BIG DADDY SINATRA 2: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, Book 2 (26 page)

Charles
frowned.
 
“Will who?”

“Your
property manager.
 
Will Horton.
 
He’s the one who paid me.”

Charles
was stunned.
 
Why would Will, his friend
for twenty years and the manager of his rental properties, want his son
fired?
 
He looked again at Joffee to ensure
he wasn’t lying to him.
 
But he knew
bullshit when he saw it.
 
That wasn’t
bullshit.

Norm
had been working the desk for only a few minutes when Brent Sinatra entered the
lobby.
 
His first instinct was to run and
hide.
 
He didn’t want to have any parts
in Denise’s foolishness.
 
But his better
instinct kept him where he stood.
 
Brent
was a good guy. He didn’t deserve what Denise was doing behind his back.

“Hey,
Norm,” Brent said lively as he walked up to the desk.
  
He wore a suit and looked as if he had just
come out of church.
 

“Hi
there, Brent.”

“You
look out of place.”

“I am
out of place,” Norm agreed.
 
“The café is
closed on Sundays.
 
That’s the only
reason I’m doing this.
 
And because of
Denise of course.”

Brent
smiled.
 
“This is supposed to be her
gig?”

“You
are correct, sir.”

He
laughed.
 
“She’s still young.”

“You’re
young and a sergeant on the police force.
 
She’s only three years younger than you.
 
What’s her excuse?”

“I
used to be a sergeant on the police force,” Brent said, “and she’s twenty-two
in age only.
 
She’s more like eighteen in
actuality,” he added.
 
Then he added with
a note of regret: “Unfortunately.”

Norm
considered Brent.
 
“She’s my friend,” he
said, “and I love her to death.
 
But you
can do better than her.
 
She’s not ready
for a real man.
 
Nowhere near it.
 
And I know it sounds strange coming from a
gay guy like me,” Norm added and Brent laughed.
 
“But it’s true,” Norm said.
 
“Denise Donahue is not ready for primetime and I can’t envision a
scenario when she ever will be.
 
Maybe when
she’s sixty.
 
That’s the only scenario I
see.”

“Where
is she?
 
Upstairs?”

Norm
could only imagine what she was doing upstairs, but the kid had to find out for
himself.
 
“Yes,” he said.

And
Brent headed that way.

Instead
of the elevator, he took the stairs.
 
He
was actually anxious to see her again.
 
And to do her again, if he would be honest with himself.
 
He enjoyed doing it with Denise.
 
Whether or not that was going to lead to
anything more permanent, he couldn’t say.
 
Denise had to grow up first.
 
That
was going to take time.
 

But
when he arrived at the door of her suite, and heard what sounded like odd
noises coming from the room, noises that sounded like sex sounds to him, his
anxiousness turned into something different.
 
He looked down the corridor, saw a maid cart in the hall, and hurried to
that room.
 
He told the maid that there
might be an intruder in Denise’s room.
 
He wanted her to open the door.
 
Since Brent was well-respected around the Inn, not only as a cop but
also as Big Daddy Sinatra’s oldest son, the maid didn’t hesitate in following
him down the hall, and unlocking the door.
 

When
the door was unlocked, the maid immediately headed back to her station.
 
Brent hesitated too, but then he went inside.

Clothes
were practically blocking the entrance as he walked in.
 
And the noises he heard in the hall, and were
loud as thunder inside the room, were undeniably of a sexual nature.
 
He rounded the corner from the living area to
the bedroom area and saw Denise on the bed, with her ass in the air, allowing
some tall white guy to fuck the shit out of her.
 
He was pounding her so hard that her brown
butt was red.
 
He was fucking her so
mercilessly that Brent could see tears in her eyes.
 
And they weren’t tears of joy.
 

But
Brent didn’t care.
 
He didn’t see her
pain.
 
All he saw was red.

He
ran into the room, grabbed the guy off of her, and the fight was on.

Denise
was stunned when the pain of Mark’s harsh penetration was replaced with sudden
movement and then an out-and-out brawl.
 
She screamed for Brent to stop.
 
But Brent wasn’t about to stop.
 
He was beating Mark down as if it were the easiest opponent he’d ever
fought.
 
He was beating Mark so
decisively that it seemed unfair.
 
But he
didn’t stop.
 
He put a beating on
Denise’s ex that Mark would never forget.

Denise
knew it too.
 
And she also knew she had
to stop him.
 
She jumped on Brent’s back
and began beating him down.
 
It was
enough.
 
Mark course-corrected and ended
up with Brent on the floor.
 
And he began
his own beat down.
 

“Who
is he?” Mark was asking as he fought back.

“Some
fool who think I like him,” Jenay responded.
 
“His daddy owns this hotel.”

“You
want my woman?” Mark asked Brent as he fought.
 
“Well you can’t have her.
 
She’s
mine.
 
Nobody’s getting her.
 
And if you already had her, that gravy train
ends today.”

Denise
wanted to jump for joy when she heard those words.
 
Mark believed her!
 
She was lying, but Mark believed her
lies!
 
She looked at Brent, and was sorry
that it had to come to this, but she was already in love with Mark before she
knew Brent’s name.
  
She was with Brent
on the rebound.
 
Now that Mark was back,
she didn’t need him anymore.

Brent
regained control over Mark.
 
He was the
bigger man and the stronger man and he easily had Mark pinned down again.
 
But when he saw Denise holding onto the guy,
and coddling him, and begging Brent to stop hitting him, he stopped all
action.
 
What was he thinking?
 
His father would have told him he was the
fool of fools for fighting over a girl who was caught, red handed, fucking
another man.

He
pushed the guy away from him, and stood up.

Denise
saw the hurt in Brent’s eyes.
 
She looked
at him with sorrow in her own eyes.
 
She
even mouthed “I’m sorry” as if Brent was stupid enough to believe her.
 

“Kiss
my ass,” he said to her.
 
“He can have
you.”

But
he continued to look at her as if he was still kind of stunned.
 
He thought her problem all along was
immaturity, not malice.
 
He never dreamed
that she could be so calculating.
 
Now he
knew better.

He
left.
 
He left her to that man she was
fawning all over, and to her own devices.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sinatra Management
was a property office near the edge
of town.
 
They remained open on Sundays, mainly
to collect rents and catch up on paperwork, but occasionally Will or Nester
showed property too.
 

Charles
parked his Jaguar in front of the small office and walked briskly inside.
 
Nester Hamilton, his property agent, and Will
Horton, his longtime property manager, were both sitting in the office.
 
Four months ago, Will had attempted to have
Nester fired for what he called her dishonesty and her penchant for overhyping
properties to potential renters.
 
Now
Charles was there to confront Will himself about his own underhandedness.
 
A man Charles considered a friend.
 
It was unpleasant business.

Will
looked up from behind his desk as soon as Charles walked in.
 
But he was smiling, as if he didn’t have a
clue.
 
Nester was glad to see the boss
also.

“Hello,
Mr. Sinatra,” she said gaily.
 
“We
finally got Obadiah Puck’s property rented.”

“When?”
Charles asked.
 

“Yesterday.
 
I’m finalizing the paperwork now.”

“Good,”
Charles said.
 
Then he exhaled.
 
“Could you excuse us, Nest?”

It was
only then did Will show any kind of change in his bland expression.
 
Charles saw the sudden fear in his eyes.

Nester
was confused too.
 
He usually discussed
property matters with both of them present, not one.
 
This was unusual.
 
But Charles was in charge.
 
“Sure,” she said.
 
“I’ll just pop over to Maylene’s and grab a
coke.”
 
She grabbed her purse out of her
desk drawer, and left the storefront office.

Charles
then turned his attention to Will.
 
“Why
did you pay Joffee to fire my son?”

Will,
at first, smiled.
 
But when he saw just
how serious Charles was, that smile quickly evaporated.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
Why would I pay Joffee anything?”

“I
didn’t come here on a whim,” Charles made clear.
 
“I’m not asking you this question because I
think I know something.
 
I came here and
I’m asking this question because I know something. Why did you pay Joffee to
fire my son?”

Will
didn’t respond.
 
But Charles had no
patience anymore.
 
His patience was
over.
 
He lifted Will’s entire desk, with
papers flying wildly, and knocked it completely over.
 
Will jumped up stunned.

“Why
did you pay Joffee to fire my son?” Charles asked him.

Will’s
heart was hammering now.
 
He knew he was
cornered.
 
“Hold on.
 
None of this was my idea, Charles.”

“Tell
me what you know.”

“I
paid him, but it wasn’t my doing.
 
I was
told to pay Joffee to fire Brent so that he wouldn’t be privy to the
investigation.”

Charles
frowned. “What investigation?”

“The
bombing,” Will said.

Charles
was amazed.
 
“The bombing?
 
The bombing of my wife’s car?”

Will
nodded.
 
“Yeah.
 
They wanted Brent out of the equation.”

“But
why now, after four months?
 
The
investigation was winding down, not heating back up.”

“But
more was going down,” Will said.
 
“And
they didn’t want Brent snooping around.
 
Joffee would keep it quiet.
 
All
they had to do was pay him.
 
But Brent
would nose around.
 
They got lucky this
first time.
 
They didn’t want to take
that chance this second time around.”

“Another
bombing?” Charles asked, his heart pounding.
 
“They’re planning another bombing?”

“No.
 
Nothing like that.”

“Then
what?”

“I
don’t know,” Will said, “but not a bombing.
 
I did that, and they didn’t ask me to do it again.”

Charles
frowned.
 
“You did it?
 
You planted that bomb in my wife’s car?
 
Are you telling me you planted that bomb?”

“It
was crazy,” Will said.
 
“But they knew
what I had done.
 
They said they would
tell what I did.”

“What
are you talking about?” Charles asked.
 
“What did you do?”

“That
tenant.
 
You remember?
 
The girl they found in that house on Beaver
Street.
 
The girl we rented that house
too?”

It
was nearly six years ago, but Charles remembered it.
 
“She was raped and stabbed to death.
 
Of course I remember it.
 
But what about it?”
 
Then his eyes stretched.
 
“You killed that girl?”

Will
stared at his friend, and his heart was beating out of his chest.
 
“They saw me running from the house.
 
They saw me.
 
But they never went to the cops.
 
I had to steal from you.
 
I sold
properties for a hundred dollars mark-up, more than you had authorized, and was
blackmailed into giving up that money.
 
And I gave it up.
 
It added up to
thousands of dollars each and every month.
 
But they kept silent.
 
They never
went to the police.”

Will
paused.
 
Charles had to hear it all, so
he remained silent too.
 
“Then they found
out that I had been in the army,” Will continued, “and they found out that I
had worked around explosives.
 
They told
me I had to plant the bomb.
 
They told me
I had to detonate it.
 
So I did it.
 
To save my own hide from prison.
 
I was on Harvey Street that day.
 
But nobody paid me any attention.
 
I was the one who called you.
 
It was all a part of the plan.
 
It was all in the plan.
 
They told me what to do every step of the
way.”

“Who,
Will?” Charles asked that one crucial question.
 
“Who are they?”

 
Will started shaking his head.
 
“I didn’t mean to kill that girl,” he
cried.
 
“I was just gonna rape her, and
then deny it.
 
But she fought so hard.
 
She fought so hard!”

“Who
are they, Will?” Charles asked again.
  
He wasn’t thinking about that tenant right now.
 
He was thinking about this new plot Will
mentioned.
 
He had to stop this new
scheme!
 
“Who are they?” he asked.

But
Will was still thinking about that girl.
 
“She was so pretty,” he said, and Charles had had enough.

“You
asshole!” Charles said and began to charge him.
 
“Who made you plant that bomb in my wife’s car?
 
Who?”

But
Will took off.
 
He ran down the side hall
and through the office backdoor.
 
Charles
was right behind him, running too.
  
But
Will was running for his life and catching him was not going to be easy.

But
Charles ran as hard as he could run.
 
They almost fell through the back door they were running so hard.
 
They ran across the back lot, over a fence,
down another alley, and then onto a busy street.
 
Charles was closing in fast.
 
He nearly caught Will at the fence, but Will
managed to snatch away and keep running.
 
Charles ran after him.
 
They were
running so hard that neither one of them saw that SUV.
 
But Will was first onto that street, and
although the SUV swerved as hard as it could, it ultimately hit him.
 
Charles was able to stop in time.
 
But not before Will was knocked into the air,
and then dropped onto the hood of the SUV, and then onto the street.

Charles
ran up to Will.
 
People were beginning to
gather.
 
The driver of the vehicle was
hurrying out of his truck too.
 
But
Charles needed answers.
 
That bastard
couldn’t die until Charles got his answer.

He
held Will in his arms.
 
He cradled that
man as if he had never betrayed him.
 
“Tell me who they are, Will?
 
Tell
me who they are?”

Will
was barely hanging on.
  
Tears were
falling from his eyes.

But
Charles had no sympathy.
 
“Tell me,
Will,” he said.
 
“Who are they?”

“I
call her “they” because she acts like an army.”

“Who?
 
Who do you call they?”

“Mary,”
Will said through his pain.
 
“Your
secretary.
 
Mary Stalworth.”

Charles
couldn’t believe it.
 
He dropped Will
like a hot potato.
 
Mary?
 
His
Mary?
 
It was one thing for Will to
betray him.
 
But
Mary
?
 
Will had to be
lying.
 

He
lifted him up again, to get it straight.
 
“Why would Mary betray me?” he asked him.
  
“Why?”

But
Will was caught up in his own horror.
 
And then, just like that, he was dead.
 
Charles’s friend of twenty years was dead.
 
He betrayed him and died.

Charles
stood up.

And
then he thought about Jenay.
 
After church
she said she was going to go to the Inn to check on her weekend staff, but
first she was going over to Mary’s house to look at more fabrics.
 

She
was going to Mary’s house.

“Oh
my God!” Charles said aloud and took off running.
 
He pulled out his cell phone and was calling
Brent, as he ran.

They
sat on her pastel-colored living room couch and looked at a pile of
fabrics.
 
Jenay was impressed with this
batch of samples.
 
They were more in line
with what she had in mind for the Inn’s lobby.
 

“Let
me get the others,” Mary said as she stood up.
 
“They’re not as elegant, but I think they can be peppered around the
room to give it that downhome feel too.”

Jenay
leaned back, and looked around.
 
“I think
this is my first time in your house, Mary,” she said.
 
“It’s lovely.
 
I see why you have a knack for interior design.”

“Why
thank-you,” Mary said.
 
“Stand up please,
and look around,” she said.
 
“Have the
run of the place.
 
Lord knows I do.”

Jenay
smiled and began looking around in the living room while Mary headed into the
kitchen area.
 
Jenay went down into the
hall, when she saw such attractive artwork on the walls, and she couldn’t help
but wonder where did Mary get the money to have such expensive tastes.
 

But then,
out of her periphery, she saw something startling.
 
It was in the bedroom at the end of the
hall.
 
The door was wide open and Jenay
could see the wall.
 
And on that wall, in
big living color, was a gorgeous photo of Charles.
 
A photo blown up so big that it covered the
entire wall.
 
Jenay couldn’t believe it.

“What
in the world,” she said in almost a whisper as she made her way toward that
bedroom.
 
She pushed the door all the way
open and looked at the image.
 
It was
beautiful.
 
She even knew that particular
picture of Charles.
 
He was seated behind
his desk, in a sports coat and a black turtleneck sweater, and he had actually,
for a change, smiled for the camera.
 
It
was a gorgeous picture.
 
But because it
covered an entire wall, because it was in his secretary’s home, because it was
a picture of
her
husband, it was also
the creepiest thing Jenay had ever seen.