Free Who is Charlie Conti? by Claus von Bohlen

there’s one thing that every American insists on it’s getting you to agree that their favourite burger is the best you’ve ever tasted. I guess it’s a small price to pay for the good will you get in return. Anyhow, I liked Pete, so I thought I’d be happy to agree to whatever.
    ‘Lemme guess, you going to Vegas? asked Pete. Before I could reply he went on, ‘It’s not a good place if you got money troubles.’
    ‘No,’ I said, ‘I was supposed to meet someone who was gonna help me fix all that. But I’m really on my way to visit my sister up in Maryland. Kinda road trip, I guess.’
    ‘Hey, take the next right.’

    *
    Big Al’s burger bar was situated in the middle of a suburban sprawl of fast-food joints, bowling alleys, gas stations and cheap motels. I parked in one of the bays opposite the bar.
    ‘My pa used to come here when this was a ranching community,’ said Pete. ‘Big Al’s pa started it. He was called Big Al too. That was before there was even a casino in Vegas. Hard to imagine now.’
    The burger bar did look a lot older than everything around it. It was made of stained, heavy wood and there were still posts next to the raised entrance that had been gnawed by horses halfway up. I’ve seen plenty of bars which try to recreate the look of an old saloon and some do it pretty well. But they never get the smell of an old place – the smell of an open grill, old wood with a century of tobacco smoke in it and maybe a faint trace of horse shit. At least, that’s what Big Al’s smelt like, in a good way.
    The place seemed pretty busy. There were a lot of guys – many of them in cowboy hats – but not many girls. Pete made his way to the bar and I followed him. On the way I noticed a couple of old ladies sitting in one of the more shadowy alcoves. One of them had white hair and the other was wearing a red shawl over her head; both were about to dig into thick, greasy burgers and there was a mountain of fries on the plate between them. They made me happy, they really did. Most of the time old people look kind of sad or kind of worried, like there’s not a lot of pleasure left in life. I guess that’s often true. That’s why it’s good to see an old lady digging into a burger.
    ‘Hey Al, come over here,’ said Pete who was already leaning on the bar. A thin man with a drawn, ascetic face turned round and smiled then started walking over to Pete.
    ‘Hiya Pete, how’s things?’
    ‘Al, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine who’s just passin’ through. This is Charlie. Charlie, Big Al.’
    ‘How do you do, sir,’ I said, but Big Al must have seen a flicker of surprise in my face because he said, ‘Yeah, I know. My pa weighed three hundred pounds and was called Big Al. The guys started calling me Big Al back in High School, jus’ for kicks. Name kinda stuck, I guess.’ He paused for a moment before asking, ‘So, how d’you know Pete?’
    ‘We met at Joe’s diner,’ I said.
    ‘Ok. Well, you make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble tonight. She’s a fine woman, his missus, but she sure has a temper.’
    I heard Pete say, ‘If that ain’t the truth.’
    ‘So, what can I get you?’ asked Big Al.
    ‘Charlie’ll have a burger. Charlie, you like bacon and cheese?’ I nodded. ‘Rare?’ I nodded again. ‘And get us a couple beers.’
    *
    Big Al’s burger really was a great burger. It was just the right size, not too thick, so that you were able to hold it and take a bite right through from top to bottom without having to dislocate your jaw like a snake. And it wasn’t too big either, so you could eat the whole thing without feeling disgusted by the thought of it afterwards. The bun and the meat were just right too, so that by the end thebottom bit of the bun was kind of soggy from the juices of the meat, but not so soggy that it disintegrated. And the juices were good, plentiful and greasy but not too bloody, because that can be kind of gross. Even the slices of