Mayhem in Music City
an excerpt

Fat Sal thought for a moment. “I want these two entertainment establishment to have some insurance trouble.” Fat Sal used that as a euphemism for arson or various other forms of mayhem and violence.

“Boss, I don’t know about that one there”, Joey said, pointing to the second pin on the map, “I hear that Little Jimmy Dickens is friends with the owners.”

“So who’s this ‘Little Jimmy Dickens?’ You think I’m scared of some sort of southern-fried Mob guy”? Of course, when your nickname is “Fat Sal”, you think everyone is a mob guy.

“Boss, you don’t know who Little Jimmy Dickens is? He’s like one of the pillars of the freakin’ community here”.
“I don’t care about Little Jimmy What’s-his-name; I want the place closed up!” Fat Sal shouted. “You afraid of him? Is he supposed to be a tough guy?”
“Worse, Boss. He’s some kinda freakin’ saint. It’d be like messin’ around with Mother Teresa!”
“Joey, you shut your freakin’ mouth, talking about an almost-saint like that. I don’t want to hear nothin’ bad about no nuns.”

Now, Fat Sal was born a Catholic, and he was baptized by Father Joseph - his uncle on his mother’s side. Of course, Sal once had to lean on Uncle Joe when the good father had forbidden him from bringing in a busload of into the K of C Hall to provide entertainment for the guys watching the Notre Dame game one week.

Everyone said beating up Father Joe was bad luck, because the next year the Irish picked some high school coach from Cincinnati to run the team. Sal had lost a bundle on the Irish for a couple of seasons after that. And, technically, Sal had been excommunicated for roughing up a priest, but Fat Sal wasn’t one to worry over technicalities..

Joey tried another tack. “Boss, it’s be like messin’ with the Pancake Pantry”.

If there is one thing a guy named Fat Sal knew, it was food. He thought for a second. “Ok, we’ll lay off of your Little Jimmy’s favorite joint. For now.”