Sally Boy by P. Vincent DeMartino

disbelief.
    Plowing his way through the crowd, Sonny
pushed aside girls and carelessly bumped into guys spilling their
drinks. Standing before Sal and Nicole, Sonny ripped them apart and
shouted, “Nicole, what the fuck are you doing?”
    Embarrassed, Nicole’s face turned bright red
and her jaw dropped. Sonny stuck his finger in Sal’s face. “What
the fuck do you think you’re doing with my girl?”
    “I’m not your girl, Sonny!” Nicole cried out
in frustration, and then defensively leaned in behind Sal.
    Sonny’s face tightened and his eyes blinked
rapidly. “I ain’t talking to you right now, Nicole. I’m talking to
this, asshole. What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my
girl, scumbag?”
    Sal turned toward a now trembling Nicole. “I
know what’s been going on. He ain’t gonna bother you or your little
brother ever again. I promise.”
    Breathing a sigh of relief, Nicole looked
deeply into Sal’s eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
    “Listen, jerk-off, everybody knows that
Nicole ain’t your girl. You’re just making a fool outta yourself by
telling everybody she is. So stop it! Awright? And I’m telling you
right now, Sonny. If you bother Nicole or her little brother ever
again, there ain’t gonna be enough of you left to bury. Now go
home, before you get hurt.”
    “Do you believe this fucking guy? You got
some fucking balls. You know that? You’re fooling around with my
girl and you’re telling me to go home.”
    “Didn’t you hear what she just said?”
    “I don’t care what she said. She’s my girl!
You hear me?”
    Scurrying to the record player, Marissa
lowered the volume. The entire party slowed and everyone huddled
around the two combatants. Several of the bigger guys congregated
to see the show, and if need be, keep order.
    Standing slowly, Sal adjusted his pants.
“You know, Sonny, you got everybody in the neighborhood thinking
you’re such a tough guy. But you ain’t tough! You’re nothing but a
little punk hiding behind his old man.”
    Sonny half-heartedly lunged at Sal, but he
was restrained. “You’re real fucking brave here with all your
boys.”
    “I’m not the one who has to threaten a girl
just to get her to go out with me. You should be ashamed of
yourself, you stupid, cocked-eyed bastard.”
    A loud “OOOH!” emanated from the crowd.
    “You’re fucking dead! You hear me? I’m gonna
cut your fucking heart out!”
    “You know something else, Sonny? Your breath
is so bad it could knock a buzzard offa shit pile.”
    The crowd howled with laughter. One guy spit
beer out of his mouth spraying other people. Two more fell to the
floor laughing still holding their drinks. Again, Sonny tried to
lunge at Sal, but once more he was restrained, only this time, more
aggressively.
    Entering the basement through the screen
door, Frankie was surprised to see that the party had stalled. At
twenty-years-old, Frankie was one of the oldest members of the
Golden Guineas, and by far their best fighter. Big, tough, and
mean, Frankie had very little tolerance for people he didn’t like.
He got his nickname Knuckles when he was fourteen, after he beat-up
a grown man twice his age. The bloody and battered man was
overheard confiding in his friends after his humiliating defeat,
“All I could see was these giant fucking knuckles hitting me in the
face.” Ever since, the name stuck.
    “Hey, what the fuck’s going on here?”
Frankie asked some skinny drunk kid.
    Too inebriated to speak, the boy just
shrugged.
    “I’ll take carea this.” Frankie promptly
bullied his way through to the center of the action.
    Approaching Sonny from behind and seizing
the back of his collar, Frankie lifted him up. “Sonny Giordano! I
shoulda fucking known. What the fuck’s wrong with you? I can’t
believe that you’re stupid enough to come to one of our parties and
start shit. What, do you got a fucking death wish or
something?”
    “I didn’t do nothing!”
    “This is a going away