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165 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2002
Bobby Gold, in black Ramones T-shirt, black denims and black Nikes, smeared bone marrow on toast and sprinkled sea salt on it before taking a large bite. His mouth was still full when the man came over and stood by his table, looking at him.(Quote passage pulled from ISBN 1582344094, pp. 113-114.)
"What the fuck are you eating?"
Bobby raised an eyebrown and finished eating. The man was tall, about forty-five, with the tired, mean face of an old cop. He wore blue slacks with knife creases, new, white running shoes, and a V-neck T-shirt with a windbreaker over it. His Glock, Bobby guessed, under his left kidney, beneath the T-shirt. There was another gun, something smaller, in an ankle holster on the right. From the man's expression, he did not look like he was going to shoot Bobby -- or arrest him. At least not today.
"Bone marrow," said Bobby, swallowing. "It's wonderful."
"Yuck!" said the cop. "I can't believe you eat that shit."
Blue Ribbon Bakery on Bedford Street in the Village was not a place Bobby expected to see cops. Cops ate out in packs, usually at cop-friendly places where raised voices, heavy drinking and the occasional freebe were not unheard of. Blue Ribbon was not like that. This cop had either recognized him from his sheet -- or, more likely, come looking for him. Bone marrow was a secret pleasure -- something Bobby usually indulged in alone. He'd never told Eddie about the place, afraid of being embarressed, and Nikki couldn't get through a meal without smoking, so he usually came here alone.