corned beef. Fuck it. Kosher World guys don’t have any money and never will. So they end up with a few less shekels. So what? I never asked them to give me the red carpet treatment. Everything will be just fine. The guys won’t have an undefeated fighter to crow about at H’s place, and I’ll be on my way to the good life. So be it.
I say it to myself. I keep saying it to myself. But I’ve
“Hey, Bino, you delivered your message like a good boy. You did a real good job. Now go buy some sun block and fuck off.”
Bino smirks and starts walking out, but as he leaves he says, “Pretty touchy, kid. I was just looking out for you. Last thing anyone here wants is to see you get hurt.”
It’s about a l0-minute walk to Balducci’s office. Management offices are in a two-story building that is attached to the factory but separated by the huge warehouse. It’s right next-door, but there’s no shortcut.
Balducci’s door opens up. He is shaking hands and gently guiding a very large man toward the exit. The big man stops abruptly and says; “You’ll remember to call me about this idea?”
“Of course, Petro, I’ll call later this week.” Balducci practically shoves his guest toward the exit. When the big guy is gone, Balducci looks at me and motions me into the office. He looks toward the exit. “That’s Petro. He’s what the founders of Kosher World would call a real putz.”
I sit on the other side of his huge oak desk. It almost looks like the headmaster’s desk at Remington Academy. The factory is hardcore industrial, but this is a civilized office. Balducci lights a cigar and stares at it for a few seconds in appreciation. I’m not sure if he appreciates the cigar or how he got it-he only smokes Cubans-or the fact that he couldn’t care less about the laws against smoking indoors. Mostly, I think he is staring in appreciation of his own righteous indignation.
“Thanks for coming over here, Kevin. Listen, there’s something you can do for us. I know I said it may be a while, but I need something now. Ready?”
“Name it.”
“It’s real easy. Your last fight in the Industrial Road bouts is next Friday, and I want you to lay down for me.”
He’s not kidding. He wants to bet some wood against me and I’ve got to throw the fight. This sucks. Right now the guys love me. They’ve made a few extra bucks, and in a small, weird way I help give some pride to Kosher World. I don’t even know how to flop. Shit, I’ll do anything for a few bucks, but I don’t want to screw the guys. They’ve been talking about betting their whole month’s pay on me. I’ve gotten a lot of respect with the bookmakers now. I’m actually the favorite next week. The guys are gonna be bummed. Sev will be bummed.
Balducci looks at me and I think he’s surprised I didn’t snap an answer back at him. “There’s no problem here, is there, Kevin?”
Well, I’m not going to say ‘no’ to Balducci. I remember what it’s like not to breathe. “No problem, Jimmy. Consider it done.” I guess I just got on the train to Douchebagville.
Every time someone slaps me on the back, every time someone tells me how they’re going to spend their winnings next Friday, it feels like needles sticking into me. It feels worse than if all of a sudden I woke up and looked just like Bino, if you can imagine that.
I like what I got going here, but now I’m heading back to the proverbial Tongue Room again. Man, this sucks. At least I’ll be done here soon. It’ll be like a drive-by shooting. Fuck these guys and disappear. But what happens when Balducci needs me down the road? No doubt I’ll have to deal with Kosher World again. It’s Balducci’s HQ. Man, I don’t want to face these guys after flopping on their dime.
On the other hand, I don’t want to end up as hamburger meat. Haven’t I always said that I’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead? Now it’s time to shit or get off the corned beef. Fuck it. Kosher World guys don’t have any money and never will. So they end up with a few less shekels. So what? I never asked them to give me the red carpet treatment. Everything will be just fine. The guys won’t have an undefeated fighter to crow about at H’s place, and I’ll be on my way to the good life. So be it.
I say it to myself. I keep saying it to myself. But I’ve
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