Sally Boy (30 page)

“I’m looking for Angel.”

Trying to talk over the music, the man
shouted, “Who?”

“Is this Angel Hernandez’s apartment?” Sal
yelled directly into the man’s ear.

Nodding, the man waved Sal inside. “C’mon
in, amigo.”

Once inside, Sal wasted little time sizing
up the gathering of drunks, deadbeats, stick-up artists, junkies,
pimps, and wannabe tough guys. Strange-looking characters of all
ages unabashedly puffed joints and danced anywhere there was room.
The paint on the walls was faded from years of cigarette smoke and
the windows were caked with grime. Two filthy sofas in the living
room offered shelter for the many cockroaches and mice. The carpet
was badly stained and the apartment reeked of a combination of body
odor and cologne.

“Hermano! How you doing?” Angel said
happily, surfacing from the mass of bodies and smoking a joint.

“I’m doing good.”

“Where’s your girl?” Angel scanned the room.
“I thought you was gonna bring her.”

“I don’t think this would be her kinda
scene.”

“Cool. Come and meet somea my boys.” Leading
Sal over to a battered chair, Angel introduced Sal to a thin,
nice-looking guy smoking a joint. “This is Roberto, my right-hand
man. But I calls him ‘Berto.’” Angel and Roberto executed an
elaborate hand shake. “Berto’s like a brother to me.”

“Yeah, how you doing?”

“I’m doing fucking great!” Roberto exclaimed
with a Spanish accent.

Pulling Angel close to him, Sal whispered in
his ear, “Yo, let’s go somewhere so we can take carea
business.”

“Okay. Follow me.” Walking down a hall, they
entered Angel’s bedroom. Sal took a seat on a chair and Angel
plopped down onto his unmade bed.

“Well, cook some shit up, motherfucker!” Sal
insisted.

Opening a dresser drawer, Angel took out his
drug paraphernalia. “I remember the first time I asked you to do
horse back in the ‘Nam.” Angel laughed. “You looked at me like I
was asking you to suck my dick or something.”

“Just fucking cook it up. Save your fucking
war stories for the jerk-offs in the other room.”

“Awright! Awright!” Angel prepared the
heroin and loaded two syringes. After tying themselves off, they
both shot up.

“You having a good time? I put this
gathering together in your honor, you know.” Angel kicked back onto
his bed.

“So far, I just hope this party don’t turn
out like the last one I went to.”

“What?”

“Nothing, forget about it.”

The sound of knocking on the bedroom door
could barely be heard over the music from the living room. “Who is
it?” Angel shouted in Spanish.

A young girl’s voice responded, “It’s me,
baby.”

“It’s my bitch, hermano.” Glancing up at the
door again, Angel yelled, “C’mon in.”

The door creaked open and a shapely Puerto
Rican girl entered. Closing the door behind her, she made her way
over to Angel and dropped down onto her knees in front of him. As
if waiting for permission, Angel nodded and she moved up and undid
his pants.

After pulling his trousers and underwear
down to his ankles, the girl took Angels still flaccid member into
her mouth and sucked it while fondling his balls. Acting as if
nothing was happening, Angel continued, “You know, it’s fucking
unbelievable how after all this time you walked into Hector’s place
and...” Looking down at his girl, Angel implored, “...yeah baby,
that’s it. Suck it like you’re mad at it.” Turing to Sal, Angel
didn’t miss a beat in the conversation. “What I’m trying to say is
that it was like fucking destiny we both made it outta ‘Nam. I
believe we was meant to do something together. Something important,
you hear what I’m saying?”

“I gotta tell you, man. When I looked into
your eyes after you got hit, all I saw was a fucking dead man. I
still can’t believe you’re alive.”

“The doc’s told me the only reason I
survived was ’cause the medevac got me outta there so fast. Fifteen
minutes later, I woulda bled out.”

“So I saved your ass again, huh?”

“That’s why you’re my hermano. ’cause you’re
always looking out for me and shit.”

The bedroom door opened and another
attractive Puerto Rican girl carrying two bottles of beer stepped
inside. With a big smile, she handed Sal and Angel each a beer.
Angel pointed to the floor in front of Sal and the girl knelt down
and started to take his pants off. Sitting up, Sal stopped her.
“No, baby, I got somebody. But thanks anyway.”

Seeming disappointed, the girl looked to
Angel and he motioned her to leave.

“Look, hermano, I don’t wanna work for a
pendejo like Hector no more. What about you? Do you really wanna
work for the Mirragios for the resta your life? Or should I say
until they got no more use for you and get somebody to waste
you.”

Angel’s words resonated in Sal’s ears as he
stared at the floor thinking about Anthony. “What made you say
that? About the Mirragios, I mean.”

Lifting his girlfriend’s head, Angel said,
“You suck a good dick, baby. But me and my boy got important
business to discuss. You can finish me off later.”

Rising from her knees, his girlfriend left
the room.

“I heard somethings. The Mirragios got a
reputation on the street for taking out anyone who...let’s say,
ain’t earning enough.” Angel pulled up his pants. “So, what about
it, hermano?”

“Fuck the Mirragios! I got no loyalty to
that fucking pig Don Lucho or that cocksucker, Carmine
Mattazolo.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. We should be
moving our own product. We should be the ones making the big bucks.
Not them.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Angel. But if
the Mirragios thought I was going out on my own, they’d have me
fucking clipped.”

“What the fuck are you saying? You’re afraid
of ’em. I saw you in action, hermano. I know you ain’t afraid a
nothing.”

“I ain’t afraid. But they didn’t get to
where they are ’cause they’re stupid. They earned their respect.
Plus they got a crew. All we got is me and you.”

“All that shit we learned in the ‘Nam should
give us a big fucking advantage over those motherfuckers. How the
fuck are they gonna beat a couplea death dealers like you and me,
huh? Plus, I know a few solid guys.”

“What? You mean guys like that asshole,
Hector? I ain’t got time to be training no punk-ass bitches. I need
motherfuckers that are locked-and-loaded. Guys that ain’t afraid to
get bloody.”

“I got two dudes plus Roberto who would give
their lives for me if I asked ’em to. Since we’ll be parta your
crew you can say the same.”

“Just sit tight for now. I need to work some
things out. Our time will come. When it does, you better be
ready.”

“I was born ready for this, motherfucker.
Once we get this thing rolling, we’s gonna be kicking ass and
taking names. Just like...like that motherfucking Caesar.”

Sal laughed. “Caesar, huh? I like that.”

* * * * *

Sitting on a barstool in the No Name Club,
Sal sipped scotch as he racked his brain trying to come up with a
plausible excuse to get out of his dinner date with Chrissy and her
parents. Seeing Sal sitting alone, Johnny crept up on him from
behind and grabbed him in a bear hug. “Hey, Sally Boy, how you
doing?”

Sal went for his pistol.

“Madonn! Take it easy, Sally. You gotta
relax. Maybe try some fucking decaf.”

Holstering the weapon, Sal shook Johnny’s
hand. “Sorry, Rocks. How you doing?”

“I’m good. How the fuck are you doing?”
Johnny asked, sounding concerned. “Is there something you wanna
talk to me about?”

“I’m awright.”

“C’mon, tell Uncle Johnny what’s going on.”
Johnny took a seat next to Sal.

“I’m good to go, Rocks. You don’t gotta
worry about me.”

“Awright. Hey, what are you doing tonight? I
got a couplea broads lined up.”

“I got plans.”

“C’mon Sally, I need somebody who knows what
the fuck he’s doing. If you’re worried about their looks, believe
me, they’re both fucking top shelf. You savvy?”

“What about Matty or Dominick?”

“Ming! You really expect ’em to spread their
legs for one of those fucking mutts. C’mon! It’ll give me a chance
to talk to you about some things that’s been on my mind for a
while.”

“I can’t, Rocks. I’m supposed to have dinner
with my girl.”

“Awright, I understand.” Placing his hand on
Sal’s shoulder, Johnny remarked in a remorseful tone, “Look Sally,
I’m sorry to hear about Anthony. I really liked that kid a lot. He
was a stand-up guy.”

Sal nodded slowly. “Don’t you gotta be
somewhere?”

“I got time. I remember when all of youse
was little kids running around the neighborhood. You, Anthony, and
Mikey, we used to call youse the three little musketeers. The three
of youse was always together. Youse was all good kids. Anthony
didn’t deserve to go out like that. It’s a fucking shame about what
happened to Mikey, too.”

Sal gulped the remainder of his drink. “Hey
Rocks, I really don’t feel like talking about the good ol’ days, if
you know what I mean?”

Johnny nodded sympathetically. “I
understand. Hey, you take carea yourself, awright?”

“Okay, Rocks. You do the same.”

“Hey, say ‘Hello’ to your Pop for me.”
Johnny shook Sal’s hand.

“I will. See you, Rocks.”

As Johnny headed toward the door, he was
immediately bombarded by shouts of, “Rocks, how you doing,” and
“Rocks, where you going,” by the many guests seated in the bar
area. Johnny could never leave the restaurant without shaking at
least a dozen hands.

Finding his way out to the street, Sal drove
off. Sometime later he pulled into a parking lot across the street
from an upscale restaurant. Unsettled by the prospect of meeting
his girlfriend’s parents, Sal sat in his car puffing a cigarette.
Anxiously, he stared through the large front window of the
restaurant. From his vantage point, he could clearly see Chrissy
peacefully sitting alone, perusing a menu at a table for four.
Smiling, Sal thought to himself, How did I ever get lucky enough to
end up with a girl like her?

The slamming of a car door diverted Sal’s
gaze to the sight of an impeccably attired, sophisticated-looking
older couple heading toward the restaurant. The man opened the
front door for the woman and they proceeded inside to the coat
check. After speaking to the hostess, they were promptly escorted
to Chrissy’s table.

Leaping from her chair the moment she saw
them, Chrissy rushed to greet her parents with hugs and kisses. Sal
watched as her father politely pulled the chair out for his wife,
then for his daughter. After taking their seats, the well-mannered,
respectful, and obviously close family engaged in small talk.

Finishing his cigarette, Sal flicked it out
the window and ran his hands down his face in frustration. Overcome
with feelings of inadequacy, Sal believed the circumstances of his
past had rendered him incapable of ever fitting in with Chrissy’s
family no matter how much he wanted too. Sal started his car and
tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching. Driving aimlessly,
he listened to the radio and chain-smoked cigarettes, while
subconsciously trying to manufacture some way to sabotage his
relationship with the only woman he would ever love. Eventually,
Sal found himself back in the neighborhood that Otis worked.
Turning the corner at the end of a dark street, he saw the familiar
tall, skinny black kid doing business. Recognizing Sal right away,
Otis strolled over to his car. “Hey, white boy. I see you’re still
alive.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, mouli, but I ain’t
no fucking punk-bitch like the brothers around here.”

“Whatever, motherfucker. I ain’t got no time
to be jawing with no honkey motherfucker. You either buying or
flyin’? So what’s it gonna be, cracker? You still chasing the horse
or what?”

“Yeah, Lucky Days to win in the
seventh.”

“What? What the fuck you talking about,
man?”

“Here, play it again, Otis.” Handing him a
roll of bills, Sal cautioned, “And remember what I said last time,
it still goes.”

“You gots it, Massa,” Otis mocked as he
stepped away from the car.

Sometime later, Otis returned holding a
rolled up brown paper bag. Handing the bag to Sal through the
window, Otis joked, “Ya’ll come back soon. You hear?”

Sal smiled and sped away. Arriving at his
apartment building, Sal got out of his car and trotted up the steps
to his door. His hand shook as he tried to put the key into the
lock. Finally, opening the door, Sal entered locking the door
behind him. Hurrying into his bedroom, he lit a candle and tied off
with a rubber hose. Sal carefully filled a spoon with his precious
powder and cooked it over the candle. The smack quickly liquefied
and he filled the syringe. Using two fingers, Sal tapped his left
upper forearm, right where the arm bent at the elbow, trying to
raise a vein. After inserting the needle, Sal gently drew back the
plunger, mixing his blood with the heroin, and then released it
into his bloodstream. Sal set the syringe down on the nightstand
and fell back onto his bed.

Closing his eyes, Sal hallucinated he was
walking through the jungle wearing a muddy, blood-soaked uniform.
He helplessly watched as the soldiers from his old unit were
slaughtered by machete-wielding VC. His comrades screamed out to
him, but Sal was powerless to help. He covered his ears with his
hands, futilely trying to block out their shrieks of torment.

In a panic, Sal took off in a sprint. He ran
through the jungle until he found himself in a burnt out Vietnamese
village. Out of breath, he walked by several burning huts and saw
children crying over the decapitated bodies of their parents. Sal’s
eyes bulged and his mouth hung open. As he continued through the
village each child fired a cold, hard glare in his direction.
Spooked by the sound of foot steps behind him, Sal turned to find
Wilson’s rotting corpse, along with many other decomposed bodies of
the men he had butchered following him. Sal took off running as
fast as he could. No matter how fast he ran, every time he looked
back over his shoulder, the cadavers were right behind him. Sal
ducked into a hut and cowered in the corner. Breathing heavily and
sweating profusely, he felt something touching him: hundreds of
snakes were at his feet. As they slithered up his legs, Sal closed
his eyes and shrieked.