Sally Boy by P. Vincent DeMartino Page A

party for Louie,
scumbag. Now get the fuck outta here before I break your fucking
hole.”
    “Fuck you, Frankie. He started it.”
    “Fuck me, huh?” With his free hand, Frankie
punched Sonny squarely in his face. The force of the blow sent
Sonny sailing back into his two friends. The three then crashed
into a wall of people, knocking them to the floor.
    Like a swarm of bees protecting their hive,
the angry mob quickly recovered, and they stung Sonny and his
friends with kicks and punches. The unwelcome intruders were pelted
by beer bottles, cans, and anything else the girls could find to
throw. Guys fired wild swings at the heads of the three fleeing
party crashers as they speedily backtracked toward the screen
door.
    Amused by the mob’s ferocity, Mikey and
Anthony watched Sonny and his friends try to make it outside. Mikey
slapped Anthony on his shoulder and shouted, “C’mon, let’s wait for
these assholes outside.”
    Racing toward the back door, Mikey picked up
a baseball bat that was leaning up against the door jamb. When the
three interlopers finally made it out of the basement, they were
greeted by more swinging fists and Mikey wielding a bat.
    Separating Sonny from the melee, Sal dragged
him into the street. “You like to threaten girls, huh?”
    Eager to see this confrontation, the
frenzied gathering followed the pair out into the street. Sal hit
Sonny with two punishing quick left jabs square in his face. Blood
spurted from Sonny’s nose and his eyes began to tear causing his
vision to become blurred. Sonny frantically wiped at his eyes and
the sight of his own blood on his hands sent him into a rage.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Sonny pulled his switchblade.
    “He’s got a blade!” Anthony’s voice sounded
out from the crowd.
    The long knife gleamed in the faint streams
of light from the streetlamp. “Now you’re gonna die!” Sonny yelled
as he came at Sal.
    Dodging the razor-sharp knife, Sal smartly
removed his jacket, and wrapped it around his arm. Using the
protected limb as a shield, Sal was able to ward off Sonny’s lethal
attacks. After sidestepping one of Sonny’s thrusts, Sal kicked him
hard in his stomach, momentarily hurting him. Shaking off the blow,
Sonny came at Sal again, swinging the knife like a lunatic. Sonny
made an off balance thrust at Sal’s midsection, which enabled Sal
to kick the hand holding the switchblade. The weapon flew into the
air and landed on the pavement. Alertly, Sal kicked the knife
toward a sewer drain. The switchblade skimmed across the blacktop
and fell into the dark hole.
    “Now it’s just you and me, asshole!” Sal
yelled as he tossed his jacket into the crowd.
    Panicked, Sonny swung wildly, but Sal easily
ducked his flailing fists and landed two more stiff jabs. Knowing
he was over-matched, Sonny rushed Sal, trying to put him in a
head-lock, but he only managed to scratch Sal’s neck. Sonny’s
fingernails cut deep into Sal’s skin drawing blood. Sal pushed
Sonny away, and danced around him like an experienced
prize-fighter. Sal connected with a vicious right-cross to the side
of Sonny’s head, stunning the taller opponent. Sal then followed up
with a left-hook and a right upper-cut to Sonny’s jaw. Literally
out on his feet, Sonny slowly swayed back-and-forth, unable to
raise his hands.
    Like bloodthirsty spectators in the Roman
Coliseum, voices from the crowd yelled for Sal to finish him. As
Sal stepped toward Sonny, their eyes locked for a split-second, and
Sal could see the incoherent daze of a beaten adversary.
Mercifully, Sal halted his attack. Placing his hand on Sonny’s
chest, Sal pushed and Sonny fell backward hitting the ground like a
sack of dirt.
    The three foolish trespassers lay in the
street, bloody and beaten. Looming over them, Frankie hollered,
“Leave ’em there in the gutter where they belong. Everybody back
inside. This is Louie’s night. Fuck ’em.”
    The multitude of adolescent drunks slowly
filed back inside,