RAT'S TONGUE IN GARLIC SAUCE a character story by Gary Astleford

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So it happens that this guy, Enzo Japetti, was squealin' to the cops 'bout somethin' Ignacio had done back in '18. The man upstairs, he likes Ignacio. They go way back, play golf and shit like that. So the boss calls me in one day, personal like. Me and Freddy Vaughn. He looks us up 'n down, shakes our hand, like we's special or somethin'. He goes into his spiel, about how we's all one big family, even if Ignacio ain't from Sicilly. How we gotta teach this Japetti fuck a lesson, 'cause he's just dealin' with the cops, maybe with those clowns in Federal, too. Nothin' written in stone. I mean, you can't subpoena someone who's feeding worms in the woods, now can ya? Boss says, "Freddy, Sal. You two are good boys." And we smile and laugh, 'cause we're nervous and he's the freakin' boss, y'know? But he wasn't smilin'. "I want you to take Japetti and make sure he never talks to anyone again." And, of course, we smile and nod and kiss his ass. "Oh, and Sal." This he says as we're leavin'. "Enzo's friend, Ricatelli?" I nod and smile. I felt like a goddam puppet. "Yeah, that's his little faggot friend, right?" "Yeah, that's him. He knows about all this, too, but he had the common sense to come clean with me before Japetti caused too much trouble." Still noddin', still smilin', I ask, "You want me to whack him, too?" The boss shakes his head, grins. "No, but teach him a lesson." "A lesson?" "Yeah. But don't hurt him, okay, Sal?" The boss looks very serious. So I smile, and nod, and say, "No problem." And me and Freddy leave. So we get into Freddy's car. It's this beat-to-shit Korean import, and I was always makin' cracks about it. Y'know, shit like, "Freddy, can't you peddle faster?" or "Freddy, you goin' slow...you ain't been eatin' your rice?" or "Freddy...this thing run on CHOOH or on kim chi?" Enzo lives...er...lived, rather, on the lower east side. I'd been by there once, droppin' off a package of somethin'. I don't remember what. Doesn't matter. Point is, I knew where the rat bastard lived, and that's where we went. We must've been lucky, 'cause Ricatelli was there, too. Everyone knew the two were queer for each other. They'd probably been makin' squishy sounds in the bathroom before we came up. Enzo answered the door after we'd knocked. "Sal," he lisps at me. I hate that. Comes out sounding like "Thal," y'know. My name's not "Thal," or "Thalvatore." Like the little bastard couldn't help it, like he's got a speech...how you say it? Impediment? Whatever. So we bustle in. Freddy locks the door behind me. Enzo's lookin' real scared, now. "Boys," he says, "Can't we talk this over?" And I look at him hard and shake my head, and he wilts like the pansy he is. "Ain't you done ENOUGH talkin', already?" says Freddy from behind me. Enzo was fast, but not as fast as me. He goes runnin' towards the bedroom screamin' somethin' to Ricatelli. Little fairy's cryin' his eyes out when I get a hold of him and slap him around a little bit. He ends up lyin' on the floor,chokin' on a couple teeth. I looked at Freddy and said, "Go get Ricatelli, it's time for his lesson." Freddy smiles and goes into Enzo's bedroom. I hear him growl something, and out comes Ricatelli dressed in this really sexy panty and bra set-up. I whistled at him, said, "Andy," 'cause his name was Andrew, but we called him 'Andy' instead. "Andy," I says, "I think I'm gettin' a hard-on. You sexy guy." But Andy just blushed, and Freddy's laughin' his ass off so hard he's almost on the floor. I grab Enzo up offa the floor and we all march into his little kitchenette. Enzo's probably the only mobster I ever seen who had a damn spice rack, you believe that? Like he's Betty fuckin' Crocker. The whole kitchen's decked out like a gingerbread house or somethin'. I'm thinkin', "My God, I'm in candy land." I sit Enzo down real hard and Freddy sits Ricatelli down across from him. Freddy leers at me, 'cause he don't know what I got in mind. I walk over to the cupboard and start rootin' around. About fifteen seconds later I come back with a big, black frying pan. I put it on the stove and turn on the burner. I get some butter and some garlic from the fridge and start cookin'. Pretty soon, you can smell garlic in the whole house. Enzo's really upset, now. He's got blood comin' outta his mouth and his two front teeth are missin'. "Sal," he says. "Please..." Of course it comes out soundin' like, "Thal, Pleathe..." So I says, "Freddy, cut that little queer's tongue out, will ya?" And Freddy, he likes this stuff. He smiles real wide, and Enzo's got this shocked look on his face, and Andy's just gaping at the whole scene, all nice and petite in his pretty pink panties. It took a bit of doing, but we got most of it out. Had to use some tongs to get it out of his mouth, but every time we pulled it out he'd struggle and break our grip. So I get one of those hammers, you know, like they pound meat with, and I smack him on the head. Enzo goes limp, and Freddy starts cuttin'. He comes back to me with this strip of red meat and looks at the pan. "Throw it in," I says, and he tosses the tongue into the simmering garlic. There I am, stirring this stuff up, and God damn if it don't smell too bad. I'm startin' to get hungry. So I say, "Hey Freddy, doesn't this make you hungry?" "Sure does, Sal. You're a good fuckin' cook, y'know that?" I nodded, looked at Andy. "You hungry, Andy?" Andy don't say nothin', he just sits there, all pale and white and scared in his lingerie. "Sal's askin' you a question, sweetheart," says Freddy. Andy shakes his head. Freddy chuckles. "Probably filled up on yer boyfriend 'fore we showed up, eh?" Andy just shakes his head again. From down on the floor, Enzo starts cryin'. It sounds like some kinda animal, sobbin' and carryin' on. Freddy gives him a good, solid kick, and he grunts. I look at Andy, right in the eyes. "Andy, you ever try rat's tongue before?" He stops shakin' his head, his eyes gettin' real big. "See," I says, "some people think that the tail is the best part of the rat, but it just ain't so." Freddy laughs, but he's keepin' an eye on Enzo, who's trying to sit up. He's got all this blood on his face, and he's chokin' on it. His cries start getting louder, more incredulous, as he realizes what's going on -- what's actually bein' cooked in his big black fryin' pan. "Shut the hell up, Enzo," I says, "unless you want us to serve rat's dick next." Enzo quiets down. I open another cupboard and get down a plate. Enzo had this gorgeous china, real premium stuff, like you'd get at a French restaraunt and shit. He must've really liked his kitchen. I put down the plate and scraped the butter, garlic, and tongue mixture from the pan onto it. There's this brownish, congealed blood floating around in the butter. I put the plate down in front of Andy. "There ya go." Andy looks at it and turns green. "Oh, how stupid of me," I says. "Rat's tongue's pretty tough. You'll probably need a knife to cut that with." So I get him a knife and a fork and put it next to the plate. "Don't let me stop you," I says. Andy starts pukin' into his lap. Freddy cackles. Enzo's cryin' again. "Ah, Andy," Freddy says, laughin'. "Sal goes and cooks you a good dinner and you insult him like this?" He pulls out his gun. Freddy, ever the consumer of quality Korean goods, and one of his many cheap Korean pistol knock-offs. The thing had day-glow pistol grips and a big, yellow fish-head molded into the trigger guard. How can you take someone serious if they're pointin' somethin' like that at you? Andy looks up from the vomit in his lap. "C'mon, guys," he says. "I told the boss everything." I nodded, 'cause it was true. "Yeah, and he said we didn't have to kill you. Just teach you a lesson." "You taught it really good, Sal," Andy says. He's startin' to think really fast. I shake my head. "Naw, I don't think you've learned your lesson quite yet." Andy goes to say somethin', but I'm standing up over him, yellin', "You better get eatin', Andy, or Freddy's gonna put a hole in your head! You want that?" Andy stutters, "N-n-no." "Then eat, you little faggot!" And Andy ate. He got most of it down, before he started pukin' it up again. I figured it was enough, that he'd probably be scarred for life, little cannibal homo that he is. About this time, Enzo's lookin' at us with droopy eyelids. The blood's all caked thick on his chin, and the expression on his face just told us he knew we weren't gonna let him live. "Bring him," I says to Freddy, pointing at Enzo. I walked into the living room, to the sliding glass door and opened it, and went out onto the balcony. Freddy, Enzo in tow, is right behind me. Lookin' down, I could see it's about twenty stories or so down. I hawked a big wad of snot outta my throat and spit it over the side, watching it splatter against the asphalt a couple seconds later. "Y'know, Enzo, we can't let you live." Enzo tries to protest, but all that comes out is a gout of blood. "You're a rat, Enzo. And rats ain't got wings." I smiled at Freddy. "If rats had wings, they'd be bats. You don't look much like a bat to me." Enzo starts squirmin' and screamin'. Freddy's havin' trouble holdin' him, so I give the little scumbag a punch in the gut. He doubles over, unable to breathe. I grabbed his legs, Freddy kept hold of his arms, and together we sent the bastard tumbling over the balcony and down to the street. Then we went home and cleaned up. Freddy kept sayin', "Sal, you really outdone yourself now, man. Wait til Castaglione hears about this. He's gonna piss himself." And I said, "Who's the man, Freddy?" He says, "You are, Cowboy." And I says, "You better fuckin' believe it." fin