Mick Sinatra 2: Love, Lies, and Jericho (23 page)

Robert
jumped out too, but Mick ordered him to stay with Roz, as he and Charles began
running toward the disabled car.
 
Charles
was running to protect his brother, not so much from the guy in the car, as
from himself.
 
Because he knew that much
about Mick. He knew Mick finished jobs.
 
But not on Charles’s watch.

But the guy
behind the wheel of the disabled car didn’t cooperate.
 
He was out and running through the woods on
the other side of the ditch just as Mick and Charles were approaching the
vehicle.
 
Mick aimed his weapon, ready to
fire, but Charles knocked his hand down.
 
“It was a hit and run,” Charles said. “It’s not worth dying over.
 
We have the car.
 
We have the license plate.
 
Brent will track him down and bring him to
justice.”

Mick didn’t
like to be handled this way.
 
His
instincts were telling him that this was a kill or be killed moment.
 
No ordinary hit and run.
 
But it was too late now.
 
Besides, he wasn’t in Philly anymore. He was
in Jericho.
 
Charles called the shots
here.

After it was
clear the driver had gotten away, Robert and Roz ran over too.
 
Mick placed his arm around Roz, asking if she
was okay again, and they returned to his Maserati.
 
Charles called Brent while they surveyed the
damage.
 
It was extensive back bumper
damage.
 
But something wasn’t feeling
right to Mick.
 
Something was wrong.
 
Robert seemed nervous and that guy who
escaped seemed professional.
 
Maybe
Robert’s nervousness was from the startled nature of the accident itself, and
maybe the guy who hit them was just fast on his feet.
 
But this didn’t feel like some run of the
mill hit and run to Mick.
 
Something else
was at work here.

His
suspicion was realized later that night.
 
The entire family had gathered again at Charles’s house.
 
They either couldn’t get enough of Mick and
Roz, or they couldn’t get enough of hanging out with Charles and Jenay.
 
Mick suspected the latter.
 
But it was still a festive occasion.
 
And after dinner, when he didn’t think it
could get any more festive, Tony challenged Robert to a dance off and the
family fun was on again.
 
It was so
humorous to everybody, these two white boys actually trying to dance, that they
all retired to the big family room to relax and enjoy the fun.

Tony went
first.
 
For a psychologist, he was pretty
hip to Roz.
  
She expected some serious
beats from him.
 
Until his music
selection began playing.
 
It was country
crooner Faith Hill singing a song that, as far as Roz could determine, was
called
This Kiss, This Kiss
.
 
At least those were the words she kept
repeating.

Charles and
Jenay and all of their children were nodding their heads and enjoying the
tune.
 
They were especially enjoying
Tony’s slow motion, side to side, kick out his feet and twirl dance.
 
It was so cute, yet so jive to Mick and Roz,
that they fell against each other laughing.
 

Then it was
Robert’s turn.
 
Surely he had some
serious moves in him, Roz thought.
 
But
she was wrong again.
 
Robert went old
school, which was good.
 
But not James
Brown old school, or Motown, or even a Sinatra like Frank.
 
He went Kenny Rogers old school.

“
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille
,”
Rogers sang.
 
“With three hungry children
and a crop in the field.” Roz looked at Mick.
 
Mick laughed and shook his head.
 
“My people,” he said, and everybody, including Charles, laughed too.

And just
like his brother before him, Robert was doing some absurdly slow dance too.

When he
finished, they wanted the verdict.
 
“Which one of us won, Uncle Mick?” Robert asked, as if he was confident he
was the winner.

But their
kid brother Donald interjected.
 
“Neither
one of y’all,” he said.

“Nobody
asked you,” Robert said, and looked at Mick again.
 
“Which one, Unc?”

Mick was
seated back on the sofa beside Roz. “I’m inclined to agree with Donny,” he
said, and Donald finally smiled.

“But why?”
Robert asked.
 
“I was easily better than
Tony.
 
How could you say neither one of
us were good?”

“Because
white men can’t dance,” Charles blurted out, and everybody laughed.
 
Even Robert saw the joke in that.

But just as
the laughter died down, just as they were at the height of their festiveness,
they heard a sudden, but undeniably loud window crash.

“What was
that?” Roz asked nervously, looking around.

Charles,
Mick, and Brent immediately stood up to find out, but before they could even
leave the room, a simple crash sound gave way to an explosion that rocked them
backwards.
 
Everybody lost their
footing.
 
The house itself felt as if it
was caving into itself.
 
And the children
began to scream.

“Everybody
out!” Mick yelled, pushing people out, and everybody grabbed somebody
else.
 
Mick grabbed Roz.
 
Brent grabbed Makayla and Junior.
 
Charles grabbed Jenay while Tony grabbed
Bonita.
 
And Robert and Donald hurried
out too.

They could
see the fire erupting on the other side of the big home, in the dining room
area, as they made their way along the smoke-filled corridor that led to the
front door.
 
And when they all made it
safely outside, in the front yard, and as the neighbors themselves came out of
their own homes, they realized how blessed they were.
 
Their home had been firebombed.
 
The family home was on fire.

And as
Charles stood there, watching it go up in flames, his heart hammered with
gratitude that everyone got out alive, but also with anger that this happened
to his family to begin with.
 
And he knew
only one person could be responsible for something this dramatic.
 
Mick’s slick gangster ass had come to his
town, possibly to hide out, and brought his enemies with him.

Charles
couldn’t contain his fury.
 
He hurried to
his brother and cold-cocked him, knocking Mick to the ground.
 
Before Mick could react, Charles was on top
of him, hitting him, beating the shit out of him with his fists.
 

Roz ran to
Mick’s aid, and tried to pull Charles off of him, but Jenay pulled her
back.
 
Because of what could have
happened to her baby girl, and her stepsons, and her step-grandchild, she was
angry as Charles was.
 
“He can take care
of himself,” she said to Roz, as she pulled her back.

But Brent
broke it up.
 
He was angry too, and could
understand why his father would want to take it out on Mick, but beating
somebody down was not the way to do it.
 
But what amazed Brent, and Jenay, and the other Sinatras who paid any
attention to it, was how Mick never fought his brother back.
 
He took his punches and took his punches as
if he was a punk from way back.
 
But Roz
knew better than that.
 
Mick was taking
those punches because he felt he deserved every blow.

But Brent,
with Tony’s help, finally separated the two men. Charles got off of Mick, and
Mick stood up too.
 
But Charles wasn’t
finished.
 
He jerked away from his sons
and jacked Mick up again by the catch of his shirt.
 
Anguish was in his eyes as he held onto his
brother and held onto his brother as if he was trying to convince himself that
he couldn’t let go.
 
His home was burning
to the ground as sirens could be heard in the distance, but his eyes stayed on
Mick.

Mick’s very
soul was pounding as his brother held onto him.
 
They were moving in a circle, staring at each other, doing a dance that
only they heard the music to.
 
Tears
stained their eyes because they, above anybody else there, understood the
magnitude.

“My family
could have been killed,” Charles finally said to his brother, as he continued
to jack him up, as he continued to go around in a circle with him, as he
continued to wallow in his own guilt.
 
“My wife, my children, my grandchild could have been killed tonight
because of your foolishness!”

Mick knew it
was true, that was why he remained silent.
 
Charles wasn’t saying anything to him that he hadn’t already said to
himself.
 
Roz was in tears.
 
She hurt for Mick.
 
But then Charles said something unexpected.

“What
happened to you?” he asked Mick.

Roz didn’t
understand either.
 
She looked at
Charles.
 
Everybody looked at
Charles.
 
The two men stopped their
circular walk.

“What
happened to my baby?” Charles continued talking.
 
“I failed you Michello.
 
I was a kid trying to raise a kid and I
should have known I was over my head.
 
I
failed you beyond my wildest expectations of failure.
 
When I should have been easy on you, I was
too hard.
 
I was trying to make a tough
man out of an innocent boy when I should have been trying to make a good man out
of you.
 
But I failed.
 
I’m sorry, Micky.
 
But I failed you.”

Mick pulled
Charles into his arms and held him tightly.
 
The fire truck was arriving, and police cars, but the two brothers held
onto each other as if they themselves were the family home that was in danger
of collapsing.
 
Roz and Jenay and all of
the others had tears in their wide open, traumatized eyes.
 
Charles and Mick’s eyes were wide open too,
but because of the pain, because of the years, they also knew they were wide
shut.

You could hear
a pin drop as the Sinatra men sat around Brent’s front porch.
 
Situated on a huge lot across from the lake,
Brent’s home stood peaceful and isolated on a dead end street.
 
Charles and Brent sat in chairs on the porch,
while Tony and Robert sat on the top step leading onto the porch.
 
Mick sat on the porch too, but he was all the
way on the opposite end, away from the light, alone by choice.
 
The women were inside the home, caring for
the still-traumatized children, and Charles had ordered Donald to remain inside
also, to assist them.

But it was
Mick who probably needed the most assistance.
 
Because he sat on that porch as if the weight of the world was on his
shoulders.
 
This family was living their
lives in wonderful harmony.
 
In blissful
normalness.
 
Until he came along.
 
Until he decided to descend on little-ass
Jericho and bring all of his big-ass baggage, and apparently his enemies, with
him.
 
Although Charles hadn’t said a word
since his takedown of Mick, and his wife and sons hadn’t said a word either,
Mick wasn’t the kind of man who needed nor wanted appeasement.
 
He wanted to get the hell out of there.
 
He wanted to get Roz and scram and never see
this town again.

But he never
ran away from a fight in his life, and he wasn’t about to run away from this
one.
 
He was staying right here in
Jericho until he tracked down the people responsible, and made sure every one
of those bastards were sleeping in their graves.
 
And if they were no longer in Jericho, he was
going to track them to the ends of the earth if he had to.
 
He was going to avenge this wrong.

After nearly
another half-hour of this strained silence, Roz came out onto the porch with a
glass of gin straight, no chaser, in her hand.
 
She walked across the length of the porch to her isolated man, and
handed it to him.
 
He was her singular
focus right now because she knew him.
 
She knew he was sitting on this porch blaming himself and himself alone
for what happened tonight.
 
She knew
Charles’s guilt had nothing on Mick’s.

He began to
drink slowly, feeling a kick as soon as it burned his throat, and Roz leaned
against the porch rail beside his chair.
 
“It’s been a long night,” she said.

Mick said
nothing.
 
He took another swallow.

“What did
the police say?” Roz asked.

“They didn’t
say anything to me,” Mick responded.
 
“Since Brent runs that entire department, I guess they were ordered to
stay away.
 
I don’t know.”

“Did Brent
ask you anything?”

“He wanted
to know about my affiliations, what kind of business was I in besides my
business, and if I had any enemies.”

“What did
you tell him?”

“I told him
my business was none of his business and if this pointed to anything involving
me, that I would handle it.”

“And what
about any enemies?
 
What did you say when
he asked you if you had any?”

“I told him
yes, I have plenty.
 
He wanted to know
how many.
 
I told him there were too many
to count.”
 
Then a distressed look
crossed Mick’s face.
 
It was a fleeting
look, but Roz saw it.

“Stop
beating yourself up, Mick,” Roz said to him.
 
“You didn’t invite this.
 
You
didn’t ask for this.”

“My brother
and his family didn’t either,” Mick responded.
 
“But they got it anyway.
 
Hell
yeah, I feel bad.
 
Because now their
family is traumatized and emotional and without the home they’ve had for
decades.
 
And if we still would have been
in that dining room where the bomb was thrown, all of them and you,
you, Roz
, would have been dead.
 
How the fuck am I supposed to feel?”

Roz exhaled
and looked away from him.
 
She had no
words of wisdom for such a painfully truthful response.
 
Because he was right, and there were no words
to say.

But as the
night continued to lumber along, and Roz continued to stand by his side, Mick
realized another profound truth.
 
Roz was
undoubtedly traumatized too.
 
This shit
wasn’t normal for her.
 
She’d been
through a lot since she’d been with him, but nothing like this.
 
She had to feel, a part of her had to know,
that she didn’t have to live this way.
 
That there were better songs to sing than this.

He looked at
her.
 
All of their clothes were destroyed
in the fire and her blouse was torn when she tried to break up the fight
between Mick and Charles, so Makayla gave her one of her blouses to put
on.
 
Only it was too big for Roz and just
hung on her like a nightgown.
 
Her hair
still had its bounciness, but she couldn’t be bothered tonight.
 
She had it in a ponytail.
 
But to Mick nobody looked more beautiful,
inside and out, than Roz.

“When my
plane gets here,” he said, “you’re going back to Philly.”

“Not until
you go back to Philly,” Roz responded.

“You aren’t
going to argue with me about that,” Mick said.
 
“You’re getting out of harm’s way.”

“I’m out of
harm’s way when I’m with you.
 
Nobody
protects me better than you do.
 
Nobody.”

Mick
continued to stare at her.
 
He didn’t
deserve her loyalty, nor her love.
 
Especially after tonight.
 
But she
gave it to him anyway.

He studied
her, looking into her serious face as if he was dissecting it.
 
Then he spoke.
 
“Why?” he asked her.

Roz stared
at him too.
 
She knew what he meant.
 
“Why do you think, Mick?”

“But I don’t
deserve it,” Mick said with anguish in his voice.
 
“Don’t you understand that?”

“No,” Roz
said.

“Everybody
else does.”

“I’m not
everybody else,” she shot back.
 
Then she
added with a smile:
 
“Everybody else
doesn’t know your ass like I do.”

Mick couldn’t
manage a smile, the reality was too dire, but he did manage to reach out and
take her hand.
 
All of his life, he was a
man alone.
 
Even tonight, if Roz wasn’t
with him, he would be in this dark corner of Brent’s porch all by himself.
 
But now he had her by his side.
 
He had hope on his side.
 
Because she had enough light for both of
them.

He pulled
her onto his lap and held her.
 
This was
a terrible situation.
 
All of the
destruction he had wrought, all of the pain and agony.
 
But Roz was sticking with him anyway.
 
He gave her a sip of his gin and sipped more
himself.
 
With Roz, there was light at
the end of his tunnel.
 
That didn’t
negate the fact that he was in that tunnel right now and it wasn’t easy.
 
But if he could only hold on, and stay
strong, he could see his way to the other side.

Robert
suddenly stood up, causing everybody on the porch to look at him. “What’s that
noise?” he asked.

Everybody
looked where he was looking and initially nothing was there.
 
But they heard a noise too.
 
And then what looked like a cavalcade of
three big SUVs appeared, and were heading toward Brent’s house.
 
Brent rose too, as the trucks approached, but
Charles looked over at Mick.

“What’s
going on?” he asked him.

Roz stood up
and Mick stood up too.
 
“Those are my
men,” he said.

“Your men?”
Charles asked.
 
“What does that mean?”

“A
got
damn army!” Robert said with an
excited grin.
 
“That’s what it means,
Pop!”

Mick handed
his glass of gin to Roz and made his way down the steps.
 
Charles and then Brent made their way down the
steps behind him.

Tony and
Robert were about to head down too, but Charles stopped them.
 
“Wait there,” he ordered.
 
Since all of his children knew better than to
disobey any order of his, they obeyed his command.
 
Roz didn’t have to be told.
 
She never injected herself when Mick was
handling his business.
 
She stood at the
rail and waited.

Danny
Padrone got out of the lead SUV and Deuce, driving it, got out too.
 
Additional men in separate SUVs got out
too.
 
Mick had ordered his pilot to prep
the plane and fly his men to Maine.
 
He
also ordered his details man to contact a car rental company within fifty miles
of Jericho, offer triple price for them to have the SUVs waiting at the
airstrip, before the plane arrived.
 
Now
his men were in place.
 
All he needed now
were answers.

What
Charles, Brent, and even Roz didn’t know was that they had been in town for
nearly three hours, and had been scouring the town’s underbelly for intel on
what went down tonight.
 
Other than Mick
and Roz, were there any strangers in town?
 
Was anybody laying down big wads of cash?
 
Anybody asking questions?

“What you
got?” Mick asked Danny.
 
“And it had
better be something.”

Danny looked
at the two men who were now standing beside Mick.
 
“My brother and my nephew,” Mick said.
 
“You can talk.”

“What’s up?”
Danny said to them.
 
Then he looked at
Mick.
 
“We got a name,” he said.

Brent was
shocked to hear it.
 
Mick was
pleased.
 
“Who?” he asked.

“Local guy
named Duncan Sawyer.”

Mick looked
at Brent.
 
“You know him?”

“I know
him,” Brent said, nodding his head.
 
“He’s a local drug dealer.”

“Drug
dealer?” Charles asked.

“He runs
meth labs throughout the county,” Brent said.
 
“We shut one down, another one springs up.
 
He’s been a headache for years.”

Charles
looked at Mick.
 
His eyes were still
angry, but they were saddened too.
 
“So
it’s drugs, is it?”

“No,” Mick
said. “It’s not.”

Charles
frowned.
 
“What do you mean it’s not?”

“Best time
to hit, boss,” Danny said, “is now.”

“Best time
to hit?” Brent asked.
 
“What are you
talking about?”

“He’s the
chief of police around here,” Mick informed Danny.

“Oh, shit,”
Danny said with a grin.

“Let’s go,”
Mick said, and was about to walk around to the passenger side of the SUV.
 
But Brent grabbed him by the arm.
 
“What’s about to happen, Uncle Mick?” Brent
asked him.

Mick looked
at his hand on his arm.
 
Then he looked
into Brent’s eyes.
 
But Brent didn’t let
go.
 
He was a tough man too.

“I have some
business I have to take care of,” Mick said.

“What
business do you have with Duncan Sawyer?”

“That’s none
of your business,” Mick said.

“I’m going
with you.”

“No, you
aren’t.”

“Yes, I
am.
 
This is my county and I’m the police
chief. .”

But Mick
would have none of that territorial bullshit.
 
“Jericho is your world,” he said to his nephew.
 
“You run this place and you probably run it
well.
 
But we’re about to go into my
world.
 
A world that I run.
 
And anybody who would have to think twice
before killing a fucker who just tried to kill us, is not going into that world
with me.”

Brent
understood clearly what his uncle meant.
 
But he was the chief law enforcement office in this county.
 
He couldn’t turn a blind’s eye to his
responsibilities.
 
“I can’t allow that
frontier justice here,” he said.
 
“I’ll
go with you and take him into custody, and let the judicial system take it from
there.”