Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry

by Mallory Monroe

  “They arrested her, Mick.”

  Mick knew who he meant. He could also detect terror in his brother’s voice. “The police?”

  “The FBI.”

  Mick’s heartbeat began to quicken. It was always far more complicated when the Feds were involved. “Did they give a reason?”

  “They said they found Campbell’s body.”

  Mick frowned. “That is not possible.”

  “They said they found his body in the house she rented, Mick. They found his body in that fucking house!”

  But Mick knew that couldn’t be. “It wasn’t left in the house. What are you saying? We moved it!”

  “I know we moved it!” Charles yelled, his voice on the verge of hysterics. “I was there! I know we moved it!”

  Mick knew there had to be something else going on. Were the Feds shitting with her to get her to talk? Or were they trying to out him, or Charles, or all of them? “Where are you now?” he asked his big brother.

  “On my way to Boston. They’re transporting her to the Boston jail now.”

  “When you arrive in Boston, do not go to the jail,” Mick said. “Go to the airstrip and wait for me. I’m on my way.”

  “Brent and Makayla’s on their way there now. So I guess I can do that.”

  “And Charles,” Mick added, “make certain you are not being followed.”

  There was an exasperated exhale over the phone. Mick knew Charles, a law and order man his whole life, hated to be on the wrong side of the law. But he’d go through fire for his children. Mick knew it now.

  “I’ll be careful,” Charles responded. “You just get here.” And then he ended the call.

  Mick let out his own exhale when the call ended.

  “The Feds on your case, boss?” the spotter asked.

  Mick looked at him as if he had lost his mind. His spotter, suddenly realizing his error too, began moving back. But it was too late. Mick took the barbells he had been lifting and threw them at the man, knocking him down with a force that took his breath away. “Don’t you ever question me about my own fucking business!” Mick yelled. “Not now. Not ever!”

  “I’m sorry, boss,” his longtime spotter said, as his butt pushed away from Mick, his hands lifted up to shield him from further harm, the barbells falling away from him. The pain that was ripping through his body was visible all over his face. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Please forgive me, sir. Please forgive me!”

  But as quickly as Mick had knocked him down, he wasn’t thinking about him anymore. He was thinking about his niece, and Boston, and why in the world were the Feds fucking with them like this?

  Charles was leaned against his Jaguar, with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankle. His shades shielded his worried eyes as he watched the Gulfstream Jet descend from the clouds and land at the Boston airstrip. Charles was a wealthy man. By Jericho’s standards, he was the wealthiest. But his kid brother Mick, like their cousins the Gabrinis, was among the mega-rich. And like the superrich, Mick’s excesses often astounded Charles, even as the mobster in Mick concerned him. But in times like these, he was glad to have Mick in his corner. They were up against the FBI, and they were the point. Mick, in Charles’s mind, was the counterpoint.

  The steps of the plane dropped down and within seconds Mick descended in his flapping black suitcoat. He hurried down and across the tarmac alone. Men like him usually ran with entourages, especially at a time like this. But there was no one waiting but Charles as if Mick didn’t trust anybody else to handle this situation but himself, and his big brother.

  “Where’s Jenay?” Mick asked as he approached.

  “I wouldn’t let her come. She’s still recovering.”

  Mick stared at Charles. “Recovering from what?”

  Charles didn’t keep his brother in the loop. He regretted it. “Somebody shot up the B & B a couple weeks ago. One of the bullets grazed her arm.”

  “Any idea who might have fired the shots?”

  “I saw the prick,” Charles said. “Some political agitator named Abe Norris, although we found out that’s not his real name. But that’s all we found out about him. He was protesting my ownership rights in Jericho. I’m a monopoly, let him and his ilk tell it.”

  “He’s still at large?”

  Charles nodded. “He’s still out there, yeah.”

  Mick stared at his brother. “You didn’t think I needed to know this?”

  “I had some men working it. I thought I had it under control. I didn’t know this shit was going to turn the way it turned. I thought that would be enough.”

  “It is never enough,” Mick said, “when it comes to our enemies. It always turns. And we have to face facts.”

  “Such as?”

  “Because of my involvement in this matter, perhaps my enemies have become yours.”

  Charles lifted his shades above his head, as if he had to get a better view of his brother. He knew the gravity of what he spoke. “You think that’s possible? You think somebody’s using what happened with Carly to get to you?”

  “I am not verse enough in what is going on to reach the ultimate conclusion right now,” Mick admitted. “But yes, that is what I think.”

  Charles closed his eyes and shook his head. “Good Lord,” he said. Then he looked at Mick. “But how could they have found out? Nobody knew but us.” Then Charles added: “And your men.”

  “I understand your concern. My men are not fools. They know what will befall them if they cross me. But, I am not foolish either. Every one of the men who worked for me that night are being round up as we speak. If it was one of them, I will know.”

  Charles nodded. He respected Mick’s efficiency.

  “What about Carly?” Mick asked. “What is her status?”

  “They have her here in Boston. In jail. Brent and Makayla are heading over there right now to try to win her release. Or at least see her and make sure she’s okay.”

  “And who is protecting Jenay?”

  Charles loved the fact that Mick cared deeply for Jenay. If Charles was his father-figure, Jenay was his mother-figure, and he seemed to place them both above the rest. “Tony’s protecting her and Bonita. I ordered him to make certain they both stay at home until I get back.” Charles frowned. “It was supposed to be Jenay’s first day back at work. But it can’t be helped.”

  “No, it can’t,” Mick said. “But don’t worry. It is probably not her they are after.”

  “But we can never be too sure until we are,” Charles said.

  Mick nodded. “Right,” he said.

  And then they got into Charles’s Jaguar, and Charles sped away.

  It took several trips around the various blocks until the two men were convinced they were not being followed. And then they drove to the spot on the preserve just outside of Boston where they oversaw the burial of Ethan Campbell’s body. But it wasn’t even close. They didn’t have to get out of the car. For the marker they laid to identify the body, a stone of a unique shape, had been rolled away and the ground upturned in dramatic fashion. The body had not only been dug up and removed, but the grave diggers didn’t care who knew. The in your face nature of the dig suggested to Mick and Charles immediately that whoever dug up that grave wanted them to know. They wanted to be certain that the allegations the FBI leveled against Carly were substantiated. The Feds had the body. And somebody put that body in Carly’s old house.

  “We’re in trouble, Mick,” Charles said as the reality of what they were witnessing began to sink in.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trevor Reese entered the Boston police station within minutes of Carly’s arrival. He removed his gloves as he hurried to the information desk. “Where is she?” he asked urgently.

  “Where is who, sir?” the desk sergeant responded.

  “Where is the young black woman that just arrived here?”

  “The one with the Feds?” he asked.

  “Yes, I imagin
e so.” Trevor wasn’t sure if the FBI would have escorted her here, but he knew it was plausible. “Where is she?”

  “They just took her in the back, sir. To process her in. Then they’re going to question her.”

  That seemed backwards to Trevor as he hurried to the security door. “Open it,” he ordered. “And tell the chief I want to see him.”

  “Yes, sir,” the desk sergeant said as he pressed the button, the door unlocked, and Trevor hurried inside.

  A patrolman walked over to the sergeant. “Still throwing his weight around,” he said. “You should have told him to go fuck himself.”

  “And lose my ability to feed my family?” the sergeant responded. “Not to mention I just might lose my life when that asshole gets through with me? You go tell him.”

  The patrolman looked as if he just might, but then he walked away.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” the sergeant said as he picked up the phone to notify the chief.

  Behind the security door, Trevor made his way toward Booking. When he saw Carly standing there, waiting next in line to be booked, his heart dropped. He wanted to hurry to her, the way he hurried to Boston when he got the word. But he composed himself. He’d do what he could to get her out of this jeopardy, and then get out of her life again. He erred by going to her house in the first place. That was a disaster. He almost showed his hand too much. He wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

  He walked over to Carly just as she walked up to the window and lifted her hand for the fingerprint man.

  He took her hand in his. “Not yet,” he said.

  Carly was astounded to see Trevor in that police station. Didn’t he say he was on his way to Canada? How did he get back to Boston? And why was he here, in this police station? She was as puzzled as she was confused.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Reese?” a voice said behind them.

  They both turned. It was the chief of the Boston police department.

  “Yes,” Trevor said. “We need to talk.”

  “Is this young lady the subject?”

  “Yes,” said Trevor.

  “The FBI are waiting to have a round or two with her.”

  “I understand.”

  “There’s just so much I can do.”

  “I understand,” Trevor said again. “We need to talk.”

  The chief didn’t like it, Carly could tell he didn’t like it one bit. But to her own astonishment, he caved. And escorted them out of the Booking room, and down the hall to his own office.

  Brent and Makayla entered the police department certain that the most they could hope for was a meeting with Carly. But when they weren’t getting even that much from the desk sergeant, they decided to change their approach.

  “I’m her attorney,” Makayla said, “and I demand to see my client.”

  Makayla was an attorney, but as the district attorney for Jericho County she wasn’t anybody’s private attorney. But tough times called for tough measures and she didn’t hesitate. She knew Brent, and she knew her in-laws. They were not going to rest until somebody eyeballed Carly in that jailhouse.

  “Her attorney?” the desk sergeant asked.

  “Yes, sir. And I demand to see my client.”

  “What are you doing here with the chief of police if you’re her attorney?” the officer asked. Then he looked at Brent. “Didn’t you say you was the police chief up in Maine?”

  “I am, but I also said I was Carly Sinatra’s brother. I’m here in that capacity.”

  “With her lawyer?”

  “That’s right,” Brent said. He and Makayla were not the kind of people who lied easily, and this was uncomfortable as hell for both of them. But he’d do much more, and did already, for Carly.

  “You can’t go in,” the sergeant said. “They aren’t letting her see any relatives just yet. But I might be able to give her lawyer a few minutes.”

  “Fine,” Brent said. It wasn’t, but it was better than not seeing her at all.

  “Have a seat and I’ll look into it,” the sergeant said.

  Brent had a feeling that it was a stall tactic, but he didn’t argue with the man. Not yet anyway. He and Makayla took a seat. He crossed his legs, placed his big hat on his knee, and placed her hand in his.

  It would take several minutes, but the side door eventually opened and a tall, well-dressed white man walked out. Brent and Makayla both looked at him. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Are you here for Carly?”

  Brent and Makayla stood up. “Yes,” Brent said.

  “She’s right behind me,” the gentleman said. “She’s just been released.”

  Makayla looked at Brent. Was this a joke? “Released?” Brent asked the man.

  “Why, yes.”

  “And you know this how?”

  The side door opened again, and Carly walked out. “Carly!” Makayla said and ran to her. They hugged.

  But Brent was still looking at this stranger. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Trevor Reese,” the gentleman said, extending his hand. “Carly’s former employer.”

  Brent thought something smelled fishy. Now he knew it. This guy showed up at his father’s house out of the blue, and then shortly thereafter Carly was arrested. And now he managed to get her released? Brent looked at Carly and Makayla. “Wait here,” he ordered.

  But Carly was confused. “They let me go, Brent. Why should I have to wait in this place?”

  “Because I said so,” Brent said, and walked out of the exit doors.

  Makayla held Carly closer. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “He just wants to make sure.”

  Carly looked at Trevor. He smiled and hunched his shoulder. “Anyway,” he said, “I’ve got a plane to catch. I leave you in the hands of your family.” Then his look changed. It was almost an affectionate look, if Carly had to describe it. But she knew better. Trevor Reese never showed affection to anyone. “Take care,” he said to her, nodded at Makayla, and left.

  Makayla looked at Carly. “Were you two guys an item when you lived in Boston?”

  “No,” Carly said, still reeling from her arrest, from that night in Boston two-and-a-half months ago, and from Trevor reemergence in her life. “It was a complete employer-employee relationship. Totally professional.”

  “But he’s the one who showed up at your parents’ home this morning. Isn’t he?”

  Carly nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Out of the blue he showed up. Then he said he was on his way to Canada. But then he’s here within minutes of my arrival. He wouldn’t even let them process me in, or place me in a jail cell.”

  Makayla was surprised. “He has that kind of pull?”

  Carly nodded. “Apparently so because they wouldn’t do it. Then he started calling in all kinds of favors and the next thing I knew, the commissioner showed up and said I was free to go. There was no evidence to support that I had anything to do with Ethan Campbell’s death.”

  “No evidence?” Makayla asked. “Even though they found his body in the house you used to rent?”

  “Right,” Carly said, and looked at Makayla. “Weird, hun?”

  Makayla nodded. “I’d say,” she said.

  Charles and Mick were driving back to the airstrip. Mick was in deep thought while Charles drove. Silence reigned supreme, as talking about what they saw at that burial site would only produce speculation on top of speculation and none of it would give them any more information. Until the car phone rang. When Charles saw that it was Brent’s cell phone calling, he quickly pressed the speaker button of his car phone. “Brent, hey.”

  “Found anything?” Brent asked.

  “Yeah,” Charles responded. “An empty grave.”

  Brent closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me that. Geez.”

  “How’s Carly?”

  Brent opened his eyes. The news of the empty grave was only part of the story. “That’s why I’m calling. They released her, Dad.”

  Charles almost slammed on brakes. Mick was stunned too. “They
released her?” Charles asked. “They had the hearing already?”

  “No. No hearing.”

  Charles frowned. “Then what are you talking about, Brent? They released her on her own recognizance?”

  “They released her,” Brent said. “They never booked her. They will not be filing charges.”

  Charles ran his hand through his thick hair. It should have been great news, but he and Mick knew it wasn’t. After seeing that burial site, they knew it couldn’t be.

  “And Dad,” Brent added, “guess who was behind her release?”

  “Who?” Mick quickly asked.

  “Trevor Reese,” Brent said.

  Charles couldn’t believe it. “Trevor Reese? But he said he was on his way to Canada. How the hell did he get to Boston?”

  “Who is he?” Mick asked.

  “Carly’s former boss,” Charles responded. “The guy who represented Ethan Campbell.”

  Even Mick’s heart began to hammer. “Where is he now?” he asked.

  “He just left the station,” Brent said. “I don’t know where he’s headed.”

  Mick pulled out his cell phone.

  “What do you want me to do, Dad?” Brent asked.

  Charles looked at Mick. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Mick nodded. “Hell yeah.”

  “Get Carly and Makayla,” Charles ordered his son, “and get your asses to the airstrip.”

  “The airstrip?” Brent asked.

  “Get to my plane,” Mick said as he searched his phone for a particular number. “We need everybody together until we can figure this shit out.”

  Brent didn’t even question it, or what they were going to do about the cars they drove to Boston. His father had called in his Uncle Mick. His father had called in that level of backup. It was out of his hands now.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  While the entire Sinatra clan were gathered in the family room, Charles, Mick, and Brent were gathered together in the study. Charles was seated behind the desk, Mick was seated on the edge of the desk beside Charles, and Brent was leaned against the window behind the desk watching and listening to them both.