Sally Boy (13 page)

Decked out in their customary gangster
apparel, Peter’s cronies sported expensive silk suits, custom-made
shirts, silk ties, diamond rings, and the standard gold watches.
One dangerous looking heavy-set wiseguy with an ugly scar on his
left cheek stood as Peter approached. The behemoth shook Peter’s
hand and asked in a low, gravelly voice, “How you doing, Peter?”
then he kissed Peter on the cheek, and presented him with a white
envelope, swollen with cash. “This is for Sally Boy.”

“Grazie, Rocko.” Peter graciously kissed
Rocko on his cheek. Tucking the envelope into his inside jacket
pocket, Peter proceeded down the line of now-standing men accepting
envelopes from each. Kissing each man on his cheek, Peter shook
their hand, and sincerely offered his thanks for their generosity
on behalf of Salvatore.

Over against one of the walls was a
tremendous buffet table covered with a white linen tablecloth. It
was heaping from one end to the other with Italian specialties that
smelled as heavenly as they appeared: antipasto, calamari, veal
parmagiana, manicotti, lasagna, sausage and peppers, meatballs,
sausage, and lots of Italian bread.

The sweet table was set up next to the food
and was jammed with tiramisu, cannolis, zabaglione, cream puffs,
and various other pastries. Every morsel of food and baked goods
was prepared by the same adorable Italian grandmothers who watched
over Sal when he was growing up.

Sal’s birthday cake was ceremoniously placed
in the center of the sweet table. It was a huge devil’s food cake,
with cannoli cream filling and fresh whipped cream frosting, with
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SALVATORE” spelled out across the center.

Guests wasted little time forming a line and
loading up their plates. Crown Royal and Johnny Walker Black were
the libations of choice for Peter and his crew, while Sal’s buddies
sipped their seven-and-sevens and rum-and-cokes. Everyone was
eating and drinking and having a wonderful time. After the guests
had a chance to get some refreshments, Peter raised his hands and
cleared his throat.

Immediately, the bartender lowered the music
and everyone stopped what they were doing. The room fell silent and
all eyes focused on Peter. “I would like to make a toast to my son
on his eighteenth birthday.”

Everyone inched in closer.

“Where’s Salvatore?”

“Right here, Pop.” Stepping from the crowd,
Sal made his way over to his father and proudly stood beside
him.

“Salvatore, you’re a good son. I know if
your mother was alive, she would be very proud of you. And she
would tell you how much she loves you. The best thing I ever done
was bring you to America. I’ll always be happy about that. So
everybody, please raise your glass in honor of my son,
Salvatore...” Peter raised his glass and then everyone else did.
“...Chin Don!” Everyone drank.

The heartfelt toast was followed by a
thunderous round of applause. Peter threw his arm around his son
once more, and flashbulbs popped all around them. The music volume
was raised and the festivities resumed. Making his way back to
Nicole, she hugged Sal tightly once more.

“I’m so happy to be here with you, Sal!”

“Thanks. I’m glad to have you here!”

They were still locked in a tender embrace
when an already inebriated Anthony and Mikey finally approached.
Tapping Sal on his shoulder, Anthony managed to slur the words,
“Hey, Sally Boy. Happy birthday, man.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Sal dropped
his arms from around Nicole’s waist.

After shaking Sal’s hand, Anthony hugged him
and kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, Anthony.”

“How you doing, Nicole?”

“I’m fine, Anthony. And you?” Nicole said
with a polite smile.

“Happy birthday, man.” Mikey’s words were
more subdued than cheerful. He hugged and kissed his friend on the
cheek.

“Thanks, Mike.”

“What’s up, Nicole?”

“Hi, Mikey.”

“Where the hell have you guys been? I didn’t
see you when I came in. And I ain’t seen you in days.”

“Sal, we was outside in the back smoking,”
Mikey gestured as if he were puffing a joint.

“Come here, we need to talk to you.” Anthony
started to lead Sal away by his arm, then he stopped and asked,
“Nicole, do you mind if we borrow this guy for a little bit?”

“Go ahead. It’s okay.”

Standing in a distant corner of the bar,
Anthony explained, “Your Pop told us if you found out about the
party, he was gonna do something unspeak...unspeakable to us. Yeah,
that’s it. So we decided to keep our distance. You know, just in
case.”

“He was just fucking around with youse.
Youse are family.” Sal couldn’t help but notice Mikey just stared
at the floor. “Hey Mike, what’s the matter with you? You look like
somebody just told you the ‘Bombers’ was moving to Brooklyn.”

“I’m awright, Sal.”

“No you’re not. What’s the matter with you?
I know you ain’t worried about what my Pop said, are you?”

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Yo Sal, this is your birthday party. I
really don’t wanna be the one to bring you down. So let’s just
leave it alone. Awright?”

“Oh, now you gotta tell me fucko. C’mon,
give. Tell me what’s got you so twisted that you can’t have a good
time at my fucking birthday party?”

“Louie Rags,” Mikey muttered softly.

“What about him?” Excitedly, Sal started
scanning the room for his friend. “Is he here?”

“Nah, he ain’t here.” Mike lit a
cigarette.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Those little yellow bastards whacked him.
He’s dead.”

“That’s a pretty fucking sick joke, Mikey.
Even for you.”

“He ain’t joking, Sally,” Anthony
stammered.

“When the fuck did this happen?”

“About a week ago, I think.” Anthony sipped
his drink. “Nobody knows nothing. I heard they brought him back in
a fucking bag. His own family couldn’t even see him.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause they fucked him up so bad, there
ain’t enougha him left to see.” Mikey puffed his cigarette.

“Those motherfuckers!” Sal gulped his
seven-and-seven.

Anthony nodded slowly. “I heard they got
Bobby G, and his cousin Victor, too.”

“Those cocksuckers killed Louie. He never
did nothing to nobody. They’re taking out everybody from the
neighborhood. Those scumbags are gonna pay for what they did, even
if I gotta go over there and clip every fucking one of ’em myself,”
Sal vowed with fire in his eyes.

“Me and Mikey was just saying the same thing
outside.”

“Oh, yeah! Then we should all go down there
tomorra and sign up. We gotta get even with those fucking gooks for
Louie and everybody else. They don’t deserve to live.”

“Hold up, Sal. I said we was just thinking
about it.”

“Thinking and doing is two different things,
Mikey. You always had a fucking problem understanding that.”

“Take it easy, Sally. This is your fucking
birthday party! Don’t go getting all discombobulated.”

“What?” Sal asked crossly.

“I know what it means.” Anthony smiled
confidently. “I looked that one up.”

“Yeah, don’t go getting all
discom...discombob...whatever the fuck Anthony said. This is your
night, kid.” Mikey slapped Sal on his back. “You got Nicole waiting
for you over there. The whole fucking neighborhood’s here for you.
I shoulda waited till tomorrow to tell you about Louie. Let’s just
get fucked up and have a good time. Awright? We owe it to Louie.
You know he woulda wanted you to have a good time at your party. We
can talk about all this shit tomorrow. Okay?”

“Here, have a smoke.” Anthony tossed Sal a
cigarette and lit it for him. “You need to calm down.” Raising his
glass, Anthony insisted, “I wanna make a toast to you, Sal.”

“I’m really not in the fucking mood.” Sal
took a puff and angrily blew the smoke up into the air.

“C’mon. Don’t be like that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sal reluctantly raised his
glass.

“To Sally Boy, a guy couldn’t have a better
friend in the world. No matter what happens to us in the future,
the three of us will always be tight, we’ll always protect each
other’s ass, and we won’t let nothing ever come between us. No
matter what. If anyone of us don’t honor this toast, then let ’em
get theirs. Chin Don!”

Arms extended, Mike and Anthony waited for
Sal to touch their glasses. Finally, Sal blurted, “And to Louie.
Salute!”

The three clinked glasses and drank.

* * * * *

Dressed in his bathrobe and slippers, Peter
sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and reading the morning
paper. Sal came out of his bedroom already dressed and carrying a
suitcase. Setting his bag down on the floor, Sal stood in the
kitchen quietly studying his father. After a few moments, Peter
could sense his son’s eyes upon him and he peered up from behind
his paper.

“Where the fuck you been? I ain’t hardly
seen you in three days,” Peter said sharply.

“I’ve been getting up early and doing some
things.”

“Did you have a good time at your party the
other night?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get the money I left for you on
your dresser from the fellas?”

“Yeah, Pop. Thanks. That was really nice of
’em to give me so much dough, considering that I really don’t know
any of ’em.”

“You’re my kid, Salvatore. What the fuck did
you expect?” Glancing down at Sal’s suitcase, Peter asked, “Where
do you think you’re going with that?”

Sal cleared his throat. “I leave today,
Pop.”

“What do you mean ‘leave’?”

“I joined up.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Pop, I leave today for boot-camp. I
enlisted in the Army.”

“Salvatore, it’s a little too early for you
to be breaking balls. Awright? Now tell me what’s going on?”

“I just told you. I went down to the
enlistment office two days ago and told the sergeant there I wanted
to go to Vietnam.”

“Madonn! Are you outta you fucking
mind?”

“Pop, why are you getting so mad? I thought
you’d understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You know, seeing as you fought in a
war.”

“You stupid son-of-a-bitch! Who the fuck do
you think you are? You don’t go behind my back and do something
like this without telling me. I didn’t wanna go off and fight in
some fucking war. Nobody in their right mind does. I got drafted. I
had to go!”

“Yeah, but you still went and did the right
thing.”

“It’s one thing if they call you, but you
don’t go looking for trouble. I know I taught you better than
that.”

“I’m sorry, Pop. But this is something I
gotta do.”

“Something you gotta do, huh? I saw you
talking to your little friends the other night. I know all about
Louie Rags. Look, I’m sorry your friend got killed. I really am,
Salvatore. That’s a tragic fucking thing for his family to have to
deal with. But that’s his family’s problem. Not yours.”

“Pop, you don’t understand. I ain’t just
doing this for Louie. It’s for Bobby G, Victor, Joey, Mario, Tommy,
Gus, Patsy, and all the other fellas from the neighborhood who went
there and ain’t coming home. Those guys wasn’t just my friends.
They was my family. My blood.”

“Your blood, huh? Listen to me, and listen
to me good, you little fucking hump. ’cause I’m gonna tell you
something that I ain’t never told nobody before. You won’t read
about it in a history book. And they won’t teach it to you in
school. Back in ‘42, at the beginning of the war, the F.B.I. had a
lot of problems protecting the harbors here in New York. There was
some incidents on the docks and they was afraid of sabotage, and
spies from Germany blowing up some of the ships. So the F.B.I., if
you can fucking believe it, they come to Lucky Luciano looking to
make a deal to help keep order on the docks. Charlie was doing a
stretch in Sing-Sing on some trumped up prostitution charge. They
said that in return for his help they would move him to a better
prison and lessen his sentence. So Charlie agrees to help. He gives
the order, and there ain’t no more fucking problems on the
docks.”

“How do you know about all this, Pop?”

“I ain’t finished. When the United States
decided to invade Sicily, the F.B.I. comes to Charlie again asking
for his help. So Lucky agrees and he has some Navy bigwigs deliver
our ‘friends’ in Sicily a message. A yellow handkerchief with a
white letter ‘L’ printed on it, signifying cooperation with Charles
‘Lucky’ Luciano and giving permission for our ‘friends’ to assist
the U.S. Military with the invasion. You see, Charlie thought he
owed it to his country to do what was right. But he was a sucker,
’cause even after all the things Charlie done for ’em, you know how
the Government repaid him for his help? They commuted his sentence.
Then they deported his fucking ass back to Sicily.”

“How does this have anything to do with
me?”

“Shut the fuck up. Not only did they
double-cross Lucky after he vouched for ’em, but when that asshole
Mussolini declared war on the United States, the government forced
almost every Italian school back here in America to close. They
told our people not to speak the language of our enemies, and they
tried to make us ashamed to be Italian. But this was the worst
part! They rounded up thousands of Italian-Americans and put ’em
into those fucking internment camps.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but you won’t hear any of our people
bitching and moaning like the moulanyans or the spics. Italians are
above that nonsense. We’re bigger than that. ’Cause we’re smart
enough to understand that sometimes with great power there’s great
error. But believe me, everything I just told you is true, every
fucking word of it.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“’Cause I want you to understand that you
don’t owe nobody nothing. Not your friends. Not your country.
Nobody! I settled the bill for you when I shipped out. You’re paid
in full. Capisi?”