A man with a scruffy beard and long hair rose from the chair pulling his pants up. Joey immediately pointed his pistol at him and cocked the hammer. “Where do you think you’re going, wetback?”
“Wetbacks is Mexicans. I’m Puerto Rican.” The man noted, staring directly at Sal.
Hearing familiarity in his statement, Sal turned toward him.
“Hey, gringo, how’s it going?” the man asked Sal in a relaxed tone.
“I think that cocksucker’s talking to you, Sally,” Nicky taunted, hoping to anger Sal.
“You talking to me, spic?”
The man smiled confidently. “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”
Knowing things were going to get ugly, Joey and Nicky smartly trained their weapons on the other man still seated on the couch.
“You got some fucking balls? You know that?” Sal moved toward the man with his pistol down by his side. “I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna blow your fucking spic head off, and my friends here are gonna fuck your girlfriend in her ass, while these other assholes watch.”
Quickly raising his .45, Sal fired at the man’s face. Miraculously, the man managed to move his head and the bullet only grazed his cheek. Throwing up his hands, the man shouted excitedly, “Sal, it’s me! Angel! Don’t shoot! Remember? Vietnam? Holy shit, motherfucker. You almost killed me!”
With his weapon still leveled at the man’s head, Sal intently studied him. Finally, Sal’s face softened and his lips curled up into a huge smile. “Angel? Is that really you? I thought you was dead.”
“No, I made it out.”
“I can’t fucking believe it! You’re alive! Come here.” Sal hugged Angel tightly.
“You almost fucking killed me, man.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Sal said, laughing.
“Sal, what the fuck’s going on here?” Nicky asked, confused.
“We served together in the war. Everything’s cool.”
Pointing to the other man still seated on the sofa, Sal ordered, “Get the fuck outta here.”
The man bolted, dragging the naked girl out with them.
“Why don’t you guys wait for me in the car? I’ll be down in a few minutes. Awright?”
Reluctantly, Joey and Nicky left the apartment.
Sal went to the refrigerator, opened it, and grabbed two beers. He opened them and handed one to Angel.
“So what the fuck happened to you after I got hit?” Angel sipped his beer.
“You wouldn’t fucking believe me if I told you.” Sal hugged Angel once more. “Damn, it’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
“Look, I gotta get going. Those assholes I came here with can’t be trusted. But we’ll get together soon. I promise.” Sal finished his beer and set the bottle on a table. Picking up a pencil and a piece of paper from the table, Sal scribbled something on it. He handed the paper to Angel. “Here, this is my number. Call me.”
“I’m gonna throw us one hellacious fucking party.”
“I still can’t believe you’re alive.”
“Don’t forget! I’m gonna call you, hermano.”
“Awright. I’ll talk to you soon.” Exiting the apartment, Sal hurried down the stairs to the street and got into Joey’s car.
“What the fuck was that all about, Sally Boy?” Joey asked tentatively.
“None of your fucking business.” Still hurting from his hangover, Sal shouted, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Without so much as a peep, Joey started the car and drove off.
* * * * *
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Making his way to the second floor of a rundown high-rise in Harlem, Sal located apartment number 2C and knocked. The stench of urine filled the halls and garbage littered the stair wells. Crying babies and quarreling couples could be heard from behind every closed door. Latin music blared from inside the apartment so it wasn’t a surprise that nobody heard Sal knocking. Sal pounded on the door until someone finally opened it. A skinny, unshaven, middle-aged Puerto Rican man in a white t-shirt and jeans stood in the doorway. After giving Sal the once-over, the man asked with a heavy Spanish accent, “What do you want?”
“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 look
ed 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.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
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 w
ith 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.
Sally Boy Page 23