“But think about it, Mal. Think about what you’re doing. You’re giving up the big time for love.”
Makayla looked at him. Why did that seem so disgusting to him? But it was. She could see it in his stormy eyes.
And he would not relent. “Do you realize how pathetic that sounds? Giving up your future, your career, for love? Do you realize how dumb that makes you? You’re pathetic, Mal!”
He was being vicious now, she thought. But that wasn’t going to sway her either. She’d been on the receiving end of putdowns more vicious than he could ever spout all of her life. From parents who abandoned her to an alcoholic aunt, who abandoned her to an uncaring State, who abandoned her to foster parents in it for the money, she was accustomed to life itself putting her down. But that same resilient spirit that forced her to look inside of herself because she was all alone in this world, and that made her work even harder in school, and made her determined to live her life on her own terms, was still in control. And people like Neal and their putdowns could go to hell as far as she was concerned. There was nothing pathetic about living, not the life others wanted for her, but the life she wanted for herself. She lost herself when she fell for Neal. She found herself again when she had the courage to leave him, and to walk away from that dream job in D.C. he dangled in front of her like a shiny, golden trap.
But Neal didn’t see resolve in her big, beautiful eyes. He saw anger. And he did not back down. “That’s right, I said it,” he said. “You’re pathetic. You’re still that same little foster care girl looking for love in all the wrong places and a daddy figure in all the wrong men. That’s how you got attached to me. That’s how you’re getting attached to this police chief. And I did my homework on him. I did my research. Don’t think for a second you’re going to bat your pretty eyes and sashay your big ass in front of him and wrap him around your finger the way you did me, because you’re not. That man is going to break your heart. I did my research on him. He’ll break it in two. He may live in a hick town, but he’s no hick.”
Makayla didn’t like the idea of Neal checking up on any aspect of her private life, especially when it involved Brent, but she wasn’t about to let him know how she felt. She was never going to let him see her sweat ever again. She smiled instead. “He’s no hick? Since when? Even you called him that Jethro from Jericho.”
But Neal didn’t take the bait. “He’s no hick, I’m telling you,” he said. “He’s got relatives in organized crime from the east coast to the west. His father’s brother, Mick Sinatra, is a gangster of the lowest degree. The Feds have been trying to get him on racketeering charges for years. His cousin Sal Gabrini and all of that Gabrini clan are gangster as they come. And don’t forget what happened to Sinatra’s grandfather on those courthouse steps after you successfully exonerated him and freed him from prison. Sinatra’s father, who didn’t want him freed, was behind that assassination. I’ll always believe that. That’s why they call him Big Daddy. He thinks he’s a law onto himself. And you want to go live around people like that? And then there’s your precious Brent Sinatra. He’s no saint either. He has a bad reputation as a badass brutal cop himself, a cop that the few blacks in Jericho despises.”
“Now you’re lying,” Makayla said, and Neal was not misreading her anger this time.
“I’m lying?”
“Yes, you’re lying,” Makayla replied firmly. “Brent is tough. Yes, he’s tough. He doesn’t take crap from anybody. But he’s fair and he’s honest, and the people in that town, be they black, white, or otherwise, knows it. And you think I can take comfort in your research? You used to be Attorney General of this state and didn’t know a thing about any of the jurisdictions you were supposed to serve. You relied on me and the rest of your staff to do all the heavy lifting for you. Any so-called researching you did has to be flawed. The fact that you just attempted to paint Brent Sinatra as some crooked cop just proved it.”
Neal stared at her, but she no longer saw anger. She saw sadness. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”
Makayla was stunned that he would have ever thought he could. “Nothing,” she said. It was the end of the road for them for real. It had been the end five years ago. Why was he suddenly attempting to resuscitate something that had long since died?
Then he smiled a joyless smile and nodded his head. “Alright,” he said, as if he was accepting defeat, although she could tell he wasn’t. “I’ll go. I’ll leave you to your madness. Because you are mad. You’re out of your mind barking with crazy if you go to Jericho chasing that man. You will be making the biggest mistake of your life. That cop isn’t going to be faithful to you, what are you thinking? He’s rich, he’s great looking, and he’s surrounded by women ready to give it up to him at the drop of those hats he loves to wear. And his father already hates your guts for recommending that prison release for his old man? Those people in Jericho don’t want you there.”
“Just leave, Neal,” Makayla said. “Just leave.”
Neal looked at her with nothing but contempt in his eyes, although she saw the hurt there too. “I don’t know why I even bothered,” he said. “You aren’t worth it, I see that now. I hope your ass gets exactly what you deserve, which is a whole lot of nothing. Because you’re nothing, Makayla. You could have been something special if you would have stayed with me. But you meet some yahoo and give up your entire promising future.” Then he smiled a smile that was not only joyless, but wicked. “He must be putting it on you good or you wouldn’t be doing this. Sex has got to be it. A trash-barrel whore like you? Oh, yeah. It’s all about sex. That’s all you’re good for anyway.”
Then Neal looked down at her body as if he was remembering a bygone era, and looked back into her eyes. Only he looked pathetic now, as if he knew what he had lost and could not bear to face it another second. He left her office, slamming the door as he closed it behind him.
Makayla continued to sit behind her desk in an unsettled state. Neal had blindsided her with his presence and she didn’t like to be blindsided. And the nastiness of his words. And the way he was so certain Brent was going to break her heart.
She knew she was taking a risk. Leaving her job in D.C. was a tough enough career move on its own, but it paled in comparison to the decision she was now making in this move to Jericho. And Neal was right. She was taking an awful risk, she knew she was. And it worried her. It worried her mightily. But if she didn’t try, Makayla felt that she would be taking an even greater risk. She would risk losing the love of her life. That risk worried her more.
But then her office door flew opened and Neal walked in again. He walked in so fast and furiously that Makayla had only just looked up before he was almost to her desk. And then he pulled out a gun and changed the game.
Makayla jumped from her chair stunned shitless, and began moving backwards toward the window. “What are you doing, Neal? Neal, what are you doing?!”
He was shaking his head, as if she of all people should know why it had come to this, and he wouldn’t stop advancing. “I can’t live without you, Mal,” he said as he advanced. “I won’t live without you!”
And before Makayla could say another word, or fix her mouth to scream any sound at all, he fired, one shot, straight through the head.
And just like that it was over.
Just like that the end of a road he refused to see was made plain.
By the time the staffers ran into the office, as they ran in even before Security could be summoned, the blood was already bright red and gushing out.
CHAPTER THREE
“Chief’s here,” a young patrolman said as he hurried into the Jericho County Police Station and made a quick run for his desk. “He just drove up. The chief is here!”
The laughing and talking immediately ceased and everybody inside the squad room became busier than bees. Suddenly they were answering telephones that had been ringing unanswered, and suddenly they were filing files and writing up reports and doing anything and eve
rything to avoid the chief’s wrath. Two of their fellow officers were already in his crossfire. None of them wanted to be the third.
Brent Sinatra walked into the station unable to suppress his anger. It always happened on his day off. None of this shit took place when he was in his office and raring to go. But this was serious. A suspect had been badly beaten while in police custody and was in the hospital fighting for his life. Brent had just left the hospital. He saw the extent of those injuries. Nobody was going anywhere until he found out how a suspect of reasonable health could end up hospitalized after meeting up with his officers, just for snatching a purse.
“Where?” he asked the desk sergeant, who stood up behind the big reception desk when Brent walked in.
“The interrogation room, sir,” the sergeant responded. “Cap’s with them now.”
Brent headed toward the back of the squad room. Nobody spoke to him. Nobody looked his way. They wanted to be invisible, and wanted nothing to do with the brewing scandal. Because they knew their chief. They knew Brent Sinatra projected the image of a cool cat outside, but was a roaring lion inside. “Fuck with him,” Eddie Rivers once warned them, “and you’ll quickly find out what it’s really liked to be fucked.”
Captain Eddie Rivers was in the interrogation room, leaned against the wall. Two uniformed officers were also present, sitting at the table. Brent removed his big hat and tossed it onto the hat rack, smoothed down his wavy black hair, and then walked up to the metal table where the officers sat side by side. He unbuttoned his suit coat and looked at them: Saunders and McCurdy. One was a six-year veteran cop. One, Saunders, had only a year under his belt.
“What happened?” Brent asked them.
But McCurdy looked at Saunders as if it was all his fault, and Saunders looked at McCurdy as if he bore the brunt.
Eddie Rivers frowned. “What’s the matter now? Cat got your tongues now motherfuckers? You had a lot to say when you were beating that prisoner into submission!”
Brent looked at Eddie. “What happened?” he asked him.
“These two assholes called in a purse snatching over on Lakeview. They said they returned the purse to the old lady but were going to bring the suspect in. Sarge gave the all-clear and everything was fine. But it takes them two hours to get here.”
Brent frowned. “From Lakeview? It’s two minutes away!”
“Right,” Eddie said. “But it takes these pricks two hours. And get this, Chief: when they bring the suspect in, he’s so badly beaten his eyes are swollen shut and he can barely walk. We had to rush him to Jericho General without delay.”
Brent looked at the officers again. “You worked over one of my prisoners?”
“No, sir,” Saunders said quickly, but McCurdy elbowed him, and he quickly stopped talking.
“What happened to him if you didn’t touch him?” Brent asked.
“Our union rep told us we had a right to remain silent and didn’t have to say anything,” McCurdy said to his boss.
Brent frowned. “What?”
McCurdy didn’t back down. “Our union rep told us---”
But before he could continue to tell what his union rep told them, the inward, out-of-nowhere rage Brent was known for came out, and Brent reached over, dragged McCurdy across the table, and then threw him against the wall.
Saunders, shocked by the chief’s rage, jumped to his feet.
Eddie, not stunned at all, nodded his head. That bastard was getting exactly what he deserved.
“You don’t work for any gotdamn union rep,” Brent roared at McCurdy. “You work for me! And I asked you a question. What happened to my prisoner while he was in your custody? You tell me exactly what went down and you tell me now!”
McCurdy looked at Saunders, as if he knew their well-rehearsed story was going to fall apart if he wasn’t careful. But he also knew he wasn’t getting out of there alive if he didn’t answer his chief’s questions. “We didn’t do it,” he said. “We arrested him like we were supposed to, but he started acting crazy in the patrol car.”
“What do you mean crazy?”
“Crazy. Like he lost his mind.”
“And what did you do about it?”
“Nothing,” Saunders said, and Brent and Eddie looked at him. “We didn’t do nothing,” Saunders continued. “We left him alone.”
“He injured himself,” Brent said. “Is that what you’re telling me? He beat his face so badly that he shut his own eyes? He broke his own bones? He left shoe prints on his own clothes because he’s the world’s most gifted contortionist and knew how to kick himself in the ass?”
Saunders looked at McCurdy. McCurdy looked defeated, but he knew he had to stick to the story. He repeated the line they had obviously rehearsed. “We didn’t touch him,” he said again. “He did it to himself.”
It took all Brent had to contain his fury. “Well what I’m about to do, you didn’t do to yourselves. I’m doing this to you. Where’s your service revolvers?”
“I confiscated them already, Chief,” Eddie said.
Brent was pleased to hear that. “Turn over your badges,” he said to his two uniforms.
McCurdy was stunned. “Turn over our badges? But our union rep said---”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what your union rep said!” Brent blared. “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with? No union runs this police force. I run it! Turn over your badges now. You disgrace that shield.”
Eddie went to them and reached out his hand. “You heard the chief,” he said. “Hand them over.”
As they reluctantly removed their badges and handed them over, Brent went to the door, opened it, and called for two additional uniformed officers. They hurried in.
“Yes, sir?” the more eager one asked.
“Cuff them, frisk them, and then perp-walk their asses to a cell,” Brent ordered.
“Yes, sir,” they both replied and then removed their cuffs and headed toward their endangered fellow officers.
But McCurdy, who was shocked, jerked away from any handcuffs. “What are you doing, sir? You can suspend us, but you can’t arrest us!”
“Wanna bet?” Eddie asked as he grabbed McCurdy himself and cuffed him. One of the called-in officers cuffed Saunders.
But Saunders was pleading his case too. “Our union rep said we have forty-eight hours to give our statements,” Saunders declared. “He said that’s the law. It hasn’t been forty-eight hours.”
“But you gave a statement,” Brent reminded him. “You gave it under duress, yes, you did. But you gave it. And since I don’t believe one word either one of you spoke, you’re under arrest. You two will pay for what you did to that young man if it’s the last thing you do.” Then he looked at the arresting officers. “Read them their rights and get them out of here. Be respectful, even though they didn’t do the same to that young man.”
The two arresting officers grabbed their colleagues and left the interrogation room. Eddie closed the door. He and Brent looked at each other. Brent ran the back of his hand across his eyes.
“We’ve got to do something about this, boss,” Eddie said.
“I agree.”
“Certain guys on this Force have no business being on anybody’s Force and we’ve got to get them out of here. We thought we got rid of the bad apples when you first became chief. But there’s still plenty left.”
“And the ones who are left are sneaky with it,” Brent agreed. “Until they overdo it.”
“But since they’re so sneaky with it,” Eddie asked, “we’re having trouble spotting them.”
Brent had been a cop for almost fourteen years, well over a decade, but Eddie had been one for two decades. Brent respected and relied on his second-in-command. “We certainly can’t keep waiting until they fuck up,” Brent said.
Eddie agreed. “That’s for damn sure.”
“Compile a list of every officer involved in any kind of citizen complaints over the past two years.”
“And then?”
“More work for the two of us. We’re going to have to keep an eye on them. I don’t trust anybody else to do it.”
“Neither do I,” Eddie said. “And it’s needful, Brent. I have my eyes on a couple of them already.”
“I’ve got a few in my sight too,” Brent said, and walked over to grab his hat.
“That damn union prevents good policing.”
“Don’t knock the union,” Brent said. “They do what they’re supposed to do. They look out for their officers.”
Then Eddie looked at Brent. He had something else on his mind. “I heard Chief Joffee died.”
Brent glanced back. “Oh, yeah?” Joffee was the former chief of police that Brent replaced. “Sorry to hear that. What happened to him?”
“Old age probably. And all that heavy drinking didn’t help.”
But even Brent could tell Eddie had something on his mind, and it wasn’t Chief Joffee’s death. He grabbed his hat, and waited for Eddie to get to the point.
“Some day off, hun?” Eddie asked.
“Tell me about it.”
“So what do you plan to do?”
“I think I’ll go home, change, and go fishing. Then who knows?”
Eddie hesitated. Then he decided what the hell. “I heard Makayla’s moving to Jericho.”
Brent looked at his captain. When Makayla first came to town, and before she and Brent hooked up, Eddie had a thing for her. She was this big, busty bombshell of a gorgeous black woman in a town where black women were in short supply. He subsequently backed off when it became obvious that she and Brent were going to give it a go, but those first impressions were hard to forget. “Yeah,” Brent said, “she’s making the move. She accepted a position in the D.A.’s office.”
Eddie smiled. “You going to be able to handle that?”
“Handle who? Makayla? I’ve been handling her for the past four years. What’s going to be different now?”
Brent Sinatra: All of Me Page 3
