Brent Sinatra: All of Me (19 page)

“And children first, right?” Makayla said, echoing Tony.

Brent nodded.
 
“Right.
 
Children first.”

And with that, Brent called Junior over.

Junior walked over, but leaned against his father.

“I want you to meet somebody very special to me,” Brent
said.
 
“This is Makayla.”

Makayla knelt down to Junior’s level, and smiled.
 
“Hi.”

Marcus didn’t speak, but he slightly nodded his head.

It didn’t dissuade Makayla. “You’re a very handsome young
man.
 
I’ll bet you’re smart too.
 
What’s your name?”

There was a long pause, but then, to Brent’s shock, Junior
spoke.
 
“Marcus,” he said.

Brent was astonished, but Makayla kept going.
 
“Marcus?
 
What a nice name.
 
What’s your
last name, Marcus?”

Brent held his breath.
 
But to no avail.
 
As quickly as
Marcus felt comfortable, he just as quickly clammed back up.
 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Marcus,” Makayla
continued.
 
“My name begins with an M
also.
 
Makayla.
 
But many of my friends call me Mal.
 
What does your friends call you?”

“Marcus,” Marcus said.

Makayla smiled.
 
“Okay.
 
Marcus is good.
 
My last name is Ross.
 
Does your last name begin with an R too?”

Marcus shook his head.
 
Makayla looked at Brent.

“Does it begin with an A?” Brent asked, ready to run through
the alphabet if he had to.
 
But Marcus
wasn’t interested in running through it with him.
 
He ran back to the swing, and climbed on.

Makayla stood up.
 
“Well.
 
At least we know his last
name doesn’t begin with an R.
 
If he’s
telling the truth.”

“Yeah.
 
Prayerfully he
is.
 
And we know his first name,” Brent
added.
 
“Thanks for that, babe.”

Makayla smiled weakly, and looked at Marcus.
 
What in the world did they have on their
hands, she wondered.

“Your bath is ready, Marc,” Brent said as he came out of the
bathroom.
 
It was adjacent to the guest
bedroom.
 
Marcus was sitting on the
bed.
 
“You heard me, Marc?”

When Brent realized Marcus was looking at the telephone on
the nightstand, he got an idea.
 
“You
want to call your mother?” he asked.
 
“You can call her. I’ll wait in the hall.”
 
And then Brent would trace the call.

But Marcus didn’t bite.
 
He stood up.
 
“Marcus,” he said.

Brent looked at him.
 
“What?”

“My name is Marcus.
 
Not Marc.”

Brent nodded.
 
“Okay, Marcus,
come with me.”

Brent walked him into the bathroom.
 
But when Marcus saw the tub and saw it filled
with water, he ran out of the bathroom.

“Marcus!” Brent ran after him.
 
“What the hell?
 
Marcus, wait!”

But Marcus didn’t wait.
 
He ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, and down the stairs.
 
He would have ran out of the front door but
Makayla, in the kitchen cooking, ran into the foyer and grabbed him and stopped
his getaway.

Brent ran downstairs and up to his son.
 
He turned him around and knelt down to
him.
 
Marcus was crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked him.
 
“Son, what’s wrong?”

But Marcus didn’t speak.
 
And Brent pulled him into his arms.
 
He looked at Makayla.
 
She was as
confused as he was.

Later that night, rain poured across the county.
 
Makayla did not plan to spend the night, but
after dinner, and especially after Marcus reacted to the tub filled with water
previously, she changed her mind.
 
She
couldn’t leave Brent.

She was already in bed, wearing one of Brent’s big shirts, by
the time he made it to bed.
 
She could
hear him remove his clothes and then she heard him get in bed behind her.
 
He wrapped his arm across her body.
 

“Is he asleep?” she asked him.

“Finally, yep.
 
He’s
exhausted.”

“And so are you,” Makayla reminded him.

“I’m just glad he ate your cooking.”

“
Ate
my foot!
 
He devoured my cooking!
 
That boy was hungry.”

“He was also terrified of water.
 
Or a tub filled with water, since he had no
problem taking a shower.”
 
Brent
exhaled.
 
“He might have been abused,
Makayla.”

“Or witnessed a lot of it,” Makayla suggested.

Brent nodded.
 
“Right.”

“You’re taking on a lot, Brent.”

“I’m realizing that.”
 
He paused.
 
“I’ll understand if
you don’t want to take it on with me.”

“Well I wouldn’t understand it,” Makayla said.
 
“I say I love you, and want to marry you, but
as soon as drama comes I bounce?
 
I
couldn’t understand that at all.”

Brent smiled and moved closer against her.
 
He also lifted the shirt she wore, positioned
his penis between her legs, and rested there.

Makayla fell asleep, and woke up, throughout the night.
 
One time she woke up, Brent’s penis was
inside of her, making love to her, and she got into it too.
 
It was the most relaxing fuck they’d ever
had.
 
He remained behind her, both
remained on their sides, as the sensations rolled and rolled and he gyrated and
gyrated until they both came.
 
Then she
fell back asleep.

But every time she woke up, every single time, Brent was
still holding her tightly, and was still wide awake.

“It’s going to be alright, Brent,” she remembered saying one
of those times.
 
And then falling asleep
all over again.

Outside of Brent’s home, a car sat at the edge of his
property.
 
It had been sitting there for
several hours.
 
Until finally, when it
was obvious there would be no movements tonight, the car cranked up, and drove
away.

“I’ll get it,” Makayla yelled upstairs early the next
morning, as she hurried from the kitchen to answer Brent’s front door.
 
When she saw Charles and Jenay, and Donald
and Ashley, she laughed.
 
“Wrong house,”
she said and playfully attempted to close the door.

The Sinatras laughed, and Charles opened it back.
 
“Wrong my ass,” he said with a smile and gave
Makayla a hug.
 
“How are you, dear?” he
asked.

“I’m good.
 
Thanks for
asking.
 
What are you guys doing here?”

“We wanted to see the boy again,” Charles admitted.

They all came in, hugged Makayla, and Donald closed the door.

“Where’s Junior?” Jenay asked, looking around.

“Upstairs,” she said.
 
“And it’s Marcus now.
 
He told us
his name is Marcus.”

“Well now,” Charles said, “that’s progress.”

“Come on guys and have a seat,” Makayla said, escorting them
into the living room.
 
“And you’re
right.
 
He gives us dribs and drabs, but
it’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll say,” Jenay said.
 
“Marcus what?”

“He hasn’t gone that far.”

They sat on the sofa, Charles with Jenay beside him, and
Donald with Ashley beside him.

“Can I get you guys something to drink, or eat?” Makayla
asked.

“No, Mal, we’re good,” Jenay said just as Brent came
downstairs, dressed in his usual tailored suit, collarless shirt, and hat in
hand.
 
“What is this?” he asked as he
came down.
 
“A Sinatra family reunion?”

“Not quite,” Donald said.
 
“Makayla’s not a Sinatra yet.”

“Yes, she is,” Brent said boldly as he walked up and stood
beside her, placing an arm around her.
 
“Marriage will only confirm it.”

“How’s my grandson?” Charles asked.

Brent sat down in the flanking chair, and Makayla sat on the
arm beside him.
 
“He had a rough night,”
he said, crossing his leg.
 
“But he
eventually got some sleep.
 
He’ll be down
in a minute.”

Ashley smiled at Makayla.
 
“Congrats, Mal,” she said.

“Thanks, Ash.”

“Mom says I can help with the planning.
 
If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t.
 
Are you kidding?
 
I’ll take all
the help I can get.”

“It’s going to be boss,” Ashley boasted.
 
“With Brent’s money, we are going to hook you
up, girl!”

Jenay and Makayla laughed.
 
Charles smiled and looked at his son.
 
“Get used to it,” he said.
 
“But
about Marcus,” he added, “has he given any idea about who his mother could be?”

“Nothing,” Brent said.

“It can’t be
that
many women,” Charles said.
 
“Can it?”

Makayla looked at Brent.
 
“Can it, Brent?”

“It can,” Brent said, placing his arm around her waist, “and
you know it can.”

“Word is all around town about you having a kid,” Ashley
said.
 
“People say they saw him, and they
say he looks just like you.”

“They weren’t lying,” Donald said.
 
“He does look like Brent.”

And then Brent’s lookalike, Marcus, came downstairs.
 
He wore the jeans and shirt Brent had
purchased for him the day before.

When he walked up to his father and Makayla, he leaned
against them.
 
And then looked at
Charles.
 
“Where’s Bonita?” he asked.

And it was like joy to them, because even he was smitten with
Nita.
 

Everybody laughed.

But if Brent thought he had a breakthrough and Marcus had
suddenly developed the gift of gab, he was woefully mistaken.
 
Marcus said nothing more than to ask about
Bonita.
 
When he was told that Tony had
taken her to school, that was the end of his inquiry.
 
They tried asking him all kinds of questions,
about his own school, and what grade he was in, and on and on and on.
 
But they got nowhere.

Eventually, the family left, Brent walked Makayla out to her
car, and then he and Marcus made their way back to the station.
  
Brent spent the morning attempting to phone
all of the relevant women who might be Marcus’ mother, but only managed to
reach one: Olivia.
 
And she didn’t know a
thing either.

Makayla wasn’t in her office a solid hour, reviewing cold case
files, when Ira Stockton walked in with a folder in his hand.
 
“Your second day,” he said. “Your first
case.”

Makayla smiled.
 
That
was what she was talking about!
 
“Sounds
good,” she said as she accepted the folder.
 
“What’s the story?”

“A possible child murderer.”

Makayla froze, and then looked at her boss.
 
Could it be?
 
It had to be the same case.
 
“A
child murderer?” she asked.

“Even in Jericho.
 
We
have sickos here too.
 
The child was
found in a motel room with a bloody knife in his hand, and with a butchered
body by his side.
 
JCPD just handed it
over.”

Makayla’s heart began to pound.
 
“How old is the child?” she asked.
 
She knew it couldn’t possibly another case
out there, but she felt a need to ask it.

“Ten, eleven.
 
They
aren’t sure yet.
 
He’s not talking.”
      

“Is he from around here?”

“They don’t think so, but they don’t know that either.”

“They don’t seem to know anything.”

“They know this,” Ira said.
 
“He had paper in his pocket with the name
Brent Sinatra, Jr.
written on it.”

Makayla already knew about all of that.
 
What was stunning to her was the fact that
Ira would ask her to handle it.
 
“Brent
Sinatra, Jr.?” she asked.

Ira exhaled.
 
“It’s
believed that the boy is the Chief’s son.
 
And I know you’re wondering why I would give you a case like this.
 
And I understand your concern.
 
But I think it’s the perfect opportunity for
you.
 
This is your chance to prove your
meddle, Makayla.
 
This is your chance to
prove the critics wrong who think you’re going to be nothing more than a puppet
on the Sinatra string.
 
Prove that you
deserve this job and will be fair and just.
 
A chance like this only comes around once in a lifetime.
 
Your chance is coming earlier than either one
of us could have ever imagined.
 
Get to
the police station, and show this town what you’re made of.”

He didn’t understand what he was asking of her.
 
But she did understand employment, and the
fact that he was her boss, and the fact that she was in no position to turn
down anything.
 
“Yes, sir,” she managed
to say without cracking her voice.
 
And
rose, grabbed her keys, her briefcase, and her worried heart, and did as she
was ordered to do.

Walter Pierce knew time was running out.
 
He ran into his hotel room, threw his clothes
in his suitcase, and hurried back out of the door.
 
He didn’t take the elevator, he was smarter
than that, and took off down the stairs.
 
By the time he made it down, across the lobby, and out into what he
called freedom, he was ready to exhale.
 
But he didn’t until he hailed a cab, got in, and locked the door.
 
He was in the heart of Boston, heading for
the airport, and he felt as if he had just dodged the biggest bullet of his
life.

Until he didn’t.

As soon as the cab turned down a side road, a road Walter
didn’t even realize they had no business going down, the driver stopped, turned
around, and put a bullet through Walter’s head.
 
The driver, the man Walter sneeringly nicknamed Mister Hide,
smiled.
 
“Another goof,” he said to his
now dead investigator, “so poof.”

And then he turned around, and kept driving.