Sally Boy

by P. Vincent DeMartino

  “Why not?” Picking up a razorblade, Sal cut two fat lines of cocaine.

  “Besides, if I’m walking into the lion’s den, I don’t wanna be feeling no pain if I get bit.” Angel rolled up a hundred dollar bill and snorted the line.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Pulling into a parking space across the street from the No Name Club, Angel turned off the motor. There was no movement outside the bar or along the dark and desolate streets. Only the glow of some inside lights could be seen as Angel craned his neck struggling to see inside. “What the fuck am I doing here? These ain’t my fucking people, man,” he mumbled to himself.

  To boost his courage, Angel pulled out a small glass vial full of white powder. He unscrewed the cap and taped some of the powder onto the meaty portion of his hand, between his thumb and pointer finger. “A little blow before I go.” Angel laughed nervously, and then snorted the coke.

  Angel cautiously made his way up to the front door. Taking hold of the door handle, he silently prayed that it was locked, but the heavy door flew open. As he stood there, his mind raced as he debated whether or not to enter. Seconds felt like minutes. Suddenly, perspiration soaked his brow and his heart pounded. With a deep breath, Angel warily stepped inside.

  Seeing a man sitting alone at a table, Angel approached him. “I’m looking for Johnny Rocks. I’m Angel. Sally Boy sent me.”

  “I’m Johnny,” he replied.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw a large dangerous looking man in a black suit holding a pump-action shotgun.

  “You carrying?” Johnny asked.

  Unnerved and distracted, Angel blurted, “No!”

  “I gotta pat you down anyway.” Johnny rose from the chair.

  Foolishly, Angel reached for the sawed-off shotgun concealed under his overcoat.

  “Grab him!” Johnny shouted.

  Leaping from the shadows, two large men jumped on Angel and wrestled him to the floor. One of the men punched Angel several times in his midsection. After taking Angel’s shotgun, they ripped him up from the floor and slammed him down forcefully into a chair.

  “You stupid motherfucking spic,” Carmine stepped into the light. “You show up to a sit-down with a sawed-off shotgun. Where do you get your fucking balls?”

  “It was Sally Boy’s idea! Not mine,” Angel cried out in a panic. “I just come here to...”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Carmine slowly circled behind Angel. Without provocation, Carmine exploded. He grabbed Angel by his throat and violently choked him. “You’re dead! You hear me, you fucking motherfucker!”

  Angel fought to break free, but one of Carmine’s new men jabbed Angel in his stomach with the butt of the shotgun. Angel gasped for air until he managed to scream, “Don’t kill me! I’ll do whatever you want! I swear!”

  Releasing his grip, Carmine rapidly devised a plan. “I’ve had enough of this fucking shit! It all ends tonight!” Seizing a handful of Angel’s hair, Carmine jerked Angel’s head back. “If you don’t do exactly what I want you to do. I promise, when we get through with you, you’ll be fucking begging us to kill you.”

  “It’s your world. I’ll do whatever you want,” Angel insisted breathing heavily.

  “No, Carmine!” Johnny shouted bravely, as he moved in on the action. “We made a fucking deal. I won’t be parta this.”

  “‘Parta this?’” Carmine stuck his pistol directly in Johnny’s face. “You’re already fucking parta this. And if you don’t do exactly what you’re told, I’m gonna stick your ass in a hole nexta this fucking spic.”

  “But Don Lucho promised...” Johnny pleaded.

  “I don’t give a fuck! I’m running this show now.” Carmine slapped Angel across the head and got into his face. “You’re gonna make my fucking deal. Understand?”

  “Whatever you say, man!” Angel readily agreed as he rubbed his throat.

  “I’m gonna need to speak to you alone, Rocks. I got something I need you to do. Come with me,” Carmine insisted.

  Johnny hesitantly followed Carmine into the kitchen.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Having closed several hours earlier, the Jolly Tinker was almost completely dark. Only scant streams of light from a street lamp entered through the front windows. Nearly mad from lack of sleep, drugs, and drink, Sal struggled to concentrate on any one thought.

  His once lucid mind now played tricks on him, manufacturing images and figures that weren’t there. Nervously, Sal checked his watch: 4:02. “That fucking Rocks! I’m gonna shoot him right in his lying fucking mouth,” Sal roared as he picked up his .45 off the bar.

  Wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve, Sal took a long drink from a bottle of Dewar’s. He reached down under the bar and pulled out a small sugar bowl. Sal removed the cover and hurled it across the room. He then dumped the contents of the bowl onto the bar. Using a coaster, Sal cut a huge line from the pile and snorted it.

  Believing that he had heard a noise behind him, Sal spun around fast, pistol in hand, prepared to shoot. “Who’s there?” he shouted fiercely. Sal whipped his head side-to-side scanning the entire bar. Suddenly realizing he was alone, Sal broke out laughing with the crazed whimsy of a psychopath. “There’s nobody here but me.”

  Catching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, Sal could scarcely recognize the drug-crazed maniac staring back. Once youthful and handsome, his face was gaunt and drawn. Sal’s warm, sexy brown eyes that were in the past his most endearing feature were now as empty as two piss holes in the snow. His once strong body had been abused to the point of exhaustion. Sweating and reeking of body odor, the former fashion plate’s clothes were soiled and tattered.

  The treasured photograph of Salvatore and his family in front of the village church back in Sicily rested on a shelf behind the bar. Partially illuminated by the street light, Sal eyed the photo for several moments before picking it up. “You’d all be proud of me if you could see me now. I’m gonna be the boss soon,” he muttered unconvincingly.

  Setting the pistol on the bar, Sal gently cleaned the glass face of the frame with a bar rag. He then carefully placed the photo back down next to the framed picture of him standing with his father at his eighteenth birthday party. “I got a plan, Pop. You always told me that the smart guys always got a plan. I remember everything you taught me ever since I was a kid. Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna get Chrissy back. I’ll tell her I’m sorry. And I’ll even go into treatment like she wanted me to.” Tucking his shirt back into his pants, Sal ran his fingers through his messy hair. “We’ll finally have enough money to start a life. We’ll get that big house in the country. Okay, Mom? You can come live with us, too. I know Chrissy would love having you. Maybe we’ll even get a dog. But I don’t want no cat. They’re sneaky bastards.” Sal chuckled as he cut himself another line and snorted it. Checking his watch again, he yelled impatiently, “Where the fuck is Angel? He shoulda been back by now.”

  A set of car headlights flashed through the front window, prompting Sal to perk up. Squeaking brakes could be heard as the vehicle came to a stop right outside. The car engine fell silent and the headlights faded. Sal could hear a car door open and then slam shut. Picking up his pistol, Sal stated, unafraid, “If it’s going down...” he chambered a round “...let’s get it over with.”

  Positioning himself behind the bar, Sal heard shoes walking on the concrete sidewalk leading up to the entrance. “Come and get it, motherfuckers,” Sal threatened.

  The front door slowly creaked open but Sal couldn’t see who it was. Pointing his weapon at the shadowy figure in the doorway, Sal sounded out, “Smith, that you?” But there was no answer. “Who the fuck is it? Who’s there?”

  “Don’t shoot! It’s, Angel,” an unsure voice called from the dark.

  “Angel, that really you?” Sal shouted with relief.

  “Yeah, Sal, it’s me.”

  “Holy shit, Angel! I almost fucking
shot you. How many times does that make? For a second there, I thought my ass was in big fucking trouble.”

  Laying his pistol down on the bar, Sal took a long drink of scotch and set the bottle down on the bar. “What the fuck took you so long? You don’t wanna know the horrible things I thought they did to you.”

  With a trembling hand, Angel grasped the bottle and gulped down several mouthfuls of scotch. “The negotiations was pretty fucking hairy, man. That Carmine, he’s one major fucking asshole.”

  “You’re telling me. So, how’d it go?”

  “It went beautiful, baby! Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

  “Well, what the fuck happened? Did we get what we wanted or what?”

  “We got everything.”

  “Are you fucking serious? They agreed to all our terms?”

  “Shit, yeah!” Angel smiled. “What fucking choice did they have?”

  “Tell me what they said!”

  “At first they was giving me a hard time. You know, trying to scare me, and shit like that. That scumbag, Carmine, even attacked me from behind and choked me, but your friend Johnny, he pulled him offa me and got everything back under control.”

  “Johnny, huh? He’s a good man.”

  “So I give the list of demands to Carmine. He looks ’em over and goes fucking crazy. Carmine starts yelling that we ain’t got no business asking for what we’re asking for, and that we should be happy with any deal they offered. You know, shit like that.”

  “After everything settles down, I’m gonna skin that cocksucker myself. Then what happened?”

  “So I let him say what he’s gotta say, you know, talk his shit. Then I calmly stands up and I sez, ‘If youse wanna go to war with Sally Boy and me, that’s fine with us.’”

  “You said that?” Sal laughed. “That’s fucking beautiful.”

  “So Carmine, he thinks about it for a couplea seconds. Then he sez they got no problem with us working under their flag. And we’re gonna get our own territory, too. We won, hermano! I can’t believe we beat ’em at their own game.”

  “We gotta celebrate,” Sal shouted with a big grin. “This calls for the good shit. Cham-fucking-pagne! I think we got some down here somewhere.”

  Dropping down onto his knees, Sal rummaged through the back of the beer cooler, carelessly knocking over beer bottles. “They thought they could beat me in a street war. Nobody wars like me. Veni, Vidi, Vici, just like, Caesar. Right, Angel?”

  Suddenly, the glow of happiness on Sal’s face morphed into utter confusion. Every lesson he was taught about the streets, and all the words of wisdom Peter bestowed upon him since Sal was a young boy, clicked in his mind. The prophetic words spoken by his father that, “No one could be trusted,” and, “It will be someone you trust who gets you,” rang in Sal’s ears. “Wait a minute! I don’t believe...” Scrambling back to his feet, Sal was horrified to find Angel pointing a sawed-off shotgun directly at his head. “...Oh no!” he whimpered softly.

  Angel pulled the trigger, shooting Sal in his face at pointblank range. Skull fragments and gray matter splashed the wall and mirror behind the bar. Blood was everywhere. Several droplets of Sal’s blood slowly ran down the glass covering of his treasured photograph of himself and his family in front of the village church in Sicily.

  Lowering his weapon, Angel grinned. “Yeah, just like, Caesar, motherfucker!”

  A flash of metal reflected in the sparse light behind Angel. The muzzle of a pistol was jammed to the back of his head. A single shot rang out. Angel’s lifeless body fell heavily to the floor. Johnny Rocks emerged from the shadows, tucking his pistol into his shoulder holster.

  Walking around to the other side of the bar, Johnny looked down at Sal’s decapitated body. Overwhelmed by sadness, he crossed himself. “I’m sorry things ended up like this. But I never broke my promise. Nobody from the Mirragios touched you.” Johnny’s sympathetic words quickly dissipated into the dark quiet of the bar. “I’m gonna miss you, kid. See you on the other side, Sally Boy.”

  At a measured pace, Johnny walked toward the entrance, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and closed the door behind him.

  * * * * *

  Formatted for Smashwords by B10 Mediaworx

  http://b10mediaworx.com