Sally Squeak

I stopped him right there and I said, “Sally-Squeak you son-of-a-bitchl!”

“Ah, come on, Charley,” he said.

I grabbed his throat and forced his head against the plexiglass so's he'd look at me. Once I had his attention, I gave him the slow nod and the long, cold eye.

Sal said, “Come on, Charley,” again.

I slapped him across the face. He looked at me like a kid looks at a math puzzle after he’s given up on it. People heading for the subway quickened their pace. I still held old Sal by the collar right there on the sidewalk in front of The Skylark ..

“Four large,” I whispered.

He bawled like a baby girl. I honestly think he wet himself. I don’t know for absolute, but I think maybe probably so.

And then he cold-cocked me. I fell backwards and rolled head over heels off the curb into the flowing gutter; a brand new five hundred dollar suite, ruined. And I do mean ruined.

“What da hell, Sal!” I said.

He looked down at me and laughed in pitty. All five foot four of him. He laughed the way a man laughs when he’s plain sick of laughing.

I took out the Book. I didn’t trust myself to stand so I didn’t. I sat cross-legged in the gutter and pretended to write down Sal's name.

“Boss is gonna hear about this one!” I said.

“No he won’t,” Sal said.

Then he turned and walked quickly down the steet-- his head held high, like a man who got something at long last right and couldn't wait to tell about it. And he was right--nobody was going to hear this story from me.

298 words--.