Mick Sinatra 4: If You Don't Know Me by Now

by Mallory Monroe

  The SUV drove through the alleyway, through water puddles, to a second dilapidated motel. The hideaway of murderers and rapists, no doubt. Mick was certain he didn’t have to worry about snitches in a place like this. Nobody, not even the owner of this rat hole, wanted a cop anywhere near them.

  The driver parked directly in front of room number 9, putting Mick off in front of the door. Mick got out, with shotgun in hand, and blasted the door open.

  Carmelo and his man, playing cards at the table, didn’t see it coming and quickly tried to reach for their guns.

  “Try it,” Mick warned, “if you want to die today. Try it.”

  When they realized it was Mick the Tick, they both gave up and placed their hands in the air.

  But Mick didn’t stop because they did. He went up to Carmelo, forced-open his mouth, and put the barrel of his shotgun in his mouth. While Carmelo was fighting with fear, his partner fell back in his chair, scared shitless too. Mick looked at the sidekick. “Make one move, and you’re dead.”

  The man quickly nodded his fat head, and stayed perfectly still.

  Mick looked at Carmelo. “When I pull this gun out of your mouth,” he said to him, “you are going to tell me why you hired Hamilton Sturgess and those other fools to kidnap my wife. If you lie to me, you will not be able to say another word for as long as you live. Which will be about another second.”

  He removed the barrel of the gun from out of Carmelo’s mouth. Carmelo gagged and coughed. “Tell me why,” Mick said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Mick fired a shot to within an inch of Carmelo’s head. Carmelo, and his sidekick, could not believe it. “Tell me why,” Mick said again.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Carmelo suddenly said. “I tell you I wasn’t! I just wanted to get some money. That’s all. Just a big payday. I was going to send you a ransom note, you were going to pay it, and I was going to pay everybody else involved. But I wasn’t going to hurt her!”

  Mick stared at him. He’d given him a second chance before. He didn’t kill him back then, he just beat his ass. But now he realized that was a mistake. Carmelo had mistaken his ability to exact punishment that fit the crime, for weakness. “You’re an honorable rogue, in other words,” Mick said to him.

  Carmelo thought he was getting through to the crusty gangster. He’d let him off easy before. Maybe again? “Yeah,” Carmelo said. “I’m honorable that way.”

  “Well I’m not,” Mick said without hesitation, and blew Carmelo’s brains out.

  Carmelo’s sidekick began moving backwards on his butt, stunned by the view.

  But Mick was not done. As Carmelo sat slumped in the chair, Mick pulled out the machete he had concealed under his coat, aimed it at Carmelo’s neck, and again without hesitation, sliced his head completely off.

  “Nooo!” the sidekick screamed. He looked at Mick as if he was looking at a monster. “Nooo!

  Mick felt like a monster. But he knew they were fucking with him now, and endangering his wife in the process. He was not going to let this stand. “You tell everybody you know,” he said to the sidekick. “You tell everybody you don’t know,” he added. “You tell those motherfuckers that if they don’t know me by now, they know me now. You tell them that if they ever think about touching my wife, or touching any member of my family, the same will befall them. You tell them,” he continued, pointing the machete at the sidekick so sincerely that the sidekick fearfully backed up on his butt until his back was against the wall, “that Mick Sinatra will not tolerate any bullshit from anybody. I don’t give a fuck who they are. And if they still don’t believe me, if they still think I’m bullshitting, you tell them to come and take a look at this headless motherfucker right here. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the sidekick said, tears in his eyes. He was a punk compared to a man like this and didn’t care. “Yes, sir!”

  “You get to live to tell the news. But if you don’t tell it,” Mick said, pointing that bloody knife again, “I’ll track you down like the dog that you are and use you as my example number two. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir. We understand, yes, sir, Mr. Sinatra. We understand. I’ll tell every living soul I know.” Then he realized what he was saying. “Except the cops,” he added. “I’ll never tell the cops, I promise you I won’t!”

  “You can tell the cops. You will die for telling the cops. But that’s your choice.”

  The sidekick was shaking his head, he was promising on his mother’s grave that he wouldn’t dream of telling the cops. “Only the bad guys,” he said. And then Mick, with knife in hand, with shotgun in hand, left.

  Carmelo’s friend looked at Carmelo again, and the separation of his head from his body, at all of the blood, and fainted.

  He passed right out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  One Month Later

  Gloria Sinatra parked her car in the parking lot next to Fonz’s car, and walked into the restaurant. It wasn’t up to her usual standards, and was too far out for her taste too, but this was where he wanted to meet. She was falling in love with him, so she obliged him.

  Michael “Fonz” Dorsett was a handsome young man with a low-cut fade, skin brighter than Gloria’s although both of his parents were African-American, and a great smile. But he was also domineering and controlling and many other things she didn’t like in a man. But unlike the other men who wanted her, she actually had feelings for Fonz, and he seemed to care deeply for her. He was a young man on the rise, and she was going to be supportive all the way to the top.

  “Why this place?” she asked when she arrived at his table.

  He stood up and helped her out of her coat. “Why not this place?” he asked her. “It’s popular with actors in town. With artist types.”

  “I should have known,” Gloria said with a smile. She sat down, and the waitress came and took her drink order.

  Fonz leaned forward, as if he couldn’t wait to tell the news. “Guess who else seems to like this place too?” he asked.

  “Who?” Gloria asked.

  “Your mother.”

  Gloria frowned. “My mother? My mother isn’t in Philly. She doesn’t even like this town.”

  “I mean your stepmother,” Fonz corrected himself. “Over there.”

  Gloria looked across the room where he was pointing. And, to her shock, Roz was sitting in a booth with a man at her side. Another couple shared the booth with them, but it was Roz and the man who appeared to be far more affectionate.

  “What in the world,” Gloria said when the man, with his arm already around Roz, squeezed her shoulder.

  “Who is he?” Fonz asked.

  Gloria, still floored, shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  Fonz smiled. “You mean to tell me that woman you claimed was so wonderful and virtuous is cheating on your Dad?”

  Gloria still couldn’t believe it. Not Roz!

  “They were kissing,” Fonz said.

  Gloria looked at him. “Quit lying!”

  “I’m telling you the truth!” Fonz insisted. “I saw them with my own two eyes. They kissed!”

  But Gloria didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe it when the waitress brought her a drink. She didn’t believe it when the waitress brought them their plates of food.

  Until they were almost ready to go, and Gloria saw with her own two eyes when Roz leaned against the man. The man looked at Roz with what even from across the room seemed like lust in his eyes, and kissed her on the lips. And not a peck either. But with the kind of passion that could rival the passion Gloria had seen her father show Roz. Her mouth fell open.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Fonz said cheerfully, as if he had just won some bet.

  But Gloria’s heart was aching, as if she had just lost far more than any bet.

  Three days later and Roz was sitting in the back of the limousine fielding call after call. Her African-American driver, Deuce McCurry, took
peeps at her through the rearview mirror and smiled. When she finished the last call, he looked through the rearview again. “You work even when you aren’t working. Just like that husband of yours.”

  “And we both need to slow our asses down. We have babies to raise!”

  “You’re raising them just fine,” Deuce reassured her. “You’re a modern woman who enjoy working and motherhood. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

  Roz smiled. She and Deuce were close now. A former cop and marksman, he used to be Mick’s personal driver/bodyguard, the best and most loyal one he had. But after Roz came into Mick’s life, Mick assigned Deuce to her. Deuce missed the action with Mick, and there was always action with Mick, but he grew to love Roz as if she were his own daughter. It was now his preference to be her protector.

  But while waiting at a red light, he continued to stare at Roz through the rearview. “You aren’t looking forward to this. Are you?”

  Roz rarely spoke about her innermost feelings with anyone but Mick, but Deuce had hit the nail on the head. “Not at all,” she said. “I have directors I still have to call to smooth out some issues my clients are having. I want to be home with my babies. It’s just not the best time.”

  “But going to the mayor’s reelection celebration, at the mayor’s mansion no less, is a big deal. You get to rub elbows with the elite of the city. It can help your business.”

  Roz’s business didn’t need that kind of help. Keeping politicians happy had nothing to do with what she did. But it had everything to do with what Mick did. And not at Sinatra Industries either. But Mick’s other activities that were not legit, nor spoken of openly, but that had to be managed too if he expected to remain one step ahead of his thousands of enemies. Greasing the palms of politicians was as much a part of his job as smoothing the feathers of directors and producers was Roz’s. She was going to this function for Mick’s sake, and Mick’s sake alone.

  Her cell phone rang again. She looked at the Caller ID. She smiled and answered. “Well, hello there,” she said.

  Deuce drove through the intersection as the light turned green, but he also glanced at Roz through the rearview. Her voice had changed. She was always businesslike when she spoke with her clients. She was always straight to the point and direct. But her voice sounded sensual now. Seductive. Almost playful. It must be Mick on the line, he concluded. Until she said, “we can’t keep doing this, William,” and Deuce’s antennae went straight up. He didn’t look through the rearview this time. He was too busy listening.

  “Not my office, no,” Roz continued. “Too many prying eyes. Yeah, way too many. Nope, that’s out too. Too many people know me there. Further out is better. Somewhere like that place, yeah. That could work. But don’t expect me to keep doing this,” she continued, but her voice lowered to where Deuce could not understand what she was saying. Then she spoke in her normal volume again. “Just let me know and I’ll be there. Okay, William. Bye.” She ended the call.

  Deuce’s heart plunged as he continued to drive her to Mick. Women cheated all the time. Hell, he hadn’t exactly been Mister Faithful to his own wife either. And he’d be shocked if a gotta have it man like Mick hadn’t dipped his feet in those waters a time or two since marrying Roz. But somehow he thought Roz was better than them. Somehow he thought Roz wouldn’t dare cheat on Mick.

  “We’re here,” he said, as he turned into the circular driveway of the mayor’s historic mansion. He couldn’t say for certain if Roz was cheating. He could very well be misreading the conversation he’d just heard. But he remembered her kissing that guy a month ago in the back of her agency, and he knew the cheating lingo like he knew the back of his hand. And Roz, to his great dismay, seemed to have that lingo down pat.

  Inside the mansion, Mick was holding court with newly reelected Mayor Granville Wallace, with Joe Strasberg, Gran’s campaign manager, at his side. They were in the mayor’s study. All three men were standing at the window, looking out over the courtyard at the hundreds of guests that filled the brick-lined court.

  “This was my last race,” Granville said to Mick. “And until you got Lubinski to drop out of the race, it looked like I wasn’t going to win my last one.” He looked at Mick. “I owe you, my friend.”

  Mick did not look at the mayor. He continued to stare at the pile of guests trampling around in the courtyard. But he did set him straight. “You are not my friend,” he said to him.

  Strasberg rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand Mick Sinatra. But the mayor smiled. “It’s just a term of art,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if we’re friends or not.”

  “It matters,” Mick said. “Friends can take liberties with other friends.” He looked at the mayor. “You will not be taking liberties with me.” He handed Granville a piece of paper. “These are the two names for police chief and police commissioner.”

  Granville reluctantly took the sheet. “You know the unions supported me too. They’re expecting their two names to get those two jobs.”

  But Mick wasn’t interested. “I don’t care what they are expecting. They can expect the moon. What the fuck I care? Those are the two names that will occupy those two positions.”

  Strasberg looked at Mick. “Or what?” he asked him.

  Mick stared at Strasberg. He did not make idle threats, and wasn’t about to make one now. They knew what.

  The door to the mayor’s study opened, and his chief usher peered inside. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. All three looked at him. He looked at Mick. “Mrs. Sinatra has arrived, sir,” he said.

  Mick, to the shock of Granville and Strasberg, hurried out of the study. When the door shut behind him, they looked at each other. The mayor smiled.

  “What?” Strasberg asked.

  “I think we just found that man’s Achilles heel. I think we just found that weakness we can exploit.”

  But Strasberg wasn’t buying it. “You’re playing with fire, Gran,” he warned.

  “So what? I’ve always had a little arson in my blood anyway.” Then the mayor laughed. Strasberg knew what Sinatra was capable of. He failed to see the humor.

  Mick walked out of the study just as Roz had entered the mansion and was handing her coat to one of the maids. Mick stood there for a moment and took in the sight of her. Just seeing her sometimes took his breath away. This was one of those times.

  She wore an elegantly soft, brown-and-cream colored gown with lace and pearls that accentuated her flawless brown skin. Her cleavage showed the bountifulness of her breasts, and the slick down design of the dress showed off her figure. But it was her face that Mick noticed most. To everyone there, she was just another strong, beautiful black woman in the crowd, there to congratulate the mayor, and to network. Mick saw her strength and beauty, but he saw her vulnerability too. He saw the fragileness in her soft eyes. Not that long ago she would not have been invited to events like this. She was never in the elite of any city. And she was still getting used to the change. She still felt contempt for people like these, who, in the not-too-distant past, would not have given her the time of day. Mick prayed she stayed that way.

  But just as he was about to go to her, two men standing in front of him caused him to pause again.

  “Get a load of that,” one said as he elbowed the other one. Both were looking at Rosalind. “Get a load of that sleek body.”

  “Very nice.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a taste of that black berry.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth,” his friend warned.

  He looked at his friend. “Why should I? She’s nothing special.”

  “That’s Mick Sinatra’s wife. Is that special enough to you? And they say he’s nuts about her.”

  “Sinatra? That gangster nuts about somebody? Give me a freaking break!”

  “You’ve been warned,” his friend said. And for his own health, he left his side.

  The guy continued to stare at Roz. He continued to contemplate going over to her and seeing if he could get a play on her
. And Mick continued to stare at him. But then he thought about what his friend said, and decided she wasn’t worth the risk. He followed his friend across the room.

  Mick smiled, and went to his wife.

  When Roz saw him, a grand smile crossed her face. He was dressed elegantly too, in a black tux with a scarf across his shoulder, and she couldn’t help but feel proud to know him.

  “Hey, babe,” Mick said as he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her.

  Roz was always amazed at how little he cared what people thought whenever she was around. How openly affectionate he could be. “Is it as stuffy as it appears?” she asked him.

  “More so,” Mick responded. “But you’ll liven it up.”

  Roz laughed. “Sure I will!”

  Mick stared at her. “I hate to pull you in, but I actually have to do business with these sleaze balls.”

  “Oh, I understand, Mick, don’t you worry about me. It’s the price of doing business in this town. I get that. Just point me to the upper crust of the upper crust and I’ll put on the charm.”

  “Nope,” Mick said firmly. “It’s enough that you’re here. You will not be prostituting your charm on my behalf. Now come. Let me show you off.”

  Roz was a little surprised by his response. Usually he never cared for any public displays. But she followed his lead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mick, who had driven his Maserati to the event, excused Deuce for the night and drove himself and his wife back home. But when they went through the gates of their estate, and he kept driving around to the back of the estate, Roz looked at him. “Why are you taking me back here?”

  He smiled. “Afraid, Rosalind?”

  “Of you? You wish.”

  Mick laughed.

  “But what’s back here?” Roz asked.

  “Your gift.”

  Roz frowned. “My gift? What kind of gift?”

  “Your postpartum gift.”

  “My what?”