Sally Boy (2 page)

Shoulder-length, shiny, raven-black hair
caressed the pristine olive skin of her gorgeous face. Her big,
brown eyes sparkled like precious topaz. Kissable lips, full and
red, accentuated her alluring smile. French-manicured fingernails,
gold hoop earrings, and a sheer, tight, low-cut red dress
complemented her voluptuous breasts and curvy, athletic body.

Beside the petite beauty sat a much older,
rather portly, unattractive, pock-marked Puerto Rican man stroking
his dark handlebar mustache. When he smiled, the light caught
several gold teeth and his laugh resembled a hyena’s. His breath
reeked of whiskey and his clothes carried the stench of the cheap
cigar pressed between his lips.

The young sex kitten couldn’t help but be
enthralled by the amorous gaze of the delicious stranger seated
nearby. Sal’s perfectly groomed black-mane, cleft chin, flawless,
tanned skin, and sexy smile were too much for any woman to resist.
Playfully, she removed the maraschino cherry from her drink.
Grasping it up by the stem, the girl slowly ran the cherry around
her lips moistening them until they glistened. Passionately, she
licked at the savory red fruit, thrusting it back-and-forth and
up-and-down with every agile stroke of her soft, pink tongue.

Finally, the temptress wrapped her lips
around the cherry and tenderly sucked it off the stem into her
mouth. With her tongue, she pressed the fruit up against the roof
of her mouth until its fluid spurted out, and she swallowed. Using
the tip of a finger, she wiped a drop of the sweet juice off her
chin and erotically sucked the digit clean.

Pleased by the performance, Sal got the
attention of a familiar bartender. He held up two fingers and
pointed to the mismatched pair. The bartender nodded, then speedily
poured and delivered a round of drinks to the unlikely couple.

“What the fuck is this?” the man shouted
with a heavy Spanish accent.

“What does it look like?” the bartender
replied innocently.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, run up
my check? I ain’t paying for shit, maricon!”

“Take it easy. I ain’t doing nothing like
that. It’s already taken care of, pal.”

Reaching over the bar, the man took hold of
the bartender’s tie and strongly yanked the bartender toward him.
“Who bought us the fucking drinks, scumbag?”

Turning his head and slightly lifting his
chin, the bartender’s eyes shifted toward Sal’s table.

Twisting around in his seat, the man raised
his glass and shouted, “Salud!”

After gulping the whiskey, he slammed the
glass down onto the bar, and continued to ignore the little honey
seated next to him. Leaning back in his chair, Sal inconspicuously
raised his glass to the girl and took a sip. With a deep sigh, she
seductively ran her tongue around her pouty lips and silently
mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

In the reflection of the mirror behind the
bar, her companion spied her flirtatious actions. Enraged, he
seized the girl’s upper arms and violently shook her. “You fucking
whore! Do you want to suck his cock, too?” he shouted angrily in
Spanish.

The altercation drew the attention of
several patrons seated next to them as well as the men sitting with
Sal. Without hesitation, the man drew back and unleashed a stinging
backhand across her face. Her head snapped left, and then back
again, her hair finally falling disheveled and masking her face.
The girl just sat motionless, poised in a defensive posture,
holding the already reddened right side of her face.

Incensed, Sal turned to his companions and
barked, “Did youse fucking see that?”

“Fucking spics? So what? They’re animale,
anyway. Fuck ’em,” Joey replied.

“She didn’t fucking deserve that,” Sal
roared and slowly rose from his chair.

Reaching up and grabbing Sal’s forearm,
Jimmy strongly pulled Sal toward him. “Where the fuck do you think
you’re going?”

Ripping his limb free, Sal cautioned, “Hey
Jimmy, I think maybe you oughta mind your own fucking business.
Awright?”

Jimmy’s face tightened with rage. “We’re
here to celebrate the birth of my kid, not to get into a beef over
some little spic whore. Capisi?”

“Take it easy. I’m just gonna go see if the
girl’s, okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

“Sit the fuck down!” Jimmy insisted as he
shot a lethal glare at the young upstart questioning his
judgment.

Smirking defiantly, Sal started to move away
from the table.

“Hey kid, hold up!” Tony blurted as he
struggled to sit up quickly. “I like this fucking joint. Why don’t
you just sit down? Have a drink or something. You want something to
eat?” Tony held up the huge platter with only one puny clam
remaining.

Seeing the lone clam, Sal scowled and set
off toward the man seated at the bar.

Dropping the platter onto the table, Tony
took a long puff of his cigar and dejectedly blew the smoke up into
the air. “Blinks, why the fuck didn’t you stop him? You know that
crazy bastard is gonna start some shit. I ain’t built for this
kinda action. If you know what I mean.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do Fats,
huh? This is Spike’s party. Talk to him.”

“Spikes, ain’t you gonna do nothing?” Tony
implored.

“Sometimes you just gotta let things do what
they do,” Jimmy countered, sounding almost philosophical.

As he descended upon the unsuspecting
couple, Sal rapidly concluded that his decision to confront this
individual might not be the wisest course of action. After all, as
Jimmy so eloquently pointed out, she was just a “spic.” None of the
“higher-ups” would condone his involvement, nor would they sanction
his intervening in a situation that held no profit potential for
them.

However, Sal was conflicted, because he was
raised by his mother and grandparents who had instilled in him a
deep respect for all women. Even though he knew that the smart move
would be to walk away, Sal could not allow this piece of shit to go
unpunished.

Marching right up to the man, Sal tapped him
firmly on his shoulder. “Excuse me.”

Slowly the man turned around.

“Is there a fucking problem here?” Sal
inquired in an accusatory manner.

The man’s beady eyes squinted and his face
contorted in a look of disdain as he gave Sal the once-over. “Who
the fuck are you?”

“Don’t worry about who I am. I saw what you
did. You shouldn’t be hitting on no female.”

“‘Female!’” The man laughed with false
bravado. “This is my bitch, pendejo. That means I can do whatever
the fuck I want to do to her. Comprende?” Puffing his smelly cigar,
he purposely blew the smoke directly into Sal’s face. “You know
cabron, if I was you, I’d get the fuck outta here while you still
got a chance.” Drawing back the left side of his jacket, the man
revealed a .38-caliber snub-nose revolver tucked into a shoulder
holster.

Seeing the weapon, Sal’s eyes sprung open,
the bridge of his nose creased, and his left cheek began to twitch
as the threat thundered in his ears. In an effort to control his
rage, Sal turned his attention to the girl. “Are you okay, Miss?”
he asked politely.

The terrified girl’s hand shook, causing the
ice in her glass to rattle like a maraca. Raising the drink to her
lips, she took a long sip. “Everything’s okay. You better go, but
thanks anyway,” she replied softly, flashing a nervous smile.

“Awright, have a good night.” Sal smiled and
turned to walk away.

Whack! Again, the man bashed her across the
face. “I didn’t fucking tell you to speak, cunt!”

Spinning back around, Sal bitch-slapped the
man across his face, almost knocking him off his stool. “Hurts,
don’t it, scumbag?”

“Fuck you!” the man shrieked in a
high-pitched voice and pulled his pistol.

Sal pounced on the hand clutching the
weapon. Using his overpowering strength, Sal turned the pistol
toward his adversary and forced the barrel down against his
genitals. “No, fuck you!” Sal snarled.

Slipping his finger over the man’s, Sal
pulled the trigger. The once-proud stallion, now a gelding, flew
off his bar stool and crashed to the floor. The man just laid
there, blood already flowing.

The thunderous beat of the music masked the
sound of the shot, rendering it barely audible, but the ruckus at
the bar created a ripple of concern. Security personnel disbursed
in an attempt to ascertain the situation. The D.J. was ordered to
lower the music, and the people on the dance floor slowed and then
stopped dancing entirely. The pretentious laughter and excessive
chatter of the socializing drunks ceased and the club became eerily
quiet. No one was really sure what had happened, but all heads
turned, and every eye was now focused on the bar area.

Knowing it was just a matter of seconds
before the inevitable stampede to the exits, Sal reached into his
pocket and pulled out a roll of big bills. Placing the wad of money
into the girl’s trembling hand, he closed her fingers tightly
around the cash.

“Grab a cab and go home now!” Sal whispered
commandingly into the girl’s ear and then urgently nudged her
toward the door.

Like a frightened rabbit, she took off
running and collided with a passing waitress carrying a tray full
of drinks. The tray flew into the air then crashed to the floor.
The sound of bursting glass reverberated like a minor explosion
throughout the silence of the club. Looking down, the waitress saw
the gruesome mess on the floor. Shocked, she unleashed a
blood-curdling scream igniting a panic.

People bolted from the dance floor toward
the nearest exits. Their panicked shrieks and shouts only created
more hysteria. Fleeing guests overturned tables, chairs were thrown
about and several women were trampled in the mad rush. Deftly
dodging frenzied patrons trying to escape the premises, Sal arrived
back at his table.

Blinking even faster than usual, Joey sat
up. “You couldn’t just let it alone, could you Sal?”

Sal’s eyes shined like a child’s on
Christmas morning. “He pulled on me, asshole. What the fuck did you
expect me to do?”

Jimmy almost managed a grin, but thwarted
the impulse. “You done good, Sally Boy. Let’s get the fuck outta
here.”

The men made their way through the chaos
surrounding them toward the back door. As they walked, Sal was
reminded of a story his father had shared with him when he was just
a boy. Although it was many years ago, Sal remembered the day well.
It was a hot summer afternoon and Peter Scalise had purchased two
vanilla cones with colored sprinkles from a Mister Softee truck
that worked the neighborhood.

The two sat on their front stoop enjoying
their treat while Peter explained this anecdote in Italian to his
naïve nine-year-old son. “One cold winter day, this big gust of
wind came along and blew this little bird right out of its nest.
This cow saw the baby bird shivering on the ground and she knew
that the little guy was gonna die unless she did something quick.
So the cow thought for minute and decided the best way to save the
bird was to take a shit on him. You know, to keep the little guy
warm, so he didn’t freeze to death.

“Anyways, the bird didn’t realize it was for
his own good and he started yelling for help. This coyote heard him
and came over and pulled him out. The little bird was so happy to
be free, he didn’t even care that it was a coyote that saved him.
Just before the bird could say ‘thanks,’ the coyote gobbled him up.
The point of this story being, not everyone who shits on you is
necessarily trying to hurt you. And not everyone who pulls you out
of shit is really trying to help. And if you should ever find
yourself up to your eyeballs in shit, keep your mouth shut. But you
gotta figure that out before you end up like the little bird.
Remember that, Salvatore,” his father had insisted. Sal always
would. Unfortunately, Sal had no idea how much his own life would
parallel that story.

Exiting by way of the back door, the four
men sliced through the moonless night scarcely casting shadows.
Reaching their long black Lincoln, they swiftly slipped away,
pandemonium in their wake.

* * * * *

A light, early morning mist arose from a
stagnant body of water in the small village of Altavilla in
Palermo, Sicily. There was little movement on the narrow
cobblestone streets or in the village square by the remaining
inhabitants. World War II had long since ended, but the threat from
vendettas lingered like a pack of ravenous wolves. Infighting and
reprisals against those formerly loyal to “Il Duce” and his cohorts
had taken many lives and stained the streets with the blood of
anyone suspected of collaboration.

Once impressive, manicured residences that
had stood in stately elegance for over a century were now crumbling
buildings bearing the scars of hostilities forced upon them by an
abhorrent dictator. Remnants of fascist party emblems painted on
walls were riddled with bullets and defaced with slogans that
cursed the formerly powerful leader, serving as a warning to anyone
who might seek to ever again rule with an iron fist. The once proud
and gregarious Sicilian people had been reduced to a distrustful,
clandestine populace that longed for what was their way of life on
the beautiful island before the twisted dreams of world domination
sealed their collective fate.

In the distance, picturesque mountains
appeared surreal as the sun peeked over them, initiating another
glorious Mediterranean sunrise. Waves crashed against rocky cliffs,
shooting sea water high up into the air and the spray yielded a
majestic rainbow. Morning dew blanketed the lush green landscape.
Ocean breezes playfully kissed the leafy trees, producing a
soothing, rustling sound. An aromatic delight of traditional
Italian breakfasts could be detected as church bells rang, and
their tolls carried for miles across the countryside.