Mick Sinatra 2: Love, Lies, and Jericho

by Mallory Monroe

  “I’m fine,” Roz said, unbuckling her seatbelt too.

  Mick pulled out a gun that Charles was surprised he had on him, and aimed at the fleeing car. He shot out all four tires, and the car sped out. He had a reputation for never wasting bullets, and every bullet he shot landed where he aimed. The car was out of control, jerking and then spinning and then ramming into a waterless ditch.

  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.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  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 gotdamn 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.