Sally Boy Read Free Page B

started yelling for help. This coyote heard him
and came over and pulled him out. The little bird was so happy to
be free, he didn’t even care that it was a coyote that saved him.
Just before the bird could say ‘thanks,’ the coyote gobbled him up.
The point of this story being, not everyone who shits on you is
necessarily trying to hurt you. And not everyone who pulls you out
of shit is really trying to help. And if you should ever find
yourself up to your eyeballs in shit, keep your mouth shut. But you
gotta figure that out before you end up like the little bird.
Remember that, Salvatore,” his father had insisted. Sal always
would. Unfortunately, Sal had no idea how much his own life would
parallel that story.
    Exiting by way of the back door, the four
men sliced through the moonless night scarcely casting shadows.
Reaching their long black Lincoln, they swiftly slipped away,
pandemonium in their wake.
     
    * * * * *
     
CHAPTER TWO
     
    A light, early morning mist arose from a
stagnant body of water in the small village of Altavilla in
Palermo, Sicily. There was little movement on the narrow
cobblestone streets or in the village square by the remaining
inhabitants. World War II had long since ended, but the threat from
vendettas lingered like a pack of ravenous wolves. Infighting and
reprisals against those formerly loyal to “Il Duce” and his cohorts
had taken many lives and stained the streets with the blood of
anyone suspected of collaboration.
    Once impressive, manicured residences that
had stood in stately elegance for over a century were now crumbling
buildings bearing the scars of hostilities forced upon them by an
abhorrent dictator. Remnants of fascist party emblems painted on
walls were riddled with bullets and defaced with slogans that
cursed the formerly powerful leader, serving as a warning to anyone
who might seek to ever again rule with an iron fist. The once proud
and gregarious Sicilian people had been reduced to a distrustful,
clandestine populace that longed for what was their way of life on
the beautiful island before the twisted dreams of world domination
sealed their collective fate.
    In the distance, picturesque mountains
appeared surreal as the sun peeked over them, initiating another
glorious Mediterranean sunrise. Waves crashed against rocky cliffs,
shooting sea water high up into the air and the spray yielded a
majestic rainbow. Morning dew blanketed the lush green landscape.
Ocean breezes playfully kissed the leafy trees, producing a
soothing, rustling sound. An aromatic delight of traditional
Italian breakfasts could be detected as church bells rang, and
their tolls carried for miles across the countryside.
    An old postman, whose uniform was as ancient
and fatigued as he, trudged up a dirt path to the home of the
Cogassi family. With his heavy bag shouldered, he made his way up
the rickety steps onto the porch. Mustering the strength to rap on
the front door, he knocked three times. The creaking door slowly
opened. Appearing from behind the weathered door and stepping out
onto the porch was Dominick Cogassi.
    Despite his advanced age, Cogassi was quite
a distinguished looking gentleman. His thinning gray hair was
parted on the side and neatly combed. Though furrowed and wrinkled,
Cogassi’s face still suggested the vibrant good looks of his youth.
His once strong body was now ravaged by age, and riddled with
arthritis, causing him to walk slightly hunched. Although his
clothes were frayed and shoes were worn, they were neat and clean.
Antoinette, his adored wife of fifty-plus years, kept his garments
in as fine a condition as possible.
    The Cogassi’s home was a simple two-bedroom
cottage in desperate need of a coat of paint, and the repair of a
leaky roof. A well in the overgrown front yard yielded clean
drinking water, and an antiquated outhouse provided relief from
nature’s callings. All the family’s meals were prepared by Signora
Cogassi on a wood-burning stove in the kitchen