Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry (9 page)

The Jaguar lumbered along the streets
of Jericho and Charles, with sunglasses covering his eyes, took peeps at
Carly.
 
She sat quietly on the passenger
seat, reading from her IPAD.
 
She looked
like a typical school teacher in her tucked-in brown blouse, cardigan sweater,
and pencil skirt.
 
Her long hair was
pulled back into a thick ponytail.
 
But
her outer appearance was the only thing typical about her that Charles could
see.
 
Because looking deeper told a
different story.
 
She never fielded
messages on her cell phone the way women her age always did.
 
She turned down every guy that asked her out,
and refused to hang out with any of the single ladies around town.
 
Even when her car wouldn’t crank and had to
be towed to the shop, she refused his offer to buy her a new car.
 
She refused to let him buy her a house.
 
She lived at home and preferred it that
way.
 
He used to think it was because she
needed the closeness of her family to help her overcome what that tragedy in
Boston might have done to her.
 
But now
he wasn’t so sure.

He turned a corner, and looked at her
again.
 
“What are you reading?”

“Loving the Head Man.”

Charles suddenly thought about what
Jenay had done to him that morning.
 
“Head?
 
As in?”

Carly smiled.
 
“The boss, Dad.
 
It’s about loving the boss.”

Charles smiled.
 
“Ah.
 
A
romance novel?”

“Right.”

“Most girls your age wouldn’t be
reading about romance.
 
They’d be out
there living it.”

Carly looked up, her big, sincere
eyes on full display.
 
“I’m hardly like
most girls my age, Dad,” she said honestly.

Charles’s heart squeezed when she
made that declaration.
 
He waited for
more.
 
He waited for her to say that most
girls her age didn’t have a murder under their belt, but she didn’t go
there.
 
She never went there with
him.
 
“So how are things going with you
overall?” he asked.
 
“Teaching in a
small, private school in Jericho is a far cry from running a PR department in
Boston.”

“That is true,” Carly said, still
reading.

 
Charles waited for more, but nothing came.
 
Yep, he thought sadly, as he turned another
corner.
 
Great his ass.
 
She was a long way from great.

He looked at her again.
 
“I still want you to consider coming to work
for me, darling.”
 
She looked up.
 
“When you’re ready.”

“I know,” she said.
 
“And I probably will.
 
When I think I’m ready for the grind
again.
 
Teaching presents the right level
of stress for me right now.
 
Not too
much, and not too little.
 
The kids are
sweet.
 
I can deal with my co-workers
pretty well.
 
This is what I need right
now.”

Charles nodded.
 
Carly always had that clarity of thought
whenever she chose to share it with him.
 
“Understood,” he said.

She smiled.
 
“But it is rather odd, don’t you think?”

Charles looked at her.
 
“What is?”

“You already have Ash, Donald, and
Bobby working for you.
 
Three of your
children.
 
Aren’t they enough?”

“No,” Charles said bluntly.
 
“The three I want, you, Anthony, and Brent,
are charting your own path.
 
Instead I’m
stuck with Robert, who pays more attention to his ladies than his job.
 
Ashley, who pays more attention to her men than
her job.
 
And Donald, who pays more
attention to anything other than his job.”

Carly smiled.

“They’re good kids,” Charles
continued.
 
“I love them to death.
 
But they’re badly distracted and I don’t see
an end to that distraction anytime soon.
 
It’s you that I want.
 
You, Brent,
and Tony.
 
You guys are dependable.
 
You’re leaders.
 
You’re the ones who can carry on the family
business, and your less-focused siblings, right along with it.”

“Thanks, Dad, for the vote of
confidence.
 
I really appreciate it.”

“But?” Charles asked.

“I’m not ready yet,” she said
sincerely.

Charles nodded.
 
“Good enough.
 
But when you are ready to return to the corporate world, you give me
first dibs, you hear?”

Carly laughed.
 
“I hear,” she said.

But when Charles turned the corner
onto the street where his downtown office was located, and saw a small group of
protesters in front of his office, his face went from a smile to a frown.
 
“What the hell?” he asked rhetorically.
 
Then he lifted his sunglasses off of his face
and placed them on top of his head, for a better look.

“What?” Carly asked, looking
too.
 
When she saw the assembled group,
she was surprised.
 
“Protestors?”

“Yes,” Charles said with anger in his
voice as he sped up to the curb in front of his storefront office, stopped his
Jaguar with an abrupt stop, and jumped out.

Carly’s heart began to pound.
 
She knew there was a lot of tension in town
because of the election season that was still in full bloom, as candidate after
candidate attempted to portray the Sinatra name as if it were synonymous with
greed and excess and everything else that was wrong in their town.
 
Her father, especially, had to endure
withering attacks, and he was enduring it with class, she thought.
 
But even she would agree that this protest in
front of his place of business was taking it too far.

“What do you think you’re doing?”
Charles asked as he began walking toward the protestors.
 
“This is private property.”

“My name is Abe Norris,” the leader
walked up to him and said.
 
“I am here to
tell you, Mr. Sinatra, that your days of tyranny are about to come to an end.”

“This is private property,” Charles
said. “I want you off of it now.”

Norris lifted up his bullhorn.
 
“This building may belong to you,” he said
into the horn, “but you don’t own this sidewalk.
 
You may think you own this city, but you
don’t own us!”

The protestors cheered.

“Get the hell away from my office,”
Charles warned, “and I mean now.”

“You may own this building,” Norris
said again into his bullhorn, “but you don’t own this sidewalk.
 
You may own this city,” he continued, but
Charles angrily grabbed his bullhorn, broke it across his knee, and then tossed
the remains into the street.
 
The
protestors, seeing his anger and suddenly realizing who they were dealing with,
backed up.
 
Even their leader backed up.

“Now get the hell away from my office
before I break more than that horn!” Charles blared. When he moved as if he was
going to attack them, they ran.

But Norris held his ground, and
glared at Charles.
 
“Make me,” he said
with clenched teeth.

Charles went up to him.
 
He grabbed Norris by the catch of his shirt
and began dragging him off of the sidewalk.
 
Norris tried to hit back, but Charles was pure muscle and Norris was
hurting his own fists more than he was hurting Charles.
 
When Charles threw him into the street,
causing him to scrape his hands, he could hardly believe the treatment.

“You won’t get away with this, Big
Daddy!” Norris yelled derisively as he stood back up.
 
“I’ll cut you down to size one of these days,
boy.
 
I’m going to cut you down to size!”

“Fine,” Charles said.
 
“Just keep your ass away from my property
while you’re doing all of your cutting!”

Norris snatched up his broken
bullhorn and then made his way across the street too.
 
But when he saw the beautiful black lady get
out of Charles’s Jaguar, his walked slowed.
 
When he arrived on the opposite side of the street, he pulled one of the
male protestors aside.

“Yes, he’s always like that,” the
protestor said, anticipating the question.
 
“That’s why nobody can stand his ass.
 
He broke your bullhorn without even caring that it wasn’t his property
he was breaking.
 
But he’s always been
that way.
 
Arrogant prick!”

But Norris was still looking at
Carly.
 
“Who is that?” he asked,
motioning toward her.

The protestor, however, was
surprised.
 
“You aren’t from around
here,” he said.
 
“Are you?”

Norris paused, then decided to
speak.
 
“In every protest, the person
being protested love to blame outside agitators for all of the confusion.
 
Well, I’m a true outside agitator.
 
I travel this land agitating for citizens’
rights.”

“But not for nothing.
 
Am I right?” the protestor asked.
 
“Cruikshank’s campaign hired you, didn’t
they?”

Norris paused again.
 
Then spoke.
 
“I don’t discuss my employer,” he said.

“But why did they hire you?
 
I know they want you to agitate Big Daddy
Sinatra.
 
But agitate him into doing
what?”

“Just agitate him.
 
Because guess what?
 
That bullhorn breaking he just did?
 
The way he threw me in the street like I was
lower than a dog?
 
It was secretly
videotaped and will undoubtedly lead every newsbreak all day, and every
newspaper headline tomorrow morning around these parts.
 
You think he’s hated now, you just wait.
 
The strong arm of Big Daddy Sinatra will be
exposed, and it will be exposed in vivid color.”
 
Then Norris looked at the protestor.
 
“I know what I’m doing, pal.”

The protestor laughed.

“Now answer a question for me,”
Norris said.
 
“Who’s that lady?”

The protestor looked as Carly began
getting into the driver side of the Jaguar, and Big Daddy stood beside the car
talking with her.
 
“That’s his daughter,”
he said.

Norris smiled.
 
“Go on!”

“No, I’m serious.
 
He adopted her.
 
And adores her.
 
He has a lot of kids, probably more than
meets the eye given his reputation, but that one over there is his heart.”

“Well,” Norris said with a
contemplative look, as if an entirely new avenue of agitation had just opened
up for him.
 
“You don’t say?” he added.

The grade-school students marched in
a straight line toward the auditorium.
 
Carly was just entering the hall, just arriving to work, when she saw
them, and then the teachers following behind them.
 
“What’s going on?” she asked Judea, the
nearest teacher, as she fell in line too.

“Our new boss is about to be
introduced,” Judea said.

“Is it a woman like they claimed it
was going to be?”

“I haven’t met her yet.
 
But I think so.”

Just as they were about to continue,
Penelope Wright, one of the vestry members, walked over to the two of
them.
 
“Miss Sinatra,” she said.
 
“May I have a word?”

Carly glanced at Judea.
 
Penelope Wright barely spoke to her on any
given day.
 
Now she wanted to speak
privately with her?
 
“Of course,” Carly
said and followed the old lady away from the others.

“How are you today?” Penelope asked.

“Very well, thank you,” Carly
said.
 
“How may I help you?”

“I see your father has put his foot
in it again.
 
They had a live report on
the morning news.
 
He didn’t have to
break that man’s megaphone, or push him down.
 
What is wrong with that man?”