The below short story first appeared in American
Crime Magazine in 2018:
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 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 an email 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 in South Philly. Mike knew the owner and we were served great
Italian sausage sandwiches and red wine.
Mike said he felt like
he knew me, as he was a regular reader of 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 late 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 told me he served more
than a decade later on a Navy Destroyer in the Mediterranean. I
also discovered that like me, my cousin was an amateur boxer while in the
Navy.
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 “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 and bar owner.
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 gave 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, who didn’t
understand Sicilian, 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.
“Meet me on the beach
– now!” Russo said to Di Salvo in Sicilian.
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 police 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. “Frankly, 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 makeshift near-regulation 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 tree 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 nose 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 boxing 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. Russo rained down punches into Di
Salvo. 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.
©
2018 Paul Davis
Note: You can read my
other crime fiction short stories via the link below:
Paul
Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction Stories
