Sally Boy

by P. Vincent DeMartino

  When he opened his eyes again, Sal was back at Yonkers Raceway following Anthony into the men’s room. He watched his friend settle in front of a urinal. Drawing his pistol from his jacket, Sal snuck up on Anthony from behind.

  “You know, Sal. I’m really looking forward to being a father. I’m gonna give my kid all the things we never had when we was coming up.” Anthony said sentimentally.

  Sal looked around to ensure they were alone.

  “I can’t wait till you have a kid,” Anthony said happily. “Wouldn’t it be cool if someday our kids grew up to be friends? Just like me, you, and Mikey.”

  A shot rang out: blood splattered the wall and drenched Sal from head to toe. Anthony’s body slid down the front of the urinal and came to rest on the floor. Looking down at him, Sal let loose with a heart-wrenching cry, “God, no!”

  Awakened the next morning by frantic banging on his front door, Sal struggled to get up from his bed. Staggering to the door, he opened it to find Chrissy standing there.

  “Hey, Chrissy?” he mumbled softly.

  “Sal, where were you last night? We were supposed to have dinner with my parents. I tried calling you like ten times, but there was no answer. I was worried sick about you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I had to work late last night and I didn’t have the number to the restaurant.” Yawning, Sal ran his hand through his hair. “Are your parents mad?”

  “No. They’re just disappointed. They were really looking forward to meeting you. I told them so much about you, but as long as you’re okay, that’s all that really matters. We can always have dinner with my parents.” Entering the apartment, Chrissy started toward the bedroom.

  “Where you going?” Sal asked, nervously.

  “Oh, I left my good earrings on the nightstand the other night.”

  “I don’t think they’re here. I ain’t seen ’em.” Sal quickly blocked Chrissy’s path to the bedroom.

  “Sal, what’s the matter with you? You’re acting strange. I know they’re here.” Maneuvering around Sal, she stepped into the bedroom. Chrissy searched the top of the dresser and then the nightstand. “What’s this?” Chrissy asked as she picked up a hypodermic needle.

  “I don’t know?”

  “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

  “Maybe somebody left it here by accident.”

  “Sal, do you think I’m stupid?”

  “I never said you was stupid.”

  “Then why are you treating me like I am? Are you shooting drugs? Tell me the truth, Sal.” Setting the needle down, Chrissy hugged him. “Look, if you have a problem, we’ll get you help.”

  Sal pulled away from her. “I don’t need no help! I ain’t no junkie.”

  “I just want to help you. Can’t you tell me the truth?”

  “You want the truth? The truth is my father was right. Broads just get in the way. Some men ain’t meant to be tied down.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means what it means.”

  “Sal, please don’t do this. I just want to help you. I love you so much.”

  “What the fuck do you want from me, huh? What? You like slumming? Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand nothing? I ain’t like you and your perfect little family. I could never fit in.” Picking up a lamp, Sal roared as he threw it across the room. “I come from the fucking streets! This is what I am. And that’s all I’m ever gonna be.”

  Chrissy slowly backed away from him, pleading, “No, Sal! You’re wrong. I know you. You’re a good man. What about all the wonderful things we talked about?”

  “Fucking pipe dreams! Guys like me don’t end up living in a big house in the country with a white picket fence raising kids.”

  “Don’t say that! You’re just scared. We’ll have beautiful children, a nice home, and make a good life for them. For us.”

  “Do you know who I am? Do you know the things I’ve done? The people I’ve butchered. I’ll never get clean. Understand?” Taking hold of Chrissy’s shoulders, Sal shook her ferociously. “And I hate you for making me feel this way about myself! Do you get that, huh? Do you?”

  “No, Sal, you’re just scared,” Chrissy cried out. “You’re hurt and confused because your best friend got murdered by some low-life thug. We’ll get through this together. I promise you. I’ll make some calls and find a good treatment center...”

  Whack! Sal slapped her across her face. Chrissy let out a sharp cry and held the left side of her face in total disbelief.

  “We’re done. Now get outta my fucking life,” Sal said coldly.

  “Please don’t do this,” Chrissy begged as tears welled up in her eyes.

  “We both knew this could never work. We was just fooling ourselves.”

  “No! That’s not true,” Chrissy tried to hug Sal, but he pushed her away.

  “Get out.”

  “Okay, you win, Sally Boy. If you don’t want me around anymore, I’ll leave.” Scurrying to the front door, Chrissy opened it, and looked back over her shoulder. “You know something, Sal? You could have been anything you wanted to be. We would’ve been happy together. Christ, I know we would have. I just wish you could see in yourself what I see.” Forcing a smile, Chrissy wiped her tears. “I love you, Sal. I’ll always love you.” Stepping out into the hall, Chrissy gently closed the door behind her.

  Racing to the door as if he were going after her, Sal grasped the door knob, and then stopped. His body slowly continued forward and came to rest flush up against the door. “I’m so sorry, baby. Please forgive me,” Sal muttered softly.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Sitting in the back office of the Mirragio Club, Carmine was intently counting the take from the many gambling spots the Mirragios controlled. He was angered to find that Sal’s collections were short and some even unmade for days. “What the fuck is wrong with that cocksucker?” Carmine punched the table. “He can’t even make his collections on time.”

  In the front of the club, Carmine’s men sat around drinking and playing poker.

  “I fold. Take it down.” Jimmy lit his cigar and angrily blew the smoke into the air.

  Dropping his cards onto the table, Nicky raked in a large pot. “I was bluffing! I only had a fucking pair.”

  “I knew I shoulda called you.” Jimmy shook his head.

  Shoving a hero sandwich into his mouth, Tony laughed, “Spikes, he only raised you ’cause you got more fucking tells than Blinks. Everybody knew you only got two pairs.”

  “Fuck you, Fats. I ain’t got no tells,” Joey complained.

  “What, are you kidding me? You’re nothing but tells,” Jimmy grumbled.

  Hurrying out of the back office, Carmine stood before his men seething. “Where the fuck is Scalise? I wanna talk to him.”

  Joey glanced up from the game, blinking erratically. “We don’t know. He don’t come around that much anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Where the fuck is he?”

  “Nobody knows. Besides, there’s something that ain’t right about that guy,” Nicky added.

  “What do you mean ‘ain’t right’?” Carmine asked, puzzled.

  “He’s been hanging around with that fucking spic too much.”

  “What spic?” Carmine shouted.

  Nicky began to shuffle the cards. “The one he knows from Harlem.”

  “The place we got the action? Where they sell the babania?”

  “Yeah, that place,” Joey said hesitantly.

  Carmine’s face hardened. “Go get that motherfucker and bring him to me.”

  “He called about an hour ago. He should be here any time,” Nicky said warily.

  Angrily biting his lower lip, Carmine yelled, “Who the fuck does that prick think he is? He comes when I motherfucking call, not the other way around. Nicky, you and Joey go find him and bring him here to me. Understand?”

  Returning to the back office, Carmine slammed the door. Jumping up fro
m the table, Nicky and Joey rushed out of the club. As they stepped out of the doorway, they were surprised to see Sal coming around the corner.

  “Where the fuck you been, Sal? Carmine’s fucking pissed.”

  “Carmine’s always fucking pissed. What’s he pissed about this time, Nick?”

  Nervously, Joey rubbed his eyes. “You better go talk to him, Sally. He’s in the back room.”

  Making his way to the back office, Sal knocked twice and opened the door. “Carmine, the fellas said you wanted talk to me.”

  “Get the fuck in here.”

  Stepping into the office, Sal stood patiently, waiting to be scolded.

  “Where the fuck you been, Sally Boy?”

  “What are you talking about, Carmine? I’m here.”

  “You’re here, huh. You’re fucking up big time. Missing pickups, and sometimes you don’t come around for days. Nobody knows where the fuck you are half the time.”

  “Yeah, but I’m always here when you really need me. Ain’t I?”

  “I don’t wanna hear it anymore. And I’ll tell you something else, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Rising from his chair, Carmine went to the door and yelled out, “Nicky, Jimmy, get the fuck in here.” Carmine sat down and waited until Nicky and Jimmy entered. “Take off your jacket, Sal,” Carmine ordered.

  Sal didn’t say a word. He just glared at Carmine.

  “Sal, take off your fucking jacket,” Nicky repeated coldly.

  “Why?”

  “Just fucking do it, Sal,” Jimmy shouted.

  Sal slowly took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. “What’s this all about, Carmine?”

  “Shut the fuck up and sit down.” Turing to his men, Carmine instructed, “Grab that motherfucker’s arms.”

  Taking a seat, Sal just shook his head.

  Nicky and Jimmy each took hold of an arm.

  “Now we’ll find out what you’ve been up to, Sally Boy.” Carmine taunted.

  “Carmine, I ain’t been up to nothing!” Sal implored through gritted teeth.

  Getting up from his seat, Carmine walked around the desk and tried to roll up one of Sal’s sleeves, but Sal broke free from Nicky and Jimmy’s grasp. The two men struggled to regain control of Sal until Carmine stuck his .38 in Sal’s face. “Sit still you motherfucker! If you move again, I’ll shoot you right through your fucking eye.”

  Sal froze. Carmine ripped open the cuff of Sal’s sleeve and pulled it up above the forearm. Carmine eyes popped open as he stared in disbelief at the many needle tracks running up and down Sal’s arm. “Jesus Christ! You fucking motherfucking junkie!”

  Nicky and Jimmy released their hold on Sal.

  Stepping back behind the desk, Carmine sat. “After all we’ve done for you, this is how you repay the Mirragios?”

  “What do you want me to say, Carmine? I did everything you asked me to do. Without question! I even whacked...” Closing his eyes briefly, Sal exhaled deeply. “...so I’ll ask you one more time. What the fuck do you want me to say, huh?” Enraged, Sal lunged over the desk trying to get to Carmine, but he was restrained by Nicky and Jimmy, and thrown back into his chair.

  “You wanna shoot up the babania, that’s your fucking business. But you don’t do it under our flag. No more! Don’t come around here ever again. You know what’ll happen if you do? I swear to God, I’ll fucking clip you myself. You only get this warning ’cause of your father. Otherwise, you’d be a fucking memory. Now get the fuck outta my sight.”

  Rolling down his sleeve, Sal put on his jacket. As he started toward the office door, Sal stopped and turned to his former associates. “I’ll be seeing youse around, fellas.”

  Exiting the club, Sal climbed into his car and slammed the door shut. Staring at the club with contempt in his eyes, Sal punched the dashboard. “You motherfucker’s wanna play rough, I’ll show you how to play rough.”

  Tearing away from the curb, Sal recklessly negotiated the familiar streets until he saw a phone booth. Coming to a screeching halt, Sal jerked the booth door open, stuffed a dime into the phone’s mouth, and dialed. “Angel? It’s me.”

  “What’s happening, my man?

  “Lock-and-load, motherfucker. It’s on.”

  “You serious? You ain’t just fucking with me?”

  “Get ready to get bloody; we’re going to war!”

  “That’s beautiful, baby.”

  “I’m coming over. We gotta make a list of people to kill.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yo Angel, those friends of yours, they better be everything you said they was.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sal arrived at Angel’s building. Speeding up the steps to Angel’s front door, Sal knocked loudly. The door opened and Angel greeted Sal with a big grin.”What’s up, hermano?”

  “C’mon, we got a lotta shit to talk over. And wipe that stupid fucking smile off your face.” Sal slammed the door shut behind him. Angel went to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. “So this is really it, huh.” Angel handed Sal a beer. “I can’t believe we’re going up against the Mirragio Family.”

  Taking a seat, Sal sipped his beer. “The die is cast.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they’re dead and they don’t even know it yet. Call your people and set up a meeting at the Jolly Tinker over on Webster Avenue up in the Bronx. I own a piece of it. We’ll set up our area of operations outta the basement.”

  “Sal, not for nothing, but do you think it’s a good idea to be working outta the Bronx? I mean...why don’t we just set up an A.O. outta Harlem? It’ll be a lot safer for all of us, especially for me and my boys.”

  “Are you fucking crazy? You think I’m gonna let those scumbags run me outta the Bronx? No fucking way!”

  “Yeah, but Sal...”

  “Just do what I fucking told you to do. Call those cocksucking friends of yours. We’ll see what they got between their legs.”

  Picking up the phone, Angel dialed. “Lemme speak to Juan. Hey, what’s up? Get Roberto and Clo. We got work, tomorrow night up in the Bronx. Come by my place later tonight. We’ll go over everything. Cool? See you later.” Angel hung up and turned to Sal. “This is gonna be just like old times, hermano. I can feel it. Let’s get higher than a motherfucker!” Angel scooped up some heroin with a spoon from a plastic bag on the coffee table and cooked it up over an already lit candle.

  Taking off his coat, Sal rolled up his sleeve and vowed, “Those motherfucker’s are gonna regret they ever fucked with me.”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Sal and his new crew sat around a big circular wooden table in the dimly-lit cellar of the Jolly Tinker. The room was dank and musty, nearly a dungeon. The walls were unpainted concrete and there were no windows. A monstrous, antiquated furnace sat in the corner: metal pipes and rubber hoses ran up through the floor joists and extended the length of the room.

  On Sal’s right sat Angel, and to Sal’s left were Juan, Roberto, and Clo. Each man had a bottle of liquor in front of him, and in the center of the table was a pile of cocaine that resembled a snow covered mountain. Handguns, switchblades, semi-automatic, and automatic weapons were strewn about on the table along with magazines and hundreds of rounds of live ammo.

  Using the side of his hand, Sal cut a long fat line and snorted it. “The Mirragios got no fucking idea what they’re about to go up against. I’m gonna make their mothers wish they never gave birth to those cocksuckers.”

  “I’m with you, hermano.” Angel snorted a line. “But you know the Italians ain’t gonna just sit still and let us move in on their territory. Not without a war.”

  “They wanna war with me? I’ll give ’em a war they won’t fucking believe.”

  “Sal, I was thinking maybe we should lay low for a while. You know, build up our strength,” Angel suggested cautiously.

  “You’re talking like a fucking coward.”

  “I ain’t no fucking cowa
rd! Let’s get our shit together and some money coming in. We ain’t gonna be no threat to ’em.”

  “Look, if we try to set up shop, we’ll be dead before you know it. I’m telling you, the only way to beat ’em is to go right after ’em. Like the way we did back in the jungle. Remember? We just gotta be smarter and more fucking ruthless than the Mirragios. Like the VC were. If we whack the right motherfuckers, their whole operation will come apart. They ain’t got the balls to fight a guerilla war.” Sal cut a line of cocaine and offered it to Juan. “Here, snort it.”

  Juan snorted the huge line. “This is some really good shit, primo.”

  Looking over his men, Sal asked, “Youse guys ain’t afraid, are youse?”

  The room went silent.

  Grabbing a fistful of Juan’s shirt, Sal pulled Juan toward him. “I asked you if you was afraid, motherfucker?”

  “No! I ain’t afraid,” Juan cried out.

  “What about youse guys? Are youse afraid?”

  “No, primo!” Roberto and Clo responded simultaneously.

  “Good.” Sal finished loading a magazine, stuffed it into his .45, and chambered a round. “Then it’s time to unleash the fury!”

  “What do you got in mind?” Angel asked, excited.

  “Pasqualli Bracco! He’s the key. He knows the Mirragios better than anyone. He was Don Lucho’s consigliere for like thirty fucking years before he retired. That motherfucker knows where all the bodies are buried. We’re gonna snatch his ass and bleed him ‘till he spills he guts about everything,” Sal explained with an evil grin.

  “Then what?” Angel took a sip of scotch.