Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry (6 page)

Mick Sinatra was in bed, on his back,
fucking his wife.
 
He was finally back home
after an unproductive business trip that lasted a week longer than he had
planned, and he missed his family terribly.
 
Especially Rosalind.
 
And he was
bound and determined to show her just how much.
 
They made love earlier, when he first hit town.
 
But that was three hours ago.
 
He wanted some again.

“
Rosalind
,”
he kept saying as he held her naked body tightly in his arms and pumped his ass
off.
 
She was on top, their bodies were
pouring with sweat from the aggressiveness of their lovemaking, and Mick began
rubbing his hands down her back and ass as the feelings intensified.

Rosalind could feel it too.
 
She could feel his cock pound into her with
such force and thickness that she felt as if her entire insides were
inflamed.
 
She was having orgasm after
orgasm with every glide he made.
 
She was
lying on top of him, holding him as tightly as he was holding her, and all she
could do was bite her lower lip, close her eyes, and enjoy the pound her man
was putting on her.

When Mick’s cell phone began ringing,
they both were inclined to ignore it.
 
Mick was on the verge of cumming, and Rosalind was already there. They
would have ignored it had it not been for the distinctiveness of the ring.
 
Mick designed that ring for only two people
in this world: Rosalind, his beautiful African-American wife, and his big
brother Charles.

He could not ignore Charles.

But that didn’t mean he liked
it.
 
“Shit!” he said angrily when he knew
he had to answer the call.
 
But he still
couldn’t pull away from Roz.
 
Her pussy
had that magical flavor to him, and he was too hungry for it.
 
He answered the phone, still pounding
her.
 
“What?” he asked, unable to shield
his displeasure.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mick,” Charles
said over the phone, “but there’s trouble.”

Mick’s strokes slowed.
 
Rosalind was still too consumed in her own
orgasms to notice right away.
 
But Mick
knew his brother.
 
He did not toss words
around for dramatic effect.
 
If he said
there was trouble, it was major.
 
“What
kind of trouble?” Mick asked.

“A man is dead,” Charles said.
 
“That kind of trouble.”

Mick stopped stroking Rosalind so
abruptly that she couldn’t help but notice this time.
 
She lifted her head from his shoulder and
looked at him.

“Who’s involved?” Mick asked.
 
“You?”

“I wish it was me.
 
God knows I do.”

“Who?” Mick asked again.

“My baby,” Charles said.
 
“Carly.”

Mick quickly lifted up and sat on the
side of the bed.
 
He continued to hold
Rosalind’s body in his arms as he lifted her with him.
 
He remained inside of her.
 
“Carly?” he asked, a look of concern
blanketing his attractive face.
 
He knew
what that young lady meant to his brother.
 
He knew all about the pedestal Charles put her on.
 
“Carly killed a man?”

When Rosalind heard those words, she
was floored too.
 
“What?” she asked.

“Yes,” Charles said into the phone,
and Mick could hear the anguish in his voice.
 
“I hate to say it with everything within me.
 
But yes.
 
Carly killed a man.”

Mick thought for a moment.
 
Rosalind was sitting straddle-style on top of
him, with her face to his face.
 
He had
one hand cupping her bare ass.
 
Another
hand holding his cellphone.
 
He
repositioned her weight, as he contemplated the implications for his young
niece.
 
“Has she been arrested?” he
finally asked his brother.

“No,” Charles responded.
 
“And she won’t be.
 
I’ll see to that.
 
But we’ve got to get the body to Jericho,
Mick.”

Mick knew that was a cockamamie idea,
but it wasn’t the time nor the place.
 
“Where are you?” he asked.
 
“Where’s the body?”

“It’s here,” Charles said.
 
“At Carly’s house in Boston.”

“Who’s there with you and Car?”

“Jenay and Brent.”

“Don’t involve anybody else,” Mick
said.
 
“I’m on my way.”

When the call ended, Mick attempted
to pull out of Rosalind, but he couldn’t.
 
He began sliding her along his lap, moving her along his still-swollen
shaft, until he came.
 
He sputtered it
out, and clenched, as he came.
 
Then he
leaned against her.
 
“I’ve got to leave
town,” he said.

“I know. But you just got back.”

He was exhausted.
 
No doubt about that.
 
But duty called.
 
He slid out of her and stood up.
 
He placed her back on their bed, kissed her on
the lips, and then headed toward their bathroom.

Rosalind laid back down on the pillow
his head had just left, smelling his cologne scent as she did, and watched his
naked form retreat from her.
 
“Where is they
now?” she asked.
 
“Jericho?”

“Boston,” Mick responded, as he
lifted the toilet seat and began peeing.
 
“At Carly’s house.”

“Why did she do it?” she asked.
 
“Did Big Daddy say?”

Mick leaned his head back and closed
his eyes, as he shook off the last of his urine stream.
 
“No,” he said, his voice sounding anguished
too.
 
“But I will be finding out.”

The drive from Philadelphia, where
Mick lived, to Boston, where the incident occurred, generally took
five-and-a-half hours.
 
But Mick didn’t
drive, he flew on his private jet, and arrived in town in about an hour.

The vehicle waiting for him at the
airstrip, a black SUV loaded with his Boston crew, drove casually to Carly’s
house.
 
They had no clue why they were
called in the middle of the night, and they loved their own lives too much to
ask why.
 
But they knew whatever the
mission involved, it was big.
 
Mick the
Tick, their boss, didn’t come himself on assignment unless it was too serious
for them to handle alone, or too personal for them to execute.

And when the SUV drove onto the
driveway of a lakefront home and stopped behind a Jaguar, Mick, seated in the
front seat beside the driver, opened the door.
 
“Wait here,” he ordered his men, got out, and headed toward the house
entrance.
 
The door was opened from
inside, and Mick, in black jeans, black boots and gloves, and a black bomber
jacket, walked in.

His men looked at each other,
wondering what the hell was going on, but they dared not speak about it.
 
Their loyalty wasn’t to each other, but to
Mick, and to stay on his generous payroll they knew they had to keep it that
way.
 
They kept it that way.

Mick walked in as Charles opened the
door.
 
When the door was closed, Mick
could see the strain on Charles’s face.
 
He actually had an urge to pull his big brother into his arms and
comfort him.
 
But neither he nor Charles
ever learned how to show affection toward each other.
 
Their background was too harsh and their
dysfunctional parents were too cruel.
 
They loved each other dearly, and was totally devoted to each
other.
 
But it always went without
saying.

Charles began walking away.
 
“He’s in the kitchen,” he said.

Mick followed his brother slowly,
looking around at the clean, perfectly neat home.
 
White walls.
 
White furniture.
 
White carpet.
 
Too clean and neat, if you asked Mick.
 
As if it wasn’t somebody’s home, but
somebody’s showcase.
 
As if the person
who lived here wasn’t actually living here, but was putting on a show for people.
 
That was the backstory.
 
In situations like these, he always kept one
in mind.
 
But when they made their way
into the kitchen, he saw the full story.

Beautiful Carly Sinatra was dressed
now and sitting in a chair at her kitchen table, a glass of wine in front of
her.
 
Jenay had moved a chair next to
her, and was seated beside her.
 
Brent
was seated at the table too, across from his stepmother and adopted sister, but
rose to his feet when his uncle walked into the room.
 
He was amazed that he could get to Boston so
quickly.
 
But he also knew that everybody
didn’t own a private jet like his uncle owned.
 
Everybody wasn’t able.

“Hello, sir,” he said to Mick when he
walked in.
 
He wanted to give him a
hug.
 
He really loved his uncle, and had
a kind of boyish enchantment with his larger-than-life persona.
 
But he knew Mick was not that kind of
man.
 
Their relationship wasn’t given to
closeness or emotion, but to an almost super-formal respect.

Mick nodded in Brent’s direction, but
turned his attention, not to Carly, but to Jenay.
 
He could see in her eyes the toll this was
taking on her because he knew the signs.
 
He saw it in his own wife often enough.
 
“Hello, babe,” he said to Jenay, leaned down, and actually hugged her.

Brent looked at his father, amazed by
such a display of affection coming from a man like Mick.
 
But Charles wasn’t surprised.
 
There was something about Jenay that endeared
her to people.
 
Mick was no exception.

Mick then took a look at the dead
body.
 
He walked over to the area, knelt
down, and studied the wounds as if he was a medical examiner at a crime
scene.
 
Charles stood behind Jenay’s
chair and placed one hand on her shoulder and one hand on Carly’s, as Mick did
his inspection.
 
It took longer than he
thought it would.
 
It was a clear-cut
case as far as Charles was concerned.
 
Besides, the manner of death wasn’t the issue.
 
Moving that body was.
 
And the sooner, Charles felt, the better.

Mick finally stood up, stared down at
the body a little longer still, and then walked over to the table.
 
His eyes were riveted on Carly.
 
“What happened?” he asked her.

“He tried,” Brent started, but
Charles held up a hand.
 
He knew
Mick.
 
Mick wanted to hear it from the
horse’s mouth.

Carly sipped from her glass, as if to
summon the courage to speak, and then spoke.
 
“He came over to thank me,” she said.

“Thank you for what?” Mick asked, his
eyes intense as he stared at her.

“For putting together a PR offensive
that allowed him to get away with raping a thirteen-year-old girl.”

Charles, Jenay, and Brent all looked
at her.
 
Say what now?
 
That didn’t sound like something
their
Carly would be a party to.

But Mick didn’t seem surprised at
all.
 
“How did a thank you turn to this?”

“I told him to leave,” Carly
said.
 
“I didn’t want to have anything to
do with him.
 
But he wouldn’t.
 
When I went to phone the police, he knocked
the phone out of my hand, and then tried to rape me.”

“Unsuccessfully?” Mick asked.

Carly looked up at her uncle.
 
“Yes.
 
Of course.”
 
But that look she saw
in his eyes was too all-knowing for her comfort level.
 
As if he could see right through her.
 
She quickly looked away from him.

Mick, however, continued to stare at
her.
 
“Did anybody know he was coming to
visit you?”

“No,” Carly said.
 
“At least he implied no one did.
 
He claimed he was driving around and decided
to drop by.”