My Ride with Gus

Fülszöveg

Jimmy was going to object to the idea of stopping the car again when Gus reached over and opened the glove compartment, liberating odors of garlic and tomato sauce that took Jimmy back to his boyhood. Gus removed a paper bag and asked Jimmy to unwrap the sandwiches. Tomato sauce soaked the rolls, which enclosed layers of eggplant parmigiana. Jimmy's soul swelled. "My God, that smells good. I don't remember the last time I had Italian food." Gus shook his head. "I can understand you rejecting certain parts of your heritage, but not the diet." Gus clucked his tongue. "Jimmy. Those restaurants in your neighborhood. I mean, please." "You eat in Soho?" "Once or twice. Sun-dried this. Sun-dried that. I think the waiter was sun-dried, too. Skinny guy who kept poppin' up with a pepper mill like a baseball bat."

Not all the places are like that." "Alsó, the waiter was a walking menu. He recited all the dishes like he was doing Hamlet. I don't care for that. I like a menu I can hold in my... Tovább

Fülszöveg

Jimmy was going to object to the idea of stopping the car again when Gus reached over and opened the glove compartment, liberating odors of garlic and tomato sauce that took Jimmy back to his boyhood. Gus removed a paper bag and asked Jimmy to unwrap the sandwiches. Tomato sauce soaked the rolls, which enclosed layers of eggplant parmigiana. Jimmy's soul swelled. "My God, that smells good. I don't remember the last time I had Italian food." Gus shook his head. "I can understand you rejecting certain parts of your heritage, but not the diet." Gus clucked his tongue. "Jimmy. Those restaurants in your neighborhood. I mean, please." "You eat in Soho?" "Once or twice. Sun-dried this. Sun-dried that. I think the waiter was sun-dried, too. Skinny guy who kept poppin' up with a pepper mill like a baseball bat."

Not all the places are like that." "Alsó, the waiter was a walking menu. He recited all the dishes like he was doing Hamlet. I don't care for that. I like a menu I can hold in my hands and read." "You're right, Gus. The Brooklyn restaurants are much better. I mean, what's the point of dining out at a place where there's no chance of gunplay?"
. The wild unpredictabilify of Affér Hours meets the heartfelt emotional appeal of Moonstruck in Charles Carillo/s fresh, wonderful, hilariously entertaining növel. If you've ever been to Brooklyn-and especially if you haven't-here's the fiction treat of the season: a picaresque journey written with perfect pitch for Brooklynese-and for the one kind of love that sometimes takes a detour, but never really leaves us alone: family. MrY fri^t - ^^ 1 T H fi yi § On New Year's Eve, Jimmy Gambar (née Gambuzza) storms out of Windows on the World restaurant, leaving his uptight girlfriend, her ridiculous gift of a hot pink silk tie, and the diamond blaze of the Brooklyn Bridge behind. At thirty-eight, Jimmy's precise, architect's life plan has just fallen apart, undermined by his would-be fiancée's manic drive to reinvent him. Later that night, trouble hits big...a sleazy downtown bar, a shady lady with a switchblade in his Soho loft, an accidental fali against a metál lamp. Now Jimmy has a dead woman's body to deal with, and only one person to turn to: his brother Gus. Driving across the bridge to Brooklyn with a body rolled up in an orientál carpet locked in the trunk, Jimmy has the feeling that Gus is taking him back to sixteenth-century Sicily. "Don't teli me what I don't want to know," says Gus 'The Ghost" Gambuzza, whose name is known to every street punk and whose car stays unlocked in his Bay Vissza