P. Vincent DeMartino - Sally Boy

by

P. Vincent DeMartino

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Silk Daddy Publishing on Smashwords

www.sallyboy.net

Sally Boy

Copyright 2008 by P. Vincent DeMartino

Cover by James Lee

www.speechlessfx.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting therights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publicationmay be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without theprior written permission of both the copyright owner and the abovepublisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of theauthor's imagination or are used fictitiously. The authoracknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of variousproducts referenced in this work of fiction, which have been usedwithout permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is notauthorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademarkowners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal useonly. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.If you would like to share this book with another person, pleasepurchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Ifyou are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was notpurchased for your use only, then you should return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respectingthe authors work.

* * * * *

Sally Boy

* * * * *

I wish to give thanks and praise to myHeavenly Father - Without Him nothing is possible and all islost.

For my mother - Thank you mom, I loveyou.

Sheryl Kelly-Ginsburgh Ph.D. - Yourunwavering support and encouragement helped make this workpossible. HOOK em HORNS!

Sir Charles and Barbara Wilson - Your loveand friendship have blessed my life in so many ways. GODOLPHINS!

For all the glorious Italian people who cameto America and made this nation great.

For all the courageous men and women whoserved in Vietnam and Southeast Asia.

For all of my friends and family whobelieved in me - Thank you and God Bless.

The efforts which we make to escape from

our destiny only serve to lead us intoit.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

* * * * *

It is with the utmost love and respect that Idedicate this novel to the memory of my father.

* * * * *

Seated in an upscale Manhattan nightclub,Salvatore Scalise sat, legs crossed, sipping his cocktail as hecasually smoked a celebratory cigar. The rich, deep brown color ofthe Cuban only enhanced his mesmerizing eyes as they drank in theprovocative sights. Impeccably attired, Sal wore a black silk suitand Italian leather shoes. His custom-made, burgundy linen shirtwas unbuttoned to reveal his muscular chest and a heavy goldcrucifix hanging from a solid gold chain. Deep in thought, Sal wasoblivious to the admiring stares of several attractive young womenlingering in his vicinity.

In a mirror, Sal had caught sight of thegleam of his crucifix prompting him to recall a childhood memory.Ironically, it was of going to church with his mother andgrandparents. Our Lady of Refuge was one of the oldest churches inSicily, and the people in his Palermo village of Altavilla attendeddaily. On Sundays, his mother dressed him in his best clothes andthe family would attend Mass. Sitting in a pew, usually between hismother and grandmother, Salvatore listened to Father Gagliano quotethe Bible and talk about God.

The curious boy would stare at the stainedglass windows depicting Christs crucifixion and wonder what couldwarrant such a terrible fate. Hed listen as the priest spoke ofthe road to salvation through confession of ones sins and theforgiveness of those who had sinned against you. Salvatore didntunderstand Father Gaglianos words then, but he does now. So if hisstory sounds like a plea for forgiveness for all the men heskilled and all the terrible things he did, then perhaps it is.

In the farthest corner of Club Rapture, ayoung D.J. stood in an elevated booth overlooking the congesteddance floor. Its a Family Affaaaa-air... he enthusiasticallysang along, smiling wryly at the raucous crowd dancing beneath him.Taking a lengthy hit from a joint, the self-assured maestro held itfor as long as possible before slowly exhaling a billowy cloud ofsmoke. The smoke gradually ascended toward the mirrored disco-ballthat revolved in unison with the lights that flickered and flashedoverhead.

Sexy young girls swarmed the dance floor inpainted-on bell bottoms and halter tops, shaking their asses andbrazenly displaying their cleavage. Tongue-wagging, twenty-year-oldsuitors dressed in tight polyester pants and half-unbuttonedover-sized collared shirts pursued the adolescent hussies with thedetermination of dogs in heat. Throughout the club, an assortmentof socialites, middle-class nobodies, gold-diggers, underworldfigures, and drug king-pins danced, drank, smoked pot, and snortedcocaine in plain sight. It was 1970; anything goes.

Three well-dressed fellow soldiers from theMirragio crime family sat with Sal laughing it up as they puffedtheir stogies, slammed shots, and shared exaggerated tales ofviolent and inglorious exploits. Their hyperbole amused Salbriefly, but the truth was he couldnt have been less interested intheir inane conversation. Sal couldnt help but wonder if itwouldnt be better to go deaf than to have to listen to these slagsdrone on for the rest of the night.

The menacing character sitting on Salsright was Jimmy Spikes. Jimmy was a slightly balding, heavy-setsociopath who seldom spoke and never smiled. His tortured face andmalevolent demeanor reflected a soul devoid of humanity. Mostdisconcerting about Jimmy were his eyes: cruel and spiteful. Onecould only imagine the terror of seeing his psycho lamps approachknowing you were about to be whacked.

On his left was Joey Blinks. They calledhim Blinks because of a nervous facial tic: he blinked incessantly.Joey was a shady, skinny little runt, with a pointy nose, and aface between a weasel and a rat. Consequently, taking anythingBlinks said seriously was difficult. Twice divorced, Joey haddifficulty maintaining a steady relationship with a woman becauseof his fondness for beating them.

Tony Fats sat directly across from Sal,gleefully stuffing himself with an entire family-size platter ofClams Casino. Tonys mug favored that of a chipmunk with too manynuts stuffed into its cheeks. It seemed the only time Fats wastruly happy was when he was eating. Anyone who didnt know Tonymight have thought he was only capable of threatening a tray oflasagna, but Sal knew better. In fact, he had the goods on all ofthese men. Thats why he didnt trust any of them.

Hey Jimmy, tell the kid how you got yournickname, Joey requested as he downed a shot.

Nah, thats ancient fucking history.

Cmon, Jimmy, dont be like that, Joeyinsisted as he gestured to the waitress for another round ofdrinks. Its a party.

You know I made my fucking bones thatnight. Shit, that was twenty-five years ago, before the kid waseven born, I bet. Jimmy sipped his drink.

Spikes, are you gonna tell the fuckingstory or what? Joey pestered.

Keep your fucking shirt on, awright? Lemmethink...this was back when Don Lucho was just the Underboss. It wasa few years yet before Don Mancini dropped dead from a heartattack. God, how time fucking flies, huh? Anyways, I just come upand I was parta Carmines crew. I was, what, twenty-five I think atthe time. There was this uppity moulanyan bookie over in the SouthBronx who didnt wanna kick up to the Mirragios. What the fuck washis name? Jimmy puffed his cigar. Rico...Rico Jones, yeah thatsit. That monkey had a pretty good operation going for himself. Hewas pulling in ten, maybe twelve fucking grand a week. So Carminesends me and this other guy, this fucking mamaluke, Pauly Mopes,to straighten him out.