Sally Boy (27 page)

“No problem.” The husky bartender poured and
then placed the drink in front of Sal.

“Put it on my tab,” Anthony insisted.

“Thanks, Ant.” Looking around Sal noted,
“This is a pretty nice joint. Who owns it?”

“Some Jew from Mt.Vernon, I think. I heard
Carmine and Johnny Rocks got a piecea it.”

“Classy. I wouldn’t mind owning something
like this myself someday.”

The No Name Club was quite an extravagant
establishment. The bar was fashioned from real imported mahogany.
Two big color televisions hung from the ceiling at either end of
the bar, both turned at 45-degree angles. The cushioned bar stools
had soft, genuine leather-covered seats, and the spirits selection
compared favorably to that of the finest restaurants in
Manhattan.

Each table was draped with a crimson-colored
table cloth. In the center of the table was a gold-colored
candleholder supporting a gold-colored candle. The crimson carpet
matched the drapes, and the walls were a lighter shade of crimson,
tying the room together. The food was excellent Southern Italian
Cuisine and the dining room music selection was strictly Italian
crooners.

Sitting several barstools over from Anthony,
with his back to them and talking to a gorgeous blonde, was Johnny
“Rocks.” A nice looking man, Johnny had a slim build and neatly
combed black hair which was starting to turn grey, dark eyes, and a
small mole on his right cheek below the corner of his eye. Johnny
recently did a stretch in Sing-Sing Penitentiary for selling stolen
diamonds to his long time fence, Marco Cabrini. After getting out
of prison several months ago, Johnny had picked up right where he
had left off as one of the craftiest jewel thieves in New York.

Foolishly, Marco got pinched in an
undercover F.B.I. sting operation. Under immense pressure from the
Feds, and in order to save his own ass from a lengthy prison
sentence, Cabrini turned state’s evidence against Johnny and
several other heavy hitters from the Mirragio Family. Shortly after
Cabrini gave him up, Johnny got picked up by the Feds.

Immediately, the F.B.I. tried to make a deal
with Johnny to rat on Carmine and Don Lucho. Laughing at the idea,
Johnny politely told them to go fuck themselves. In fact, the last
thing he said on the record to the Judge was: “Your Honor, the
F.B.I. tried to make a deal with me. They told me I could go free
if I gave up some of my friends and business associates. I want you
and everybody else here to know that I don’t make deals. I ain’t a
rat and I can’t be bought. I’d rather spend the rest of my life
behind bars than ever turn on a friend. Understand?” Turning to the
court officer standing next to him, Johnny was purported to have
said, “Now, take me to the fucking Pen, flat foot.”

Anybody who knew Johnny Rocks could tell you
that he had balls as hard as the diamonds he pilfered. However,
very few people knew that he was college educated. Graduating Magna
Cum Laude from FordhamUniversity, Johnny received a bachelor’s
degree in Geology. Supposedly, his field of study was a prequel to
his future profession.

At the age of twenty-one, Johnny got the
nickname Rocks after his first big jewelry store heist. It was also
fitting because he wears the best diamonds money could buy.
Johnny’s probably wearing twenty, thirty grand on his fingers right
now. Legend has it that he could tell if your merchandise was
quality before you even took it out of the bag. Smooth with the
ladies, they say Johnny could talk the skirt off a statue. With his
charm and intelligence, he could have easily been mistaken for an
on-the-level executive type. But above all, Johnny was a gangster’s
gangster, a stone-fucking killer, just like Sal.

Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny spotted
Sal sitting with Anthony. Instantly an ear-to-ear smile broke out
on his face because he fondly remembered both of them from when
they were young kids running around the neighborhood. Strolling
over to them, Johnny yelled, “Hey, Sally Boy!” Johnny gave Sal a
big hug and kissed him on the cheek. “How you doing, kid?”

“I’m doing good, Johnny.”

“Anthony, how you doing? I ain’t seen you
around lately. I thought maybe something mighta happened to
you.”

“They ain’t got me yet, Johnny.” Anthony
shook Johnny’s hand, “How you doing, Rocks?”

“I’m doing good. When did you get home,
Salvatore?”

“I’ve been home for a while. How you been,
Johnny?”

“I’m good. You know how things are around
here. Nothing ever changes. I got more jobs than I can handle. And
there ain’t anybody I trust enough to teach what I know. Hey, are
you looking for some work?”

“Not right now.”

“You working for your Pop?”

“No! I’d rather be out on my own. If you
know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I understand. So what are you doing?
If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Carmine wants me to come see him tomorrow
with Anthony.”

“Carmine, huh?” Johnny said concerned.
“Okay. Well, you know if things don’t work out, come and see me.
Awright? I can always use a good man that I trust.”

“Thanks, Rocks. I’ll do that.”

“Did you talk to your father about things?
Does he know what’s going on?” Johnny asked, really wanting to know
if Peter had a chance to wise up Sal.

“Yeah, we talked.”

“Good. Hey, say ‘hello’ to your father for
me. Awright?”

“You got it.” Johnny shook Sal’s hand once
more.

Throwing a couple of soft punches into
Anthony’s stomach, Johnny joked, “I’ll see you around,
Anthony.”

“Yeah, see you, Rocks.”

Strolling back to his stool, Johnny resumed
his conversation with the blonde.

As Johnny walked away, Sal thought, If
things was different, I probably woulda gone to work for Rocks. But
I don’t know shit about diamonds and I ain’t got years to learn.
The only two things I really know about are killing and heroin.

#

The next day, Sal and Anthony entered the
Mirragio Club. The place was deserted except for Carmine who sat at
a table, drinking espresso and reading the Yonkers Raceway racing
form. Leading Sal right up to where Carmine sat, Anthony asked
pleasantly, “Carmine, how you doing?”

“I see you come back, huh?” Carmine teased,
peering up over the racing form.

“What? Did you think I wasn’t?” Sal said
smiling.

Carmine laughed. “I like your style,
Salvatore. What do your friends call you?”

“My friends call me, ‘Sally Boy.’”

“‘Sally Boy.’ I like that. Sit down.”

Both sat, prepared to listen to what Carmine
had to say.

“I got an important job for you and Anthony
to take carea. Here’s what I want you to do. I need you to go make
a collection from this piecea shit deadbeat who owes me two fucking
grand, plus the juice from this weekend. This fucking degenerate
cocksucker couldn’t pick a winner if Jesus Christ Himself came down
off the cross and told him who was gonna win. And I want you to
teach him a lesson. Understand? A fucking painful one, so next time
I ain’t gotta send somebody to go looking for him.”

Handing Anthony a piece of paper, Carmine
explained, “This is the address of his store and the jerk-off’s
name. He owns a butcher shop over by two-thirty-third. He’s a
short, fat, baldheaded prick with a mustache. Now go do what I told
you.”

“What if he ain’t got the money?” Anthony
asked foolishly.

“Tell him what you’re gonna do, Sally
Boy.”

“I’m gonna make him wish he wasn’t
born.”

“Good boy! Now, go get me my fucking
money!”

Exiting the club, they drove to the address
and strolled into the butcher shop. Sal nodded to Anthony when he
saw the man behind the counter cutting cold-cuts for an elderly
woman in a housedress.

Pretending to be customers, Sal and Anthony
casually checked out the cheese and pork products hanging from
ceiling hooks. They watched as the butcher wrapped the lady’s deli
meats, and then led her to the cash register where she paid for the
items and left.

“What can I do for you, young man?” the man
asked.

“We’re here to collect for Carmine
Mattazolo. Give us his money, asshole,” Anthony insisted.

The man’s jaw dropped and he bolted from
behind the counter through a back room toward the back door. Turing
to Anthony, Sal yelled, “Lock the front door!” and then Sal dashed
after the man, tackling him before he could get away. Taking hold
of his collar, Sal pulled the stunned man to his feet and ordered,
“Stay right there, jerk-off.” Picking up a piece of wood from a
nearby tabletop, Sal cracked the man across his head and he fell to
the floor. “That was for fucking running.”

After locking the dead bolt, Anthony turned
over the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED.” He lowered the shades on the
front windows and made his way into the back room.

Sal dragged the screaming man by the collar
of his blood-stained white butcher coat back into the store front.
“Why did you have to run asshole? Now we gotta do things the hard
way.”

“Where’s Carmine’s money?” Anthony demanded
again, looming over the man.

“It’s in my safe. I’ll get it for you.”

“No! It’s too fucking late for that. You had
your chance to give us the money. Now you gotta pay for making me
chase you.”

“You already hit me for that!” the
frightened man stammered.

“That was for running. Now I gotta hit you
for making me chase you.”

Swallowing hard, the man looked up at an
equally confused Anthony. Sal snatched up a miniature tenderizing
mallet and knocked the man over his head. Blood sprayed and ran
down the man’s face as he screamed in agony.

Unsettled by Sal’s overly aggressive
tactics, Anthony shouted in the man’s face, “You owe us two-grand
plus the juice. Where is it?”

“Go get the money, you fucking mutt.” Sal
yanked him back to his feet and shoved him toward the back room.
“Follow him, Anthony. Make sure he don’t do nothing stupid.”

The disoriented man stumbled to the back
room with Anthony right behind. He removed a cheesy painting from
the wall of a horse running in a field to reveal a safe. After
opening the safe, he reached inside and pulled out a neatly wrapped
stack of currency. He counted out twenty-five hundred dollars and
then placed the remaining cash back into the safe. With a trembling
hand, the man handed the money to Anthony. “Here! This squares us?
Right?”

“Next time don’t make us...”

The mallet came down on top of the man’s
head again. He fell to the floor, unconscious. Dropping the mallet,
Sal reached into the safe and collected all the remaining cash and
tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Carmine said he wanted this
jamoke taught a fucking lesson. I don’t think he’s gonna forget
this any time soon.” Stepping over the man’s body, Sal headed
toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

“How much did you get?” Anthony asked once
they were safely in the car.

Sal counted it. “Sixteen hundred even.
Here’s your cut.” Sal handed him eight hundred dollars, but Anthony
hesitated to take it.

“What’s the matter with you, Anthony?”

“Nothing.”

“You got a fucking problem with what I
did?”

“No!” Anthony took the money.

“Good! ’cause there’s only two kinds a
fucking people in this world. Predators and prey! You better decide
which one you wanna be.”

“So what are you gonna do with your cut,
Sal?” Anthony asked timidly.

“I got some dough saved. I think with this I
got enough to buy me a nice car. I ain’t never had one before.
Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Anthony started the car and peeled away from
the curb.

* * * * *

Over the next six months, Sal and Anthony
worked together almost daily. It didn’t take long before they
rekindled the very close, brother-like relationship they shared
growing up. Once a month, without fail, the two visited Mikey’s
grave and placed flowers at the base of his headstone. They spent
most of the time talking and reminiscing about the good old days as
if Mikey were there with them. To honor their fallen comrade, Sal
suggested they should go partners and open up a restaurant and name
it: “Mikey D’s Bar and Grill.” Anthony was behind the idea
one-hundred percent, believing it could one day be their “out” from
under the Mirragios thumb.

As part of their duties working for the
Mirragios, Sal and Anthony routinely roughed-up deadbeats who
couldn’t pay their gambling debts; shook down loan sharks; made
collections; extorted money from business owners for protection;
and set fire to the stores that did not pay. They were doing all
the grunt work while Carmine and Don Lucho sat back and raked in
all the profits. They saw some money, but Sal knew it was nothing
compared to what he could be earning out on his own. Deep down, Sal
had bigger plans for himself than being a bag man for the
Mirragios. Knowing it was just a matter of time before he formed
his own crew, Sal patiently waited for the right opportunity to
present itself.

As he stepped into the Mirragio Club to
start his day, Sal was surprised to see Anthony and the other
fellas sitting around a table drinking and playing cards. Everyone
was there: Carmine, Jimmy, Joey, Tony, and Nicky. Judging by their
adolescent behavior it was obvious that they had been boozing it up
for a quite a while. As Sal approached the table, he looked
surprised to see them so inebriated this early in the
afternoon.

“There he is! Sally Boy! How you doing?”
Anthony yelled, his face lighting up the moment he saw Sal.

“I’m doing good, Anthony. How you doing?
Fellas, how are you?” Sal went to Carmine and kissed him on the
cheek. “Carmine, how you doing?”

“I heard you had a little trouble last
night,” Carmine said in a perturbed tone.