“I don’t know how it can’t be one of your men, Mick,” Charles was saying. “Who the hell else would know?”
“It is not one of my men. They have been checked and double-checked. They check out.”
“But who else but some mobster would do such a thing?” Charles asked, his face flustered. “Move a fucking body? And take it back to Carly’s old house? Whoever did this knows what happened in that house.”
Mick knew what Charles spoke was the truth. “They’re coming here,” he said.
“Who?” Brent asked.
Mick exhaled. “My men. The ones from that night in Boston. They’re on their way to Jericho.”
Brent unfolded his arms and looked at his father. Charles was staring at Mick. “You suspect something?” Charles asked. “I thought you said they checked out.”
“They did. But that’s the problem. You pose the question yourself. Who the hell else would know?”
“Maybe somebody followed you guys to that burial site,” Brent said.
“Nobody followed us,” Mick said.
“But what if they did?”
“They did not!” Mick blared and slammed his fist on the desk. “I’ve been burying bodies my entire adult life, boy! All my life! Not one of those bodies has ever been discovered. Not one!”
“Until now,” Charles said firmly, looking Mick dead in the eye. Mick looked at him. “And you get control of that temper around my son,” Charles added.
Mick let out a harsh exhale. No man would have ever had the nerve to tell Mick to get control of anything and expect to live to tell about it. Except his big brother Charles. A man he respected above any man alive. The man who raised him, after their father went to prison for murdering their mother, with love and an iron fist. He settled back down.
Brent continued to stare at his uncle. He knew who he was. He knew he was Mick the Tick. As in an explosive ticking time bomb of a temper. As in mob boss who handled all kinds of horrific mob matters. He knew his uncle was responsible for some seriously fucked-up deeds in his life. And now Brent and his father and mother, not to mention Carly, were caught up in that life too. But Brent knew this deed wasn’t his uncle’s fault. They were the ones who called him in.
The door to the study opened, and Jenay walked in. Charles looked at her. He hated that she had to be involved in any of this. “Hey, babe,” he said.
“I heard loud voices,” she said as she walked toward the desk. “Everything alright?”
Mick stood and began to pace the floor. Brent shook his head and turned toward the window, looking out onto the well maintained grounds of his parents’ home. Charles leaned forward. “We’re going in circles,” he said.
“So now you’re a circular firing squad?” Jenay asked.
Charles managed to smile. Jenay always had a way with words. “Something like that,” he said. “Where’s everybody?”
“In the family room.”
“Carly okay?”
Jenay nodded. “Donnie and Ash are asking her a lot of questions, but she’s weathering the storm. She’s pleased to be out, that’s for sure. But she’s worried, Charles.” Then Jenay frowned. “As am I.”
Charles hurried up from his desk, walked around, and pulled Jenay into his arms. Mick and Brent watched as Charles held her tightly. “It’s going to be alright,” he said to her. “It’s going to be alright, Jean.”
Brent was particularly concerned. He knew, whenever his father used Jenay’s rarely used nickname, it meant he was taking it to heart. He might not have been saying just the opposite, but he apparently wasn’t at all sure if everything was going to be alright.
Charles leaned slightly back and lifted Jenay’s chin. “You know we’re going to get through this,” he said. “Right?”
Jenay was still anguished. She was not the kind of woman who could pretend otherwise. “But who moved that body, Charlie?” she asked. “And what else do they know? Do they know that Carly . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Charles pulled her back into his big arms.
When they heard a knock on the study door, all of them looked in that direction. “Yes?” Charles asked.
The door was opened, and Tony stepped inside. “Sorry to disturb you guys,” he said, “but a Ross Falcone is here to see Uncle Mick.”
Charles looked at Mick. Mick nodded. Charles looked back at his son. “Send him in,” he said.
Tony glanced at Jenay’s worried face, and Brent’s, and felt a twinge of hurt that he was not included in what was obviously a family crisis. But he was a patient man. His dad would let him know when the time was right. He left the study.
“Who is this Falcone guy, Unc?” Brent asked.
“One of my men,” Mick said.
“He was there that night?”
Mick began walking toward the desk. “No. He wasn’t a part of that crew. He’s been looking into our Trevor Reese problem for me.”
“Good,” Charles said. “I hope he has some intel.”
Mick sat on the edge of the desk as the door re-opened, and a tall, muscular man in a business suit walked in. “Hey, boss,” he said when he saw Mick’s familiar face. He remembered Charles’s face that night too, but dared not say so. Men in his line of work never told.
“What did you find out, Fal?” Mick asked.
Falcone walked up to the desk and handed Mick a folder. Mick immediately handed the folder to Charles. “Tell me,” he said to Falcone as Charles began reviewing the folder.
“Trevor Reese runs a highly successful marketing firm. Reese Marketing. It’s out of Boston.”
“Where Carly worked?” Mick asked Charles and Jenay.
“That’s where she worked,” Jenay responded, “yes.”
“It’s successful as hell, boss,” Falcone said, “with a powerful client list.”
“I see,” Charles said, reviewing the file.
“But it’s a front,” Falcone said.
Brent unfolded his arms and began to move toward the others. Even Charles stopped reviewing the paperwork and looked too. “A front?” he asked.
“It’s a front,” Falcone repeated while nodding his head.
Mick was surprised too. “A front for what?”
“That’s the thing, boss. We have no idea. We couldn’t find out shit about this guy.”
“Then how do you know his marketing firm is a front?” Brent asked.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not legit, Brent,” Mick explained. “I run Sinatra Industries. An international corporation. That’s legit too. But sometimes legitimate organizations can help to mask other things.”
“You mean like illegitimate business interests?” Brent asked.
“Like that, yes,” Mick said.
Charles’s heart began to pound. “Are you telling us,” he asked Falcone, “that Trevor Reese is a mobster?”
“I can’t say that he is,” Falcone responded. “I can’t say that he isn’t. We just don’t know. The only reason we know that marketing firm of his is a front for other things is because of his activities and his schedules over the years. This guy is all over the place. But he has no clients in those places. None. Like right now. He flew on his private jet to Canada. But we checked his client logs. He has no clients in Canada.”
“But he could have a new client he’s going to meet,” Jenay said. “I don’t see where that’s determinative of anything.”
“And I agree with you, ma’am,” Falcone said, “if that was all we had. But check this out, boss,” he added, turning back to Mick. “When he got there, he didn’t go to some office or some house to meet with somebody.”
“Where did he go?” Mick asked.
“He went to a warehouse for the meeting.”
Mick knew what that meant. He had more than his share of meetings in warehouses too, and none of those meetings were legit. “Was he under heavy security?” he asked Falcone.
“The heaviest,” Falcone responded. “Our men couldn’t get close enough to see who he was
meeting with or anything like that.”
“But you’re certain something was undercover?” Brent asked.
“Warehouse meetings are never legit,” Mick pointed out. “That shit has mob written all over it.”
“Or Fed,” Charles said.
Everybody looked at him. “Fed?” Brent asked.
“Maybe that’s why he knew so quickly about Carly’s incarceration. Maybe he has inside information. How else would he have known?”
“That’s true,” Jenay said. “But maybe he was the one who led the FBI to Carly in the first place. They knocked on our front door in less than a half hour after he left.”
“But why would he get her released with no charges filed,” Brent asked, “if he led them to her?”
“So he could play the hero,” Charles responded to his son, “and Carly would confide in him.”
“And he would try to get her to confess to what happened that night,” Jenay added.
Falcone looked at Mick. “It makes sense, boss,” he said.
Mick was beginning to warm to their reasoning too. “Yeah, it does. It’s possible,” he said.
“But how can we find out?” Brent asked. “How can we test this possibility?”
“Only one way,” Mick responded. Then he looked at Charles. “Carly is going to have to bait him out,” he said.
But Charles was already shaking his head. “No way.”
“It’s the only way, Charles,” Mick said. “If I was certain he was mob, then her services would not be needed. I would know how to bait him myself. But if he’s Fed as you suggest, then we can’t do anything until we find out what level of Fed are we dealing with. Until we find out just what is he up to concerning Carly’s situation.”
“And how is my daughter expected to get to the bottom of this?” Charles asked.
“This is her life. This is her future we’re talking about. She’ll wine him, she’ll dine him, she’ll give him whatever he wants. She’ll fuck him if she has to.”
“Now just a minute!” Brent started, but Charles held up his hand.
“Go on,” Charles said to Mick.
“It’s the only way we can find out what this guy is up to. If my men couldn’t find out shit, that means it’s deep.”
“And dangerous?” Charles asked his brother.
Mick couldn’t lie to him. “Always that,” he said. Then he exhaled. “Look, I know she’s your sweet little girl and you love her dearly. But she wasn’t so sweet and little when she stabbed that man damn near thirty times. She was all grown up then. She’s got to work for her freedom. She’s got to fight for her life. That’s what will be expected of her.”
Mick’s cell phone began ringing as Jenay and Brent looked at Charles. They hated that it had come to this, but they knew Mick was right. Charles knew it too. That was the hardest part for him.
“What are you thinking, Charles?” Jenay asked him as Mick walked away to answer his phone call.
“I’m thinking Carly’s been through hell already. I’m thinking I don’t want to take her through anymore. But,” he added with a sense of resignation in his voice, “there doesn’t appear to be any other way. Unfortunately,” he said, looking at Jenay, “Mick is right. It’s her life, and her freedom we’re talking about.”
Mick ended his call and looked at Charles. “My men are in town.”
“Then let’s go,” Charles said, getting ready to leave.
Brent was about to follow the two men, but Charles put his hand on Brent’s chest and stopped him. Brent looked at his father. “What?” he asked.
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
“Dad!”
“You have a town to run, and a family to oversee. My family. You stay here. We’ll be back.”
Brent was accustomed to being on the front line of the action, not the backseat player. But it was his father and Mick Sinatra. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. He nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Charles gave Brent a double pat on his chest. Brent was the best oldest son a man could ever hope to have. He felt blessed to have him. Charles kissed Jenay, pulled her in his arms again, and then he and Mick left.
Brent looked at Jenay. “Are they serious?” he asked. “Is Daddy really going to let Carly anywhere near some guy who just might be Mafia just because Uncle Mick wants him to? How can he rely on that?”
Jenay, still holding the folder on Trevor Reese, saw the anguish in Brent’s eyes. She pulled him into her arms. Brent’s eyes squeezed shut. This was getting to him, and Jenay knew it. “Trust your father,” she whispered in his ear as she held his big body. “He loves all of us, but he sees a vulnerability in Carly that draws her to him.” Then she pulled back and looked Brent in his beautiful green eyes. “Daddy will never let anything happen to her. Rely on that.”
Brent looked at her and nodded. He always understood why his father loved Jenay above all those other women he used to have, but he understood it right now more than ever. And he hugged her again.
They sat in a cargo van on the outskirts of Jericho. Three men sitting strong, all lined up against the white metal wall. The fourth man, Craw, was standing, and when a knock was heard on the door, he was the one to slide it open. Mick and Charles got in and sat in seats across from the men.
“Why are we here, boss?” one of them asked.
“We had a breach,” Mick said. “I have a grave robber on my payroll.”
The men looked at each other. “A grave robber, boss?” one asked. “What do you mean?”
“The Boston job. What happened?”
“Nothing happened. We did our work and got out. Like we always do. We didn’t rob that grave. We didn’t say a word about that job. We’ve been working for you for years. We wouldn’t do anything like that!”
Then it suddenly dawned on Mick. He frowned. And looked at Craw. “Where the fuck is Anzino?” he asked.
Craw shook his head. “We couldn’t locate him.”
This surprised even Charles.
Mick frowned. “What do you mean you couldn’t locate him?”
“I couldn’t locate him. He didn’t return my calls. It happens. He’s probably on vacation or something.”
Mick stared at Craw as if he had just insulted him. Before Charles knew what was happening, Mick jumped up, grabbed Craw and slammed his head against the van’s metal wall. He continued to slam the man’s head, drawing blood, and Charles wanted to stop him. But these men were Mick’s men, and none of them were saints. Mick knew what he was doing.
“You tell me that one of my men won’t respond to an urgent callout,” Mick said, “and you don’t think that kind of information isn’t an important piece of information? What the fuck do you think a callout means? What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking like that, boss,” Craw said nervously. “Mag was just the driver. I didn’t think his not answering was a big deal.”
Wrong answer, the other men thought as Mick, angered by the response, banged Craw’s head even harder. “No big deal?” Mick screamed. “You think I’m doing this for my fucking health? Now he knows we had a callout. Now he knows his ass is on the grill! You stupid fuck! And it’s all because you unilaterally decided that my decision to find out if I had a breach didn’t need to include one of the men who could have caused the breach!”
“I didn’t mean it like that, boss. I thought you just wanted to talk to the grave diggers. Anzino was the driver. He’s never been deep in the action.”
“Until now, motherfucker,” Mick said, and angrily released Craw. “Until now!”
Craw, bleeding from the ear, slid down to the floor in excruciating pain. Charles expected the other men to help him, but they didn’t move a muscle. They, instead, took their cues from Mick. And Mick just stood there.
Charles watched his brother stand there as if he was catching his breath. Most men in that position would regret losing their temper that way. But Charles didn’t see regret anywhere on Mick’s ha
ndsome face. He saw anger and frustration, maybe even a little rage. But he never saw regret.
Mick looked at his men. “Remain in this area. Check into a motel.”
“Yes, sir,” the remaining men said.
“Stay put until you hear from me.” Then he looked at Craw. “And that includes you too, asshole.”
“Yes, yes, sir,” Craw said, the pain causing him to sweat profusely. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yes, yes, sir!”
Mick walked over to the door of the van, slid it open, and stepped out. Charles looked at Craw, and then stepped out too.
Mick had a handkerchief out, and was wiping his hands.
“You’re going after him?” Charles asked.
Mick looked at Charles as if he had lost his mind. “Does a lion roar?” he asked.
Charles nodded. He knew it was an obvious question when he asked it. But he needed to know Mick’s thinking. “You believe your man Anzino may be the breach?”
“He may. I will find out, believe that. It will probably take some time, so don’t expect overnight results. It could take weeks. If he’s guilty of betraying me, he’ll be hiding deep down undercover. But I’ll work that end until he’s found. Count on that.”
Then Mick looked hard at Charles. “But Carly will need to work Trevor Reese. She’s got to find out what he knows, and what he’s up to. Anzino might have told about the grave, and might have even unearthed that body. But there’s no way he took it back to Carly’s house by himself. He had power behind him.”
Charles stared at Mick. “Trevor Reese’s kind of power?”
Mick nodded. “That kind, yes. And I know you hate the thought of it, but it’s up to your daughter. Carly has got to be the one to crack his ironclad code. My men haven’t been able to do it. We can’t do it the traditional way. She has to be the one.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trevor Reese glanced at his watch one more time as he sat in the restaurant at the Jericho Inn. Carly had actually phoned his office and left a message for him to get in contact with her. He was still in Canada at the time, but he eventually returned her call. On his way back to Boston, Carly had said, she wondered if he could meet with her.
Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry Page 13
