Sally Boy (34 page)

“I got an idea. Help me get him up.” Nicky
took hold of Peter’s arms.

Helping the best he could, Jimmy grabbed
Peter’s legs and they lifted his body off the floor. Placing him in
a chair with his back to the front door, Nicky wrapped Peter in his
dress shirt, and stuffed the tickets Carmine gave him into Peter’s
shirt pocket. “This oughta bring that crazy bastard to us on a
silver platter,” Nicky said coldly.

Jimmy checked his flesh wound. “Let’s get
the fuck outta here. I need to get this looked at.”

* * * * *

Picking up the phone behind the bar at the
Jolly Tinker, Sal dialed. The phone rang numerous times but no one
answered. “Where the hell could he be?” Sal muttered to himself as
he forcefully hung up and redialed. A voice on the other end
answered, “Yeah?”

“Yeah hello, it’s Salvatore. Who’s
this?”

“How you doing, Sally? This is Frankie.”

“Frankie, I’m looking for my Pop. He
around?”

“He ain’t here, Sal. We ain’t heard from him
all day. He hasn’t picked up at his house either. We was about to
send somebody over there to check on him.”

“You ain’t heard from him at all today?”

“Nah, and it ain’t like him not to check
in.”

“I’ll go by the house and check on him
myself. I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

“Okay, Sal. Make sure you call us, awright?
Don Bruno’s concerned, if you know what I mean?”

Slamming down the receiver, Sal made another
call. “Angel, come by the Tinker and pick me up. I need to go by my
father’s place and make sure he’s okay.”

“What’s wrong, Sal?” Angel’s voice suggested
he had just woken up.

“I don’t know, but something’s not right. I
can feel it.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,
hermano.”

“Awright, pick me up outside. Angel, bring
some fucking hardware, just in case.” After hanging up, Sal lit a
cigarette and poured himself a drink. Impatiently, he watched the
door until Angel arrived.

Hurrying out of the bar, Sal jumped into the
car. “Let’s go!”

Angel sped off right into oncoming traffic.
They raced through the streets cutting off other cars. “Relax. He’s
probably shacked up with some young piece of pussy.”

“I hope so. But the thing is, my Pop’s
old-school. He would never go MIA. His people in Brooklyn always
know where he is, or at least how to get in touch with him.”

Coming to a screeching stop in front of
Peter’s building, they both jumped out of the car. Angel carried a
sawed-off shotgun concealed under his overcoat. Sal tucked his .45
in his pants and they quickly made their way into the building and
up the stairs to Peter’s front door.

“Hey, Pop, you home? Pop, you there?” Sal
shouted as he banged on the door. Using his shoulder, Sal forced
the door open. Stepping inside, Sal found his father sitting with
his back to the door and his head slightly pitched to the left.
“Hey Pop, how come you didn’t answer the door?” Walking around in
front of his father, Sal saw the bullet wound in his chest. “Oh,
Pop! What did they do to you?” Dropping down onto a chair next to
his father, Sal began to sob like a child.

“Jesus Christ! I’m sorry, hermano,” Angel
said consolingly.

Looking up at Angel with tear-filled eyes,
Sal vowed, “They’re gonna pay for this! You hear me, Angel? They’re
gonna suffer before I kill ’em.”

“Sal, there’s something in his pocket.”

Removing the stubs from his father’s shirt
pocket, Sal stared at them. Slowly his facial expression
transformed from sorrow to rage.

“What are they?”

“They’re tickets from Yonkers.” Balling up
the stubs, Sal stuffed them into his pocket.

Sal took off the gold crucifix and chain his
grandparents had given him when he was a child and carefully placed
it into his father’s palm. He closed his father’s fingers tightly
around it. Crossing himself, Sal whispered softly, “Please take
carea’ my Pop.” Rising to his feet, Sal looked skyward and
unleashed a fearsome roar.

Unnerved by the scream, Angel warily asked,
“What do you wanna do, Sally Boy?”

“I’m gonna kill those motherfuckers in such
an ugly way their own mothers ain’t gonna recognize ’em.” Turning
to Angel, Sal ordered, “Get everybody together. Get all the rounds
and weapons we got. We’re gonna finish these scumbags off once and
for all.”

#

Sitting around the large oval table in the
basement of the Jolly Tinker, Sal, Angel, Juan, and Clo cleaned
their weapons and loaded magazines. They worked silently, with
deadly accuracy. A lone bulb above their heads provided the only
light. As they moved, each man’s shadow danced on the wall behind
them. A large pile of cocaine sat in the center of the table and
they shared full bottles of scotch.

After snorting a line, Angel lifted his head
from the table. “Damn, this is some good fucking coke! This sure do
feel like old times, hermano. You and me getting ready to go shoot
up some motherfuckers.”

Snatching up a magazine from the table, Sal
jammed it into his automatic weapon. “Yeah, but this time...” Sal
locked-and-loaded, “...I’m killing everybody! Let’s go.”

Rising from their chairs, each man collected
their weapons and ammo from the table and followed Sal up the
stairs and out to the street.

Across town, Carmine and Don Lucho sat in
Fiorellio’s, an exclusive Italian restaurant. Having just finished
their meal, Carmine motioned the waiter to bring the check. The
server promptly placed the check on the table and politely asked,
“Is there anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?”

“No.” Carmine shook his head.

Don Lucho leaned forward and asked annoyed,
“When is this problem going to be taken care of? You promised me it
would be over by now.”

“It’ll all be over very soon, Don
Lucho.”

“Good. Let’s have one more drink to
celebrate, and then take me home,” Don Lucho suggested happily.

“Okay.” Summoning the waiter back to the
table, Carmine gave him the check. “Bring us another round.”

Loading into Angel’s car, they drove to the
Mirragio’s Private Club. Angel parked down the street and they
quietly climbed out of the vehicle. With military precision, Sal
and his men made their way up the block and over to the side of the
building. Hiding in the shadows, they moved along the side of the
building and positioned themselves at the front door.

“Kill ’em all,” Sal ordered coldly.

Turning the knob of the front door, Sal
realized that it was locked. Backing up several feet, Sal raced
toward the door and kicked it open. Rushing inside with their
weapons firing, Sal and his men shot up the club. Bullets riddled
the bar and tore up the walls. Nicky was shot in his chest as he
sat reading the racing form. Joey had his face blown off by
automatic gunfire. Jimmy and Tony were murdered while playing gin.
Kneeling down next to a still alive Nicky and seizing a handful of
his hair, Sal lifted his head off the floor. “Where’s that piecea
shit, Carmine?”

“He ain’t here,” Nicky managed to
whisper.

“I know it was you and Carmine who set up
Anthony to take the fall for the count being short.”

Nicky sneered.

“Who killed my father?”

Knowing he was dead anyway, Nicky responded
defiantly, “Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!” Drawing a large knife from
its sheath, Sal forced Nicky’s head to the floor and slowly ran the
blade across Nicky’s throat, slitting it from ear to ear. Blood
from the carotid artery sprayed up all over Sal’s face and drenched
his clothes. With pleasure, Sal watched as Nicky slowly choked on
his own blood until he was dead.

Approaching Sal cautiously, Clo remarked,
“They’re all dead, primo. Maybe we should get the fuck outta
here.”

Climbing up from the floor, Sal yelled,
“Bring those scumbags over here to me.”

“They’re all fucking dead,” Juan cried
out.

Sal shoved Juan toward the bodies. “I said
bring ’em here to me.”

Reluctantly, Angel, Juan, and Clo dragged
the bodies to Sal. Flipping over one of the card tables, Sal pulled
it into the middle of the room, so it was in the direct line of
sight of anyone entering the club. Smiling at his crew, only the
whites of Sal’s eyes showed through his blood-covered face. “Now
I’m gonna show ’em who’s the baddest motherfucker in the
Bronx.”

Kneeling down, Sal took hold of Nicky’s
right ear and pulled it as far away from the skull as he could.
With his knife, Sal lopped it off as close to the head as possible.
Holding the bloody ear up for his men to see, Sal announced, “After
tonight those scumbags will know that nobody fucks with me.”

After slicing off Nicky’s other ear, Sal
started a pile on the table. Forcing open Nicky’s jaw, Sal yanked
his tongue out as far as he could and cut it off. Placing the
tongue on the table next to the ears, Sal ripped out each of
Nicky’s eyes with the point of his knife and started a pile of
eyeballs on the table. Sal raised the blade above his head and
thrust the knife deep into Nicky chest and sliced him open from his
throat to his bellybutton. Using the knife’s heavy blunt handle,
Sal cracked the chest plate and worked his hand down into Nicky’s
chest cavity. After cutting out his heart, Sal held the fist-sized
organ in his hand and squeezed. Blood spurt from it spraying the
ceiling and the walls.

Over in one of the corners of the room, Juan
dry heaved several times before violently throwing up all over the
floor. Angel and Clo turned and walked away quickly, but they soon
vomited.

“Watch the fucking door ‘till I’m finished
here, you gutless fucking pricks.”

Taking hold of Jimmy’s arms, Sal rolled him
over and went to work hacking and chopping away at his still-warm
body like it was a slab of beef. Sal continued the process on each
man, until only mutilated corpses and severed body parts neatly
piled on a card table were all that remained.

Looking over his work, Sal proclaimed, “Now
for the finishing touch.” Turning to his men, Sal shouted, “Help
me! Pick ’em up and put ’em in these chairs.”

“What?” Angel shrieked.

“Pick ’em up and put in these fucking
chairs. Move, you fucking assholes!”

Hesitantly, Angel, Juan, and Clo dragged the
bodies over to the table and propped them up in the chairs.
Locating a deck of cards, Sal dealt each man a hand of poker and
placed the cards between their fingers. Rifling through the deck,
Sal selected five specific cards for Nicky. “I got a special hand
for you, Skirts. You fucking piecea shit!”

After placing the cards in Nicky’s hand, Sal
reached into his pocket and pulled out the ticket stubs he had
removed from his father’s shirt pocket and tossed them into the
center of the table. Looking over the carnage, Sal laughed. “Let’s
get the fuck outta here.”

They made their way out of the Mirragio
Club, down the street to Angel’s car, and sped away.

Driving along listening to the radio,
Carmine smoked a cigarette as Don Lucho sat comfortably in the
passenger seat, staring out the window. Burping loudly, Don Lucho
clutched his chest. “That food was good, but it’s giving me agita
like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I told you not to get the fried calamari.
It’s gonna keep you up all night. I’ll take you home.”

“No, no, swing by the club. I wanna check
the take for today,” The Don ordered as he cleaned his glasses with
his tie.

Making an illegal U-turn, Carmine cut
through some side streets and minutes later they arrived at the
Mirragio Club. From their vantage point, they could see that the
front door was left wide open. “What the fuck’s going on here? Go
inside and check it out,” the Don ordered.

Carmine pulled his pistol and stepped out of
the car. Cautiously he made his way to the front door and went
inside. At first sight of the massacre before him, Carmine dropped
his gun from shock. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he shrieked.

Hearing Carmine’s panicked scream, Don Lucho
scrambled out of the car and hurried to the front door. Tentatively
stepping inside with pistol in hand, Don Lucho took in the butchery
that had been perpetrated upon his men. The Don’s body went numb
and his weapon fell from his hand. His face was suddenly ashen and
he projectile vomited, the force knocking him to one knee.

After a few moments, the Don struggled to
his feet and stumbled out of the club bracing himself by clinging
to the wall. The Don crawled into the front seat and sat with his
head down by his knees, shaking like a frightened child.

Blood stained the walls, ceiling, and
covered the floor. Carmine cringed at the sight of the eyes, ears,
tongues and hearts that were savagely cut out and placed in neat
piles on a card table in the center of the room. Trying not to
throw up, Carmine noticed the hand Nicky held in his bloody
fingers. “Aces and eights, the dead man’s hand,” he snarled.

Seeing the pile of stubs in the center of
the table, Carmine picked up the blood soaked tickets and threw
them across the room. Taking several deep angry breaths, Carmine’s
face hardened and he hollered, “You’re fucking dead! You hear me,
Scalise? You’re a fucking dead man!”

* * * * *

Johnny Rocks strolled into the No Name Club
and was immediately greeted by the usual round of handshakes and
hugs. The joint was standing room only and there were a lot of new
faces floating around the club. Excitement rippled amongst the
crowd, making a lot of the wiseguy’s uneasy. Squeezing into an open
spot at the bar, Johnny got the bartender’s attention.

“How you doing, Rocks?” the bartender asked
respectfully.

“I’m doing good, Kenny. What the fuck’s
going on here? Did somebody die or something?”