Big Daddy Sinatra: Papa Don't Play Page 2

  “Security’s on their way up,” Dante said. “Are you okay?”

  Carly wasn’t okay. Her face was stinging and her pride and anger were even more exposed. But she didn’t give in. “I’m okay,” she said, and left the office too.

  After the confrontation, Carly assumed her day could not possibly get any worse. It began horribly, before she even made it to her own office, but she was reasonably certain it had nowhere to go but up from there. Until Bridgette hurried into her office with a cellphone in hand. “Carly, you have to see this,” she said as she came.

  Carly was still writing her report, a meticulous exercise Trevor required after all interactions with clients, especially hostile ones, and didn’t look up from her computer.

  “Carly,” Bridgette said again, “you have to see this. It’s on the internet.”

  “What’s on the internet?” Carly asked as she continued to type.

  “Your knockdown drag-out with Bo Midas.”

  Carly was about to continue typing, until she actually heard what Bridgette had just said. She looked frantically at her assistant. “Somebody captured it? Are you telling me somebody recorded it?”

  Bridgette handed the phone to Carly and pressed Play. The video showed Bo angrily slapping Carly with a vicious slap. She slapped him back, and the video captured that too, but it wasn’t nearly as walloping a blow as Bo’s had been. But the sting of the hit wasn’t what was bothering her. The fact that she was the news was. The fact that the one thing Trevor said he would not tolerate was his employees injecting themselves into an already bad situation. “Deescalate,” Trevor always warned. “These people are coming to me because they are in a public relations nightmare already. They will be arrogant. They will be harsh. They will be disrespectful. If you cannot deescalate the situation, leave the situation. Failure to comply with this order? Immediate termination.”

  Bridgette seemed to read Carly’s facial expression. “He’s not going to terminate you,” she said. “You’re his favorite.”

  Carly didn’t respond to that. Nobody at RM knew about Carly’s romantic relationship with Trevor. At least they weren’t supposed to know. But Bridgette was an old pro. She was nobody’s fool. “Just issue a press release,” she suggested to her boss. “Apologize to Bo. Put the blame on yourself.”

  Carly looked at her assistant. “After he slapped the shit out of me?” Carly handed the cellphone back to Bridgette. “No thank you.”

  Bridgette looked worried. “Now you are putting your job at risk,” she said. “Mr. Reese has a zero tolerance policy on this kind of behavior. You know that. You’ve got to mitigate the fallout.”

  “There’s nothing to mitigate. He slapped me, and I slapped him back. Perhaps I handled it poorly, but it’s done now. There’s no taking it back.” Then she exhaled. “Get back to work,” she ordered. “We have five clients coming in today. Let’s prepare for them.”

  “Okay, boss,” Bridgette said, “but I think you’re making a huge mistake. Mr. Reese doesn’t play, and he doesn’t play favorites when it comes to his business.”

  Carly didn’t like that implication, and her look made Bridgette realize she didn’t like it, but neither had anything else to say. Bridgette left.

  After she had gone, Carly leaned back from her computer and placed her hands on the sides of her flustered face. Trevor was going to be upset. There was no doubt about that. He was going to insist she should have never barked out that takes one to know one line that caused Bo’s manhood to be threatened and his reaction to escalate. They were in the business of smoothing bridges, not burning them. But was it a firing offense? Could he not only kick her out of his company, but out of his bed as well?

  Her adopted father always taught her to stand up for herself, even if it cost her all she held dear. Including this job that she loved. Including the man that she loved.

  She moved back to her computer, and got back to work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charles “Big Daddy” Sinatra got out of his pickup truck and walked angrily toward the shotgun house. His five-man eviction crew, who phoned him after the tenant refused to let them in, stood around the yard waiting to begin the removal process. Wasting their time and his money. A young uniformed police officer already on the scene, Officer Blake Myersen, left their side and began running beside Charles.

  “Sir, I can handle this,” he was insisting as he ran. “You need to let me handle this. I’ve been negotiating with the subject and he just might come around. He understands the eviction will have to go through. But it’s going to take some time. Sir? Sir? Sir, the chief told me not to allow you to take charge like this!”

  But Charles was already in charge. He ignored the hapless officer and hurried up onto the porch, moved swiftly toward the front door, and was about to take matters into his own hands. He was dressed for a day at the office, in his tailored blue suit and shades, and had no intention of doing any field work today. But that was before the phone call. That was before his tenant, once again, felt as if he didn’t have to play by the rules like everybody else. And Charles was already over it. He was already angry.

  But as he approached the locked front door, a gunshot exploded through the already splintered door, causing Charles and Officer Myersen to duck quickly and dive aside. Even the eviction team, who were farther away, began running toward the street. When Charles realized what just happened, when he realized that fool inside had just shot at them, an already pissed Big Daddy Sinatra leaned back, and kicked the whole door down.

  Goober Friley was inside the house holding the fired rifle when the door fell, but Charles didn’t hesitate. He charged at him.

  “I didn’t aim to hit anybody!” Goober cried quickly as Charles came for him. He knew who he was dealing with. He knew that mean s.o.b. from way back. He thought it was Myersen he was shooting that warning shot toward. He thought he was shooting at Myersen. “I wasn’t trying to hit anybody, Big Daddy!” he cried frantically.

  But Charles didn’t care what he wasn’t trying to do. He lifted Goober up the way a bull lifted his hind legs and slammed him, back first, onto the floor. Goob’s wife and kids, who were standing in the corner of the living room, began to scream as Big Daddy jumped down on their beloved and began beating the stew out of him.

  “Everybody calm down!” Myersen yelled as he scrambled to un-holster his pistol and reassert his authority. “Big Daddy, please! Please stop this madness and everybody calm down!”

  Charles did stop, but not because of Myersen. He stopped only after he felt Goober was sufficiently punished. Then he snatched the rifle from Goober’s hand and stood to his feet. “Shooting through a closed door like some gotdamn idiot!” Charles yelled at Goob. “Anybody could have been hit you crazy sonafabitch!”

  “I’ll take it from here, Big Daddy,” Myersen said, reaching for the rifle Charles now held.

  But Charles wasn’t thinking about any cop, nor was he relinquishing that rifle. His entire focus was on Goober. “Get up,” he said to him.

  Goober, his once pale face now a bloody mess, rose gingerly to his feet. His wife and kids ran to him, and propped him up. Charles disliked the fact that he had to unleash so much violence in front of children, but Goober Friley was such a hothead anyway, he was reasonably certain that they were used to the drama. But their presence was enough to keep Charles from exerting even more punishment.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” Charles said to Goober. “You will get your family and leave my premises at once. You will get out of my house. You will get in your car and get off of my property. I don’t care where you go, but you’re leaving here. You have refused repeated requests to pay your rent, and I am now exercising my right to evict your ass. If you don’t like it, you take it up with law enforcement. But right now, you’re getting out of here.”

  “Actually, he’s going to be arrested,” Myersen said to Charles, and then looked at Goober. “You can’t just willy nilly fire your gun at people like that, Goob. T
his ain’t the wild west. Where do you think you are?”

  But Goober knew who was running this show. He looked at Charles. “Can we at least get our things, Big Daddy? I didn’t mean to hurt anybody, honest I didn’t. Can we get our things?”

  “You had every opportunity to pack that shit,” Charles said. “That time is over. My men will put it at the curb, and you can pick it up when it gets out of here. But right now, I want you off of my property.”

  Goober didn’t like it, but he realized it could get a lot worse if Myersen was allowed to arrest him, so he decided to obey Charles’s order and leave. He grabbed his wife and kids and began hurrying toward the knocked down door. He wanted his rifle too, but knew a bastard like Big Daddy Sinatra wasn’t giving it back to him.

  And Myersen was livid. “But Big Daddy,” he said with a plea in his voice, as Goober began ushering his family out of the door. “This can’t stand, sir. I am the authority here!”

  Goober and family continued to hurry out.

  “Goober wait!” Myersen insisted. “He can’t just leave,” Myersen said to Charles. Then he yelled at the still progressing Frileys: “I said wait!”

  But Charles wanted this over with. “Who’ll take care of his wife and kids if he’s arrested?” he asked the young officer. “You?”

  “Well no, sir. But he’s a menace to society!”

  “He’s a menace alright,” Charles said. “But he’s their menace. Let him go.”

  Like most people in Jericho, Maine, Myersen wasn’t accustomed to standing up to the most powerful man in town. He let them go.

  And the Frileys jumped into their broken down van, backed out of the dirt-filled driveway, and took off. The van nearly rammed a truck with Police Chief written on it, as that truck turned into the driveway. The police chief, Robert “Bobby” Sinatra, got out of the truck and stared at the speeding vehicle.

  Robert’s officer, Myersen, hurried down the stairs toward his young boss as Charles’s eviction crew hurried back into the house to begin the furniture removal. “I tried to arrest him, sir,” Myersen said to Robert.

  “Arrest him?” Robert asked. “Why?”

  “For firing his rifle directly at your father.”

  Robert’s heart dropped. “My father?” It was only then did he realize the pickup truck in the yard belonged to his father. “Where is he?” Robert began running toward the porch.

  “He wasn’t hit,” Myersen said reassuringly, running behind him. “He’s okay!”

  But Robert was not going to believe it until he saw it for himself. It was only after he entered the house and saw Charles standing there, directing the eviction crew that was now inside of the house, did he sigh relief. “Are you okay, Dad?” he asked.

  Charles looked at his son, and then began heading out.

  Robert flapped his arms at his side. “Dad? Dad? I’m not invisible, Dad,” he said.

  But Charles continued to ignore him as he walked out onto the porch. Robert followed him out there. “Dad!” he said as he hurried down the steps behind his father. “The mayor fired Brent and hired me. How is that my fault? Even Brent said it was okay!”

  “Brent’s diplomatic,” Charles said as he continued to head for his truck. “I’m not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Robert asked as Charles tossed Goober’s rifle on the back of his pickup truck, and then got inside.

  Robert made his way up to the truck. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dad?” he asked again.

  Charles looked at Robert. Of all of his children, Robert had disappointed him the most. “Nobody is going to fire my brother and then hire me,” Charles said. “Ain’t gonna happen. That’s what it means!” And Charles backed up, swerved his truck around, and took off.

  Robert was already having a hell of a time adjusting to this role as the new police chief, figuring this would just be a stepping stone to bigger and better things should the mayor become governor of the state someday, as everybody was predicting, and then president of the entire country, as the mayor himself was predicting. His father didn’t seem to understand that kind of ambition.

  “Should we go after Goob, sir?” Myersen walked up and asked.

  Robert frowned. “Why are you asking me now? Why didn’t you arrest his ass when he was here?”

  “Big Daddy, I mean your father, wouldn’t let me.” Big Daddy used to be a derogatory term, used mainly by the townspeople because of the reach, or, as many saw it, overreach of Charles’s wealth and influence. But time had obscured its original purpose. Now everybody used it, even family members. “He forced me to let Goob go when I told him I didn’t want to do that. Goob should be arrested. But he wouldn’t let me exercise my authority.”

  Robert looked at his young officer, who was actually a year older than Robert. “My father doesn’t run this department; you hear me? I run this! And don’t you forget it!”

  “Yes, sir,” Myersen said. But he also understood that his question was not answered. “But what about Goob, sir?”

  Robert knew arresting Goober Friley wasn’t going to do anything but bring even more upheaval to his unlucky wife and kids. “Let him go,” he said, got into his truck, and took off too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Becky Hamlisch stood behind the front desk inside the lobby of the Jericho Inn and smiled at Donald Sinatra. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I see all these girls you fool with around here. A maid. One of the other clerks. Even one of Wilkie’s daughters. No way. I’m not interested in being in anybody’s stable.”

  Donald was leaned against the front desk counter, and was doing all he could to woo the pretty blonde. He was desk clerk supervisor, after his parents demoted him from General Manager, and was making the most, by getting laid as often as he could, of his bad situation. “What kind of stable are you talking about?” he asked Becky. “You’re mistaking me for somebody else, girl! I don’t have any stables. I don’t even know what that is!”

  “Yeah, right,” Becky said as she looked out front and saw a big Ford F-150 come to a stop under the portico. When she saw Big Daddy get out of the truck, her heartbeat quickened. She lived for moments like these. She lived for those days when he dropped by the Inn. “You’re too much of a playboy for me,” she said to Donald. “I’m not interested. I can’t be one of many.”

  “I’m not asking you to be like that,” Donald said, his back to the front entrance and totally oblivious to Becky’s true interest. “I’m telling you I’m not that fella. You have the wrong guy, Beck, I declare you do. I’m just a hard-working man over here. You saw how I handled that water leak this morning. That’s what I do. I handle my business.”

  Charles wore a suit, as usual. And it was expensive, Becky had no doubt, as he stepped out of his truck with those ever-present shades covering his gorgeous green eyes, with that big, bulky body, with that thick, salt-and-pepper hair that made Becky wonder if she’d ever seen a better looking human being. Certainly nobody sexier, she thought, as she noticed, as she always did, that ever-present bulge between his legs. “Your father has arrived,” she said, prompting Donald to look too. “That’s who you need to be like,” she added. “Stop with the playboy image and be a good man, a true man like your father. And good looking too? Your father is one beautiful man, Donnie.”

  Donald looked at her and smiled. “You do realize that that quote, unquote, ‘beautiful man,’ is married, right? To my mother?”

  “To your stepmother,” Becky corrected him.

  “Same difference in our family,” Donald corrected her.

  “And of course I know he’s married,” Becky quickly said. “I’m just telling the truth. You have a beautiful father. My boss has a beautiful husband.”

  “Actually, Mom isn’t your boss. She’s my boss,” Donald said. “I’m your boss.”

  “She’s both our bosses,” Becky said, and then grinned. “If that’s the right way to say it. And your father is the big boss, which makes him her boss.”

  Donald la
id his head on the counter. “Good grief,” he said. “All of this boss talk is giving me brain drain.”

  Becky laughed. Donald looked at her. “But for real, Beck,” he said, “just one date. Just one, alright? Just one!”

  “Just one what?” It was Charles’s deep voice. Donald stood erect. “Hey, Dad,” he said as he turned toward his approaching father.

  “Hey,” Charles said. “Just one what?”

  “Date,” Becky said. “He wants me to go on a date with him, but I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea.”

  “It’s not,” Charles agreed. “Leave her alone,” he said to Donald. Becky smiled. She loved when Charles was protective of her, as he often was of all of the employees.

  “I was just messing with her anyway,” Donald quickly said. “Wasn’t I, Beck?”

  “Listen to your father,” Becky said with a smile and Donald laughed too.

  “Where’s Jenay?” Charles asked Donald.

  “Getting her groove back.”

  Becky grinned. Charles frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked his son.

  “She’s out at the gazebo with some guy she knew back in Boston,” Donald said, “or wherever. We had a water line bust this morning, so she didn’t have time to give me the details. His daughter is going to have her wedding reception here in a few weeks.”

  “Walk with me,” Charles said to his son, as he began heading for the back exit.

  Donald gave Becky a wink. “I shall return,” he said, and then hurried to follow his father.

  When they made it outside, and headed along the back sidewalk of the picturesque Inn, Donald ran up to Charles and placed his arm in his. “What’s up, Doc?” he asked.

  “Sexual harassment,” Charles said. “That’s what’s up.”

  Donald was surprised to hear him say that. “With Becky? Come on, Dad! She knows I was just playing with her.”