Sally Boy

by P. Vincent DeMartino

  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.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  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.

  “What trouble?” Sal asked cagily.

  “That club downtown? Where you guys went to celebrate the birth of Jimmy’s kid.”

  Acting as if unaware as to who ratted out Sal about the shooting Jimmy, Joey, and Tony feigned surprise.

  “I swear it was nothing, Carmine,” Sal plead defensively.

  “You call blowing some guys fucking balls off nothing?”

  “He pulled on me. I had no choice.”

  “Maybe you should listen when they tell you to leave something alone. The Don don’t want any unnecessary heat from the Feds. Understand? Besides, we can’t go around shooting up a place that we don’t got a piecea. It don’t make us look good.”

  “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “Make sure it don’t.”

  “It looks like you guys are having a party. What’s the occasion?” Sal asked, desperate to change the subject.

  Anthony drew his hands together almost as if praying and slowly waved them back-and-forth. “What? You forgot today is my birthday?”

  “Madonn! I fucking forgot. Happy birthday.” Making his way to his friend, Sal kissed him on the cheek.

  “Me, Carmine, and the fellas are getting primed up for later.”

  “Why? What’s going on later?”

  “We’re all going up to Yonkers. Carmine got this horse that can’t lose. Plus he’s a long, long shot.”

  “Ming! That’s fucking beautiful.”

  “There’s nothing like betting on a sure thing,” Anthony slurred as he sipped his drink.

  “What’s he going off at?”

  Before anyone could answer, Carmine blurted, “Sally Boy, I want you to know that you been doing some good work for us. You too, Anthony.”

  “Thanks, Carmine,” Sal said, suspicious of the praise.

  “Don Lucho wants you to know he appreciates it, too.”

  “Well, tell Don Lucho I said ‘thanks.’”

  “Tell him yourself. He wants to see you in the back office.”

  “Now?” Sal asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, get the fuck back there.”

  Sal headed to the back and tentatively stuck his head into Don Lucho’s private office.

  “Don Lucho, how are you? Carmine told me you wanted to talk to me.”

  Don Lucho nodded. “Come in and sit down. Close the door.”

  Shutting the door behind him, Sal sat in a chair facing the Don.

  Seated in a sizable wingback oxblood leather chair behind a big desk, the Don’s stare suggested anger. “I want you to know that you have done a very good job for us, Salvatore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I have a problem. A big problem...” With a clinched fist, the Don struck the table hard. “...I don’t like problems! I need for you to make my problem go away.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “It seems one of my men has been skimming from his collections. That ungrateful fucking piecea shit, I want you to...” Don Lucho made a pretend gun with his right hand and he pumped his thumb twice. “...make sure he don’t see the sun come up tomorrow.”

  “Who?” Sal asked, skeptical of the charge.

  “Anthony,” Don Lucho said quietly. “He’s become a disgrace by betraying us.”

  Sal hunched over in his chair as if he were just kicked in the stomach. His mind raced as he tried to think of some way out of this. “With all due respect, Don Lucho, I grew up with Anthony. I know him better than anyone. I know in my heart that he would never steal from you. Is it possible there’s been a mistake?”

  “Are you questioning an order from me?”

  “No, Don Lucho. Never! But Anthony’s like my brother. I was just thinking that maybe...maybe there was another way we could deal with this.”

  “Either he doesn’t see tomorrow or you don’t. Decide!” the Don said coldly.

  Perspiration beaded on Sal’s brow and his heart pounded. He recalled one of the many lessons his father had taught him. I
f “they” ever wanted to get you, it would be your friend or someone you trusted who would be sent to do the deed. Not an enemy or a person you didn’t trust, because you’d see them coming from a mile away. Still, Sal couldn’t accept that this fat piece of shit was ordering him to kill his best friend as if he were ordering a meal in a restaurant. Silently, Sal debated whether or not he should tell the Don to go fuck himself. However, Sal knew that if he did, both he and Anthony would be whacked.

  Don Lucho leaned forward and barked, “Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Are you prepared to do what I asked?”

  “Si, Don Lucho,” Sal responded softly.

  “Carmine was right about you, you do understand respect and honor. Young people today do not believe in such things any more. You’ll go far with us if you remember to never bite the hand that feeds you. Capisi?”

  “Si, ou capisi.”

  “You can go now. But remember what I told you.”

  Tentatively, Sal left the office and made his way back to where the fellas were still playing cards. Taking an empty seat next to Anthony, he requested passively, “Deal me in next hand. Awright?”

  “How’d everything go?” Anthony asked, offering Sal a cigarette.

  “Everything’s good,” Sal muttered.

  Seeming to delight in Sal’s dilemma, Carmine smiled. “Well, let’s have another round of drinks. This is a fucking party, ain’t it? And besides, you only live once, right.” Turning to the other men sitting at the table, Carmine shouted, “C’mon you fucking deadbeats, ante up. I’m gonna take all your fucking money.”

  After several more hours of drinking, gambling, and bullshitting, Anthony became restless. Looking at his watch, he was somewhat surprised at how late it was. “C’mon, you guys. We gotta get going. I don’t wanna miss the first race,” Anthony stated with the eloquence of a drunk.

  “Take it easy, Anthony. Don’t be in such a fucking rush.”

  Glaring at Sal, Carmine ordered angrily, “Sally Boy, go get your fucking car and bring it around!”

  “Yeah, awright.” Sal replied submissively and left the club.