BooksBarbecue
Back Come Again No More Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover
  3. Title Page
  4. Contents
  5. PART I 
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. PART II 
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. PART III 
  38. 31.
  39. 32.
  40. 33.
  41. 34.
  42. 35.
  43. 36.
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. PART IV 
  48. 40.
  49. 41.
  50. 42.
  51. 43.
  52. 44.
  53. 45.
  54. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  55. Touchstone Reading Group Guide

‘Last week Denver’s leading ’legger, a little grocer named Joe Roma, sat plunking his mandolin in front of a music rack in his home. While a pot of spaghetti was bubbling in the kitchen, some unknown persons called. When they rose to go, they filled Joe Roma with so many .38 and .45 slugs that the police could not count the holes.

‘The sudden death of ’Legger Roma was first thought to be connected with the kidnapping, the week before, of rich young Charles Boettcher II. ’Legger Roma had just called on Chief of Police Albert T. Clark, presumably to discuss the Boettcher case. Meanwhile Boettcher’s father, satisfied by notes that his son was alive and well, promised to pay sixty thousand dollars ransom.’

“Aint that somethin? Aint it? Legger Roma dead. Seems like every fight I ever worked, he was settin there at ringside, now he’s shot full a holes.”

Jake looked puzzled. “What happened to the rich kid? Did they turn him loose?”

“They don’t say.”

“What’s a mandolin?”

“Somewhere between a guitar and a banjo, I think. Or maybe it’s more like a violin. How the fuck do I know?”

“How’d they know a pot of spaghetti was boilin on the stove?”

“They don’t say. Them reporters goes nosin around. Maybe they nosed in the kitchen, found the spaghetti boilin.”

“I hope it didn’t boil over.”

“Jesus H. Christ! Did you hear what I said? Will you stop worryin about the goddamned spaghetti? They filled Little Caesar full a holes while he was playin the mandolin. Helluva way to go.”

“Is there a good way to go?”

“You goddamned right there’s a good way to go. Say you’re a hundred and twelve years old and you’re richer’n J. P. Morgan. You got a big old yacht, and you’re sailin out in blue water. You’re drinkin good whiskey and you just finished a two-pound sirloin steak. A sweet little blond chippie is swallowin your pecker. She gets you right to where your eyes roll back in your head, and bang! Your ticker quits while your pecker is still a-pumpin away. Now that’s a good way to go. Gettin shot full a holes while you’re playin a fuckin mandolin, that aint so good.”

“It don’t seem right. A man settin there bleedin to death with spaghetti boilin all over the stove. You ever eat spaghetti?”

“I don’t eat wop food no more’n you do. Let’s forget it, okay? You get all tangled up in the spaghetti, forget what the hell the story is about in the first place.”

“It aint right, that’s all. Don’t that worry you, what happened to the spaghetti?”