Sally Boy (35 page)

“You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what? Hey, lemme get a Stoli, on the
ROCKS.” Johnny chuckled briefly. “You know, I never get tired of
that fucking joke,” Johnny remarked to a man standing next to
him.

The bartender laughed, then poured the drink
and placed it on the bar before Johnny. “Hey Rocks, you didn’t hear
what happened last night?”

“Nah, I was incommunicado. I was shacked up
with one of the finest pieces of ass I ever had. I think I’m in
love. Why? What’s going on?”

“Sally Boy and his crew slaughtered
everybody at the Mirragio Club last night.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about
‘slaughtered everybody’?”

“It had to be him, Rocks. His old man gets
clipped. Then somebody hacks up the whole fucking Mirragio crew.
Everybody except for Don Lucho and Carmine, that is.”

“Somebody whacked Peter Scalise?” Johnny
whispered with remorse.

“Yeah, they shot him right in his apartment.
Carmine’s been calling here all day looking for you.”

“What the fuck does that mutt want?” Johnny
shook his head in disbelief. “This shit has gotten way outta
control.”

Distracted by the ringing phone behind the
bar, the bartender said, “I gotta get this, Rocks. I’ll be right
back.”

“Hi Rocks,” an attractive blonde girl
sitting on the other stool next to him said warmly.

“Yeah, how you doing, sweetheart,” Johnny
replied softly.

“Rocks, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your
conversation with Kenny, but I heard Sally Boy cut off just about
everything you can cut off a guy.”

“Ming!” Johnny blurted as he cupped his
genitals with his hand.

“Hey Rocks, somebody wants to talk to you,”
the bartender said urgently.

“I really ain’t in the mood for socializing
right now.”

“It’s the Don!”

“Awright, bring me the fucking phone.”
Johnny moved to the corner of the bar and the bartender handed him
the receiver. “Yeah, this is Rocks.” Listening for several moments,
Johnny said, “Okay, I’ll be right over. You got my word.”

Handing the phone to the bartender, Johnny
walked back to his spot at the bar and quickly downed his drink.
Dropping a twenty onto the bar, he made a hasty departure. Johnny
drove for a while listening to music. He lit a cigarette, and
smoked half of it before turning down a tree-lined street. Tossing
the cigarette out the window, Johnny then sped up the long driveway
of a beautiful, brick, Victorian home nestled on a wooded acre of
land near the ocean in the Country Club section of the Bronx. As he
made his way to the top of the driveway, Johnny saw an armed guard
holding a pump action shotgun. The guard motioned for Johnny to
stop and roll down his window. “How you doing, Rocks?” the sizable
man asked.

“I’m doing good, Nino. I’m here to see Don
Lucho.”

“I know. Go ahead.”

Johnny parked in the circular driveway and
then he proceeded up the steps to the big front door and rang the
bell. The door slowly opened to reveal Carmine standing in the
foyer with a disturbing look on his face.

“Carmine, I just heard about what happened.
I can’t believe it. What a fucking shame.” The two men embraced and
kissed each other on the cheek.

Still reeling from shock, Carmine grumbled,
“Don Lucho is in his bedroom.”

“Jesus Christ! What would make Sal do
something like that?” Johnny asked staring directly into Carmine’s
eyes, eager to see his reaction.

“He’s fucking gone. His mind is rotted away
from the babania. He’s a wild fucking animal that needs to be put
outta its misery.”

“Who would be stupid enough to clip Peter
Scalise?”

“I don’t know,” Carmine answered coyly.
“C’mon, the Don’s waiting for you.”

“Okay,” Johnny responded, now certain
Carmine had ordered the hit on Peter.

Leading Johnny down the hall to Don Lucho’s
bedroom, Carmine knocked and then opened the door. “Don Lucho,
Johnny’s here.”

As they stepped into the bedroom, Johnny was
surprised to see the Don lying in bed looking like a frightened
child waiting for his mommy’s reassurances.

“Don Lucho, how are you?” Johnny lifted the
Don’s hand and kissed it.

“I want you to help us, Johnny.” Wracked by
anxiety, Don Lucho’s face was drawn and pale. The Don removed the
cold compress from his forehead and struggled to sit up. “You
cannot refuse my request. This all must end now!” the once powerful
Don declared with a cracking, panicky voice. After coughing several
times, he slowly reclined.

“What can I do for you, Don Lucho?” Johnny
asked sympathetically.

“I want you to set up a meeting with that
maniac traitor so we can put an end to all this bloodshed.”

“Don Lucho, I have great respect for you and
the Mirragio Family. You know that. I would do anything to help
you, but if you’re asking me to set Sal up to be whacked, that I
cannot do. I’m sorry.”

“No! I just wanna put an end to our
differences. Jesus Christ! If you coulda saw what he did to my men!
There was blood and body parts everywhere for Chrissakes! I want
this fucking war over! Understand?”

“That’s it? That’s all you want is to end
this?

“Yes!”

“If I can get Sal to sit-down with youse,
he’ll walk away untouched?”

“You got the Don’s word.” Carmine slapped
Johnny on the back. “Nobody from the Mirragio Family will lay one
finger on him. You can promise him that. Tell him the Don himself
gives his guarantee. I know he trusts you, Rocks. All we want you
to do is act as a go-between for us, and we’ll make the deal.”

Johnny looked the Don squarely in his eyes.
“I got your word on that, Don Lucho?”

Nodding, the Don promised, “No one, and I
mean ‘no one,’ from my family will touch him. Nor will they seek
revenge on him for what he has done. Ever! And Johnny, your efforts
will not go unrecognized.”

Appearing torn, Johnny shook the Don’s hand.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all the Don’s asking. I know you can
help us, Rocks,” Carmine urged in an unusually appeasing tone.

* * * * *

Playing pool against himself on a table in
the Jolly Tinker, Sal chalked his cue-stick and then lined up a
shot. Closing one eye, he drew back the stick and was about to
shoot when the phone behind the bar rang. Sal listened as the
bartender answered.

“Hey Sally, it’s for you,” the bartender
yelled.

“Who is it?” Sal asked, still frozen in his
shooting position

“I don’t know.”

“Well, ask who the fuck it is!”

“It’s Johnny Rocks.”

A big smile broke over Sal’s face as he
tossed the stick down onto the pool table. Striding to the bar, he
picked up the receiver. “Rocks, how you doing?”

“I’m doing good, Sally. How you doing?”

“I’m doing better than a lotta fucking guys
we used to know.”

“Listen, I’m sorry...I’m sorry to hear about
your father. He was a great man. And a very close friend of
mine.”

“Hey Rocks, is there another reason why
you’re fucking calling me or what?”

“Sal, is there any chance we can get
together? To talk?”

“We’re talking now.”

“Sal, this shit can’t go on any longer. It’s
gotta fucking end. I talked to the Don. The Mirragios wanna make a
deal.”

“So now they got you doing their dirty work
for ’em, huh. I always thought you was bigger than that,
Rocks.”

“I’m doing this outta respect for your
father. And I’m trying to protect your ass. Now smarten up and
listen to what I gotta tell you.”

“Tell Carmine and the Don I’m coming for ’em
next. And what I’m gonna do to ’em is gonna be twice as bad as what
I did to their crew! You tell ’em that, errand boy!”

“C’mon Sally, nobody fucking wins if things
keep going the way they are. They wanna deal, so fucking deal. It’s
the smart thing to do. It’s what your father would do.”

“What kinda deal we talking about?” Sal
asked, interested.

“They ain’t calling the shots no more. You
are. You really shook ’em up with that bloodbath you left for ’em
at their club. What do you want?”

“Lemme think about it. I’ll get back to
you.”

“I’ll be at the No Name all night. You got
the number?”

“Yeah, I know it. That it?”

“Sal, I want you to know that I loved you
father. I would never do any...”

“I said, ‘that it,’ Rocks?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll be waiting for your
call.”

Sal slammed the phone down and lit a
cigarette. After taking several puffs, he poured himself a glass of
scotch and gulped it down. Picking up the receiver, Sal speedily
dialed. “Angel, it’s me. Listen up, I’ve got good news. They wanna
make a deal.”

“Who? The Italians?”

“C’mon over to the Tinker right now. We need
to talk.”

“Awright, I’ll be there in a little
bit.”

“It’s time to celebrate, my man.”

“Yeah, awright,” Angel muttered in a distant
tone.

“Angel, what the fuck’s wrong with you? We
won, man! We’re gonna get everything we deserve. Get here as fast
as you can. And don’t forget to bring some H’. My skin feels like
it’s gonna fall off.”

“No problem, hermano. I’ll be right over.”
Hanging up the phone, Angel clutched a framed picture of himself
and Roberto standing in front of a nicely decorated Christmas tree.
They each wore Santa hats and were locked in a brotherly embrace as
they mugged for the camera. Tears welled in Angel’s eyes as he
stared at the photo, running his fingers over the image of his
brother. With an agonizing wail, Angel threw the picture across the
room. “I’m gonna get you, you motherfucker!”

Dropping down to his knees behind a chair in
his living room, Angel used a pocket knife to pry loose a piece of
paneling from the lower portion of the wall. He reached into a hole
in the sheetrock and retrieved a plastic bag full of a whitish
powder. Stuffing the bag into his coat pocket, Angel made his way
to the street and got into his beat-up Buick. He drove recklessly,
taking several snorts of cocaine from a one hitter. Parking in
front of the Jolly Tinker, Angel rushed inside to find Sal still
sitting at the bar drinking.

“What’s up, hermano?” Angel asked
casually.

“We gotta talk. Let’s go downstairs.” Sal
filled a glass with scotch and handed it to Angel. Once downstairs,
they each took a seat at the table.

“I knew those motherfuckers would be begging
to make a deal with us after they saw what we did.”

“You mean what you did.” Angel lit a
cigarette. “That was some fucked up shit, man. Watching you cut up
those gringos was the most fucked up shit I ever seen. And I’ve
seen some shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, you got blood on your hands,
too. So don’t go acting all fucking holier than thou. ’cause I
ain’t buying it and neither will the Mirragios.”

“It wasn’t my idea to cut those
motherfuckers up into pieces.”

“Shut the fuck up. I made a list of our
demands. Check it out.” Sal handed the list to Angel.

Angel read it over. “We want our own
territory and our own people to run our spots. Nobody tells us how
to run things, and we don’t pay any percentage on any new business
we get on our own. If there’s ever a problem, we only deal with Don
Lucho himself.”

“What do you think? I didn’t wanna seem too
greedy.”

“It sounds fucking good to me. What else
could we ask for?”

“Nothing! That’s everything we could ask
for.”

“Then that’s good enough for me.” Angel
laughed.

“I gotta make a call and tell ’em we’re
ready to deal.” Trotting up the stairs, Sal made his way behind the
bar, picked up the phone, and dialed.

“No Name,” the bartender, Kenny,
answered.

“Yeah, lemme speak to Rocks.”

“Who’s this?” Kenny asked politely.

“Put Rocks on the fucking phone,
asshole!”

Kenny hustled over to where Johnny sat and
whispered, “It’s Sally Boy.”

Rising quickly, Johnny went to the phone.
“Hello.”

“I got my terms. You wanna hear ’em.”

“They want a sit-down on this.”

“What the fuck, Rocks? Are you fucking
kidding me? A ‘sit-down’? What? So they can put a bullet in the
backa my head? Fuck you.”

“Sal, I’m guaranteeing your safety. The Don
himself gave me his word.”

“Fuck that fat piecea shit.”

“Sal, I’ve known you since you was a little
kid. Have you ever known me to break my word? Ever?”

“Rocks, it ain’t you I don’t trust.”

“My hand to God, Sally. No one from the
Mirragios is gonna harm one fucking hair on your head. I’d take a
bullet before I’d let that happen.”

“No dice, Rocks.”

“Then send your number two. Do you trust
him?”

“With my fucking life.”

“Good. I’ll have him back to you after the
meeting. You want me to come get him?”

“No! Just tell me where you wanna meet.”

“Have him come here to the No Name after
closing tonight. I’ll take him to meet with Carmine and the Don.
Then he can make your deal.”

“I’m telling you right now, if anybody tries
to pull a double-cross, I’m gonna make ’em wish they wasn’t
born.”

“I got no problem with that.”

Hanging up the phone, Sal grabbed a bottle
of scotch and strolled back downstairs. The moment he saw Sal
coming down the steps Angel got excited. “What’s the fucking story,
hermano? Did we get what we wanted?”

“I got some good news and some bad news.
They want a sit-down.” Sal handed the bottle to Angel.

“What’s the good news?” Angel asked,
concerned.

“That is the good news.”

“You ain’t gonna sit-down with those
motherfuckers? Is you? They’ll blast your ass as soon as they see
you.”

“Probably, but I ain’t the one going to the
sit-down.”

“No fucking way, man! I ain’t going.” Angel
shook his head.