Read Online Sally Boy by P. Vincent DeMartino - Free Book Online Page A

all these letters my mother sent you. Did you get
’em?”
    “I guess. I don’t remember, Salvatore. It
was a long fucking time ago.”
    “How come you never answered ’em?”
    “That’s nonea your fucking business! Hey, I
ain’t gotta explain myself to some wet behind the ears little punk
kid like you. Understand?”
    “But Pop...”
    “Salvatore, don’t go fucking looking for
answers that ain’t there.”
    “I’m not. I’m just trying to understand
things.”
    “What the fuck does that mean?”
    “I don’t know. I’m confused.”
    “Look, you’re a smart, kid. You’re getting
older. Soon you’ll be a man. Things are changing around here, and
not for the better. You gotta be careful, Salvatore. You hear what
I’m saying?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about the neighborhood. It’s
fucking changing.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t you fucking listen to me? When I was
a kid the neighborhood was a place to be respected and protected.
Now you got spics moving in, soon it’ll be the moulanyans. After
that, this neighborhood won’t be worth shit. We gotta hold on to
what’s ours, before we ain’t got nothing left to hold on to.
Capisi?”
    Understanding that this was his father’s way
of expressing his concern for him, Sal smiled. Being “old-school,”
Sal knew his father lacked the capacity to say, “I love you.” This
was very understandable considering that when Peter was young he
was disciplined by the sting of the strap whenever his father
drank, or if he stepped out of line.
    “You don’t have to worry about me, Pop. I
can take carea myself.”
    “What? You think that jacket makes you a
tough guy? Youse guys ain’t tough. Shit, when I was your age, I
coulda kicked all your fucking asses.”
    “When you was my age, Pop?” Sal laughed at
the notion.
    “You heard me.” Standing quickly, Peter
shadowboxed around the living room, throwing punches like a
seasoned pugilist. “When I was your age, I was the best fighter in
the neighborhood, and I got the most trim. I used to get laid
almost every night. Now I get a piece three or four times a week.
Only now they’re much better looking broads, so it’s a wash.”
    “Hey Pop, not for nothing, but I see somea
the skirts you get. They ain’t that great,” Sal countered
glibly.
    Peter stopped throwing punches and turned
toward his son. Grabbing two fistfuls of Sal’s jacket, Peter jerked
him up off the couch to his feet. The two stood nose to nose. “Not
that great, huh? Why you little fucking hump? Who do you think
you’re talking to?”
    With speed and agility, Peter threw a
headlock on Sal and wrestled him down onto the floor. Lying on top
of his son, Peter squeezed Sal’s head as he futilely tried to break
free.
    “C’mon, Pop! You’re gonna mess up my
hair.”
    “Stop your crying, you little sissy. You’re
some fucking tough guy, huh? You can’t even get away from an old
man.”
    “I could, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”
    Peter laughed. “Ah, shut the fuck up!”
     
    * * * * *
     
CHAPTER SIX
     
    Strolling up to the entrance of Tony’s
Pizzeria, Sal opened the heavy glass door and stepped inside.
Tony’s was a regular haunt for the neighborhood fellas, and they
routinely gathered there after school to grab a slice, shoot the
breeze, meet up with girls, or to just hang out. If any of the guys
were ever looking for something to do, they could usually find a
familiar face there, and if they ever found themselves in a jam,
they could always find back-up.
    Booths lined the walls on both sides, and
small four-tops filled the center of the dining area, leaving a
clear path from door to counter. Each table had the usual pizza
condiments in shakers neatly arranged in the center. There was a
pinball machine, a jukebox, and a cigarette machine in the corner.
Stacked pizza boxes rose from behind the counter to the ceiling,
and the four ovens ran continuously, serving up the Bronx’s best
pies.