The below short story first appeared in American Crime
Magazine:
The
Count and the Cook
By Paul
Davis
I carry my father’s Scot-Welch name and his blood proudly. I’m proud of my Italian blood as well.
I'm half-Italian – Sicilian, in fact. My mother’s maiden name was Guardino, and her parents came over to America from Sicily in the 1930s.
I'm half-Italian – Sicilian, in fact. My mother’s maiden name was Guardino, and her parents came over to America from Sicily in the 1930s.
I was reminded of this side of the family when I was
contacted by a cousin that I remember only as a baby when I was a teenager. My cousin, Mike Guardino, read my newspaper crime columns online and sent me a message.
Like me, my cousin had served in the U.S. Navy. We
emailed each other for a while and exchanged photos. I have little memory of him,
but I recall clearly his father, my Uncle Sal, who was my mother’s brother.
My uncle used to visit my house in the 1960s when I was a teenager. I recall a wiry guy of average height, with a rugged face and a strong
voice. He and my father would sit at the kitchen table, drink beer and argue
about World War II.
My father had served in the U.S. Navy in the Pacific as a
chief petty officer and Underwater Demolition Team (UDT) frogman and my uncle
served in the U.S. Army in Europe as a rifleman. The two would share their war experiences and rib each other. Often the exchanges would get heated, but the nights
always ended on a friendly note.
My father died of cancer in 1976 and my uncle died of
heart failure in 1988.
Mike emailed me and suggested we meet in person. He lived
in South Jersey, not far from my South Philly home, so we met at Russo's bar and grill in South Philly. Mike knew the owner and we were served great Italian sausage sandwiches and red wine.
Mike said he knew all about me from reading my crime column in the local newspaper. He also recalled his father speaking lovingly about his beautiful sister Claire, my mother.
Originally from South Philadelphia, my cousin moved to
South Jersey after getting out of the Navy. He told me that he was a New
Jersey state trooper, having followed in the footsteps of his father, who had
been a Philadelphia police officer.
Like our fathers, we swapped stories about our time in the military. I served on an aircraft carrier during the Vietnam War and afterwards
on a Navy harbor tugboat at the nuclear submarine base in Holy Loch, Scotland.
My cousin served more than decade later on a Navy Destroyer in the Mediterranean.
We spoke eventually of Sicily, which we both visited
while in the Navy. We both have fond memories of our time in Sicily. My cousin also told me of the time he visited Sicily as a young
boy with his mother and father and his father’s friend and family.
He could not recall the name of the town, which was near
Palermo, nor could he remember the name of the seaside resort where they spent
a wonderful week. But he did recall that the fine vacation was marred somewhat
by an altercation with a powerful local man known as “The Count.”
The Russo and Guardino families had a great first day at
the resort. They eat fabulous Sicilian food, drank wine, basked in the warm sun, and swam in
the ocean and the pool.
Also at the resort was a large party of local men and
their wives. The leader of this group was a man in his late 30s that everyone
called “The Count.” He was darkly handsome, athletically fit and possessed a
regal bearing. He gave all of the instructions to the resort staff and did most
of the talking among the men.
Mike Guardino, all of 10-years-old, first understood the expression of “looking down one’s nose at someone,” as the man called the Count did indeed rear his head back and look down his nose at people.
Mike Guardino, all of 10-years-old, first understood the expression of “looking down one’s nose at someone,” as the man called the Count did indeed rear his head back and look down his nose at people.
The man, Luigi Di Salvo, who was called Count Luigi, was
the center of attention that first day, showing his prowess as a diver and
swimmer as he leapt from the diving board and dove into the pool. He also
showed his prowess as a fencer, as the resort had set up an area near the pool
where Di Salvo and a friend matched fencing swords. Di Salvo won the match and
his group of friends all applauded.
At dinner that first night, Sal Guardino and his wife and
small child sat with his friend, Angelo Russo, known as “Ange,” and his wife
and young son. Russo owned and operated a small bar and grill in South Philadelphia. Russo,
who came from a poor family, was proud of his success as a cook.
Russo was a big and heavy man with a large belly from
eating his own food, and huge muscular arms and legs from the physical work he performed in the bar and grill.
It was Russo’s idea that he and his good friend Sal
Guardino visit the island where their two families had come from originally.
The two men had visited the island once before, as they were both veterans of
the Allied invasion of Sicily in World War II. Russo had been Guardino’s
sergeant and as the two men both hailed from South Philly, they became good friends.
Russo, thrilled to have returned to Sicily, ordered a local
wine and said a toast in Sicilian.
At a table nearby, Di Salvo sat with his party. He heard
the toast and he called over the resort’s manager. Loudly in Sicilian, he
upbraided the manager for allowing "fat, loud and ignorant American tourists" to
sit near his table. The manager apologized and said he would arrange more
appropriate sitting in the future.
Young Mike Guardino did not understand what was said but
he saw Russo’s face turn dark red and saw his powerful, big hands grip and
twist his napkin. Sal Guardino also didn’t know what was said, but he too saw
Russo’s anger.
Russo rose out of his chair and walked up to Di Salvo and
shot him an angry look. He told Di Salvo to meet him on the beach – now!
Di Salvo got up from his chair, slowly and disdainfully.
He waved his arm, bidding Russo to go first. Sal Guardino told the wives and
children to stay at the table and he would find out was happening.
On the beach, Russo told Di Salvo that he heard his
remark, and if his wife and family understood Sicilian they would have been
insulted and humiliated. He then would have to do something.
Di Salvo, surrounded by three men, laughed and said in
perfect English, “Do what exactly?”
Guardino stepped behind Russo and Di Salvo’s men looked
at each other and backed up a bit.
Mike Guardino had broken free from his mother’s grip and
ran to the beach after his father. He watched the men face off against each
other.
“This conversation is over. I have nothing more to say to someone like you,” Di Salvo said, looking down his nose at Russo. He then simply walked
away, his three men in tow.
The manager ran up to Russo and Guardino and he looked as if he were going to cry.
He pleaded with Russo to not make a scene. Russo
countered by saying that the man had insulted him, his family and friends. The
manager apologized for Count Luigi and said the resort was large enough to
accommodate both parties - separately, but equal in service.
The manager put his arm around Russo and said in a low
voice that Count Luigi was not truly a count, but he had come home from the
university showing airs. He was, however, truly the son of an important man in
Palermo - "a man of honor."
“Cosa Nostra?” Guardino, the South Philly cop, asked. “We
got those guys where we come from as well.”
The manager again pleaded for peace.
“OK,” Russo said. “I can see that this guy is an athlete
and I’m an old, fat guy now. But in my day, before the war, I was a
professional boxer, and I can still throw a good combo. You tell the Count
that.”
The manger did not know that a “combo” was a combination
of left and right punches, but he understood the idea. And he had no intention
of telling Di Silva anything of the sort.
But one of Di Silva’s men was standing nearby and he
heard every word.
The next day Russo was getting drinks for his group at
the poolside bar when one of Di Salvo’s men sided up to him.
“The Count wishes to speak to you,” he said, pointing
towards Di Salvo at a nearby table.
“I’ll be right there,” Russo replied.
Russo dropped the drinks off to his family and walked
over to Di Salvo. Di Salvo rose and looked Russo up and down disdainfully.
“I heard you threatened me with your boxing skills,” Di
Salvo said. “Well, as it happens, boxing is among my skills as well. I boxed at
university. If you were not a fat, old man, I would challenge you to a boxing
match.”
“Challenge accepted,” Russo said flatly. “I’ll take you
in the first.”
Di Salvo looked confused until one of his men explained
that Russo meant that he would end the match in the first round in his favor. Di Salvo smiled and
said they would meet on the beach that night. Lights and a boxing ring would be
set up. He would make all of the arrangements with the resort manager.
Later, as Russo nursed a drink with Guardino, the manager
came up to him and asked if he was insane.
“The Count is a world-class athlete, and you are old! The
Count’s father, Don Antonio, is here,” the manager said, pointing surreptitiously
to an elderly man sitting by himself at a table with a big man standing nearby.
“Make the arrangements he ordered,” Russo said. “The
fight is on.”
The manager stormed off waving his arms and muttering. Russo walked back to his
room. Guardino walked over to Don Antonio’s table. The big man moved in front
of the table.
"Get out of the way," Guardino told the man.
The man at the table barked an order in Sicilian and the
big man moved.
Guardino sat down and faced the Sicilian Cosa Nostra organized
crime boss. Guardino pulled out his wallet and slapped his badge on the table.
“I hope this will be a fair fight between your son and my
friend,” Guardino said.
Don Antonio slowly sipped his coffee. He looked directly at
Guardino.
“I do not fight my son’s battles. He is capable of
fighting the foolish fights he himself begins, " Don Antonio said in English.
“Personally, I hope your friend knocks him on his ass, as you Americans say.”
The two men laughed.
Later that night, Russo and Guardino arranged for a car
to take their wives and sons to a restaurant in Palermo, but Mike Guardino
slipped away and hid behind a low wall near the beach to watch the fight.
Lights were strung over a near-regulation makeshift
boxing ring. Di Salvo came out in boxing gloves and a pair of shorts, his bare torso and arms thick with
toned muscle. The large crowd cheered for him.
Russo and Guardino walked towards the ring. Russo had on boxing gloves and was in
shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, which covered his protruding belly and
showed his big arms. His bare legs were as thick as three stumps.
The fight began with Di Salvo delivering a series of
solid blows to Russo’s face and middle. Although Russo’s left eye was closed,
and his nose bloodied, he stood toe-to-toe with his younger opponent and traded
punches.
Then Russo delivered a good left to Di Salvo’s middle and
a strong right hook to Di Salvo’s ear, which dropped him hard to the canvas.
The crowd gasped, and some brave souls even cheered. Di
Salvo got up quickly and showed that he was not injured. It appeared that only
his pride was hurt. He rushed Russo and pounded him, but the old cook took the beating and stayed on his feet.
Round two saw the two hit each other repeatedly and both
were bloodied. Russo looked the worst of the two, as he had blood coming from
his eyes, ears and nose. The referee the resort had hired tried to stop the
fight.
Russo would not have it. He waved Di Salvo on.
Like Rocky Marciano, Russo’s hero, Russo dropped his
right hand low to the canvas and then brought it up swiftly where it connected under Di Salvo’s chin. Di Salvo collapsed on the canvas floor.
The referee gave Di
Salvo an “eight count” and then Di Salvo rose slowly to his feet.
He came at Russo slowly, cautiously. Russo leaned on the
ropes with his hands up. His left eye was closed, and his right eye was filled
with blood, so he had trouble seeing Di Salvo. But when Di Salvo came in slugging,
Russo wrapped his left arm around his opponent and drove his right hand repeatedly
into Di Salvo’s middle.
Di Salvo tried to break free as well as block the
powerful blows to his body, but Russo had swung him around and pinned him
against the ropes. The referee tried to break up the fighters, but he was not strong
enough.
Finally, Di Salvo collapsed in Russo’s grip and Russo let
him drop to the canvas.
The next day a much humbled and bruised Di Salvo walked up to Russo’s table and bowed to the two families assembled for lunch.
He brought a bottle of fine wine and offered it to Russo.
“My father suggested that I apologize for my rude
behavior and congratulate you on your win in the boxing ring,” Di Salvo said. “As
always, my father offers wise advice. I am truly sorry if my boorish behavior spoiled
your vacation.”
“Apology accepted,” Russo said gruffly. “Sit down and
have a drink with us.”
Di Salvo sat down. This time, Di Salvo offered a Sicilian
toast.
“If you and I recover sufficiently during your stay, I’d
like to once again challenge you," Di Salvo said. "But not in the boxing ring!”
Everyone at the table laughed.
“We can set up targets here. How are you with guns?” Di Salvo asked Russo. “Can you
shoot?”
“Ask the Nazis he kicked off this island,” Guardino said.
© Paul Davis 2018
Note: You can read my other crime stories via the below link:
www.pauldavisoncrime.com/2015/12/my-crime-fiction-stories.html
Note: You can read my other crime stories via the below link:
www.pauldavisoncrime.com/2015/12/my-crime-fiction-stories.html
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