Mick Sinatra: Needing Her Again Read online

  “This is going to look all kinds of crazy, Pop, if the Feds are tailing us,” Teddy said as they walked.

  “The Feds aren’t tailing us.” Mick knew because he had his men tailing them. “And what’s weird about it? He’s about to marry my sister. He wanted to ask me if I’d be his best man. I’ll tell him no. What’s wrong with that?”

  Teddy looked at his father. “There is no way Hammer Reese asked you to be his best man. The two of you hate each other.”

  “We don’t hate each other.”

  “You hate the fact that he’s a lawman, and he hates the fact that the brother of his soon-to-be wife is everything a lawman is against. That’s powerful hate.”

  “That’s not the point,” Mick said. “I wouldn’t be his best man if I was the last man on earth. But if the Feds ask you what this meeting was about, that’s the reason you give. He wanted me in his wedding. Period.”

  “With just three weeks before the wedding, Pop? The Feds won’t fall for that.”

  “They’ll fall for whatever we tell them to fall for. Besides, it shouldn’t come ever come up. Wait here,” Mick said when they arrived at the steps of Hammer’s plane, and then he left Teddy on the tarmac as he climbed up.

  Teddy was pissed that his father, once again, left him out of the action. He felt like some kind of glorified security guard standing there like some idiot. But that was his old man lately. Always leaving him out of major decisions. Always telling him just enough information. And Teddy was getting tired of it.

  But inside the plane, Mick sat down across from Hammer Reese in the plane’s conference room, his crew chief closed the door behind them, and the two men got down to business.

  “Yes,” Hammer said before Mick asked him, “It was an inside job.”

  “One of my men?” Mick asked.

  “One of your men in Rome, yes. I don’t know who snitched in Belarus.”

  “Which one of my men in Rome?”

  “I don’t know that either. But my money’s on Pauley Jay.”

  Mick nodded. “Yeah, mine too. And you don’t know who sung in Belarus?”

  “I don’t know, Hammer said.

  Mick frowned. “Your ass the former head of CIA, and the current special ops chief, and you couldn’t find that get little intel?”

  “That’s exactly right, Mick,” Hammer said a little annoyed. “What did you think I was going to do? Ask a direct question? I had to do some digging, and I couldn’t dig too deep or I’ll get flagged. My ass had no business doing that much.”

  Mick understood it. But he needed intel! “Did my man in Rome go to ATF?”

  “No,” said Hammer.

  “Then who did he feed it to?” asked Mick.

  “One of the heads of a friendly family, at least friendly to the Sinatra crime family.”

  “There’s no such thing as a Sinatra crime family,” Mick said.

  “Yeah, sure, Mick.”

  But Mick was too hungry for info to go down that rabbit hole. “Which partner?” he asked Hammer.

  “The one your ex is sleeping with,” Hammer said.

  Mick found that an odd way to put it. “Which ex?”

  “That’s right, you have so many.”

  “Fuck you, Hammer!”

  Hammer smiled. He and Mick might not ever see eye to eye on anything, but they knew when they were together they were in the company of equals.

  “Which ex?” Mick asked again.

  “The one you’re most fond of,” Hammer said.

  Mick didn’t like the implication, but he knew who he meant. “What else you got?”

  “That’s it. They collected files. Plenty of them in Rome. And the contraband, of course. But what they plan to do with all of the info they collected? That I cannot tell you because I do not know.”

  Mick exhaled. “Is there any chatter about bringing me up on charges?”

  Hammer smiled. “You? That’ll be the day. Your ass is too big to fail, remember? You’re fucking Goldman-Sachs in the mob world. They’ll have to be suicidal to go directly after you. But indirectly? Now they might be showing some signs in that direction.”

  “How?”

  Hammer shook his head. “I ran CIA. I don’t have a clue how they handle their business over at ATF. FBI either. But my advice? Shut it all down until this blows over. Because the heat is on now. Big time.”

  Mick understood. And then he stood up. “Thanks,” he said, and the two men shook hands. “And Hammer?” Mick added just as he was about to leave.

  “Yep?”

  “Fuck around on my sister and your ass is mine.”

  “You mean,” Hammer said, “don’t do Amelia like you do your old lady? Don’t worry.”

  Mick wanted to kick Hammer’s ass for even going there. But Hammer wasn’t the only person who thought of Mick as incapable of being faithful to one woman, and Mick knew it. “You treat Millie the way I treat my wife,” Mick said, “you’ll get no trouble from me. Asshole,” Mick added with a slight smile, Hammer laughed, and then Mick got off of the plane.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Bentley drove up to the Graham Talent Agency and Roz, the owner, stepped out. She was sipping her coffee with one hand and carrying her briefcase with the other hand when she entered the lobby. Teegan Salley, Roz’s secretary, was waiting by the reception desk as soon as she walked in. She hurried over to Roz.

  “Hey, boss,” she said as she took her briefcase.

  “Hey.”

  “Mark’s in conference room C.”

  Roz frowned. “Mark Reynolds? What’s he doing here?”

  “Says he wants to explain to you what happened.”

  “He got his ass fired,” Roz said, “that’s what happened. What’s there to explain?”

  “And Jemilla’s in conference room A.”

  “Jemilla? Why?”

  “She says she’s quitting the show. She says she can do better than the CW. She wants to be on one of the top three network shows.”

  Roz rolled her eyes. These spoiled-behind, so-called actors were getting on her last nerve. “I’ll see Jemilla first. Tell Mark I’ll talk to him another day. I am too busy.”

  “Instead of seeing Jemilla first,” Teegan said, “you might want to go to your office first.”

  Roz looked at her. “Why would I want to do that? Jemilla wants to leave a successful show I busted my butt to get her on, and to do what? To maybe get, perhaps get gig on some network shows that don’t give a damn about diversity, and you don’t think I need to see her first?”

  “You need to see her, that’s a fact,” Teegan said. “But you might want to see Billy Lancer first.”

  Roz stopped in her tracks. “Billy Lancer?”

  Teegan smiled. “The great Billy Lancer is here, Boss!”

  Roz couldn’t believe. “Stop playing with me, girl. I am not the one!”

  “I’m not playing! He’s here. To see you. He’s right upstairs in your office right this very minute waiting for you!”

  Roz’s heart soared. She and Billy went way back, when they were both young, struggling actors on Broadway. Roz went on to have good success as an actress, but Billy went to Hollywood and became one of the greatest movie producers of a generation. She handed her coffee to Teegan. “I’ll be in my office,” she said as she began hurrying for the elevator.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Teegan, grinning.

  “But tell Jemilla to keep her ass here,” Roz ordered. “I’ll see her next.” And Roz got on that elevator excitedly, and kept punching the button until the doors closed.

  The receptionist, who heard the entire conversation, was grinning too. “I haven’t seen the boss that happy in a long time.”

  “Wouldn’t you be happy if Billy Lancer was in your office?”

  “I guess so,” the receptionist said. But then she looked at Teegan. She knew about actors and actresses in Hollywood. She knew nothing about producers and directors. “Who’s Billy Lancer?” she asked.

  Teegan look
ed at her as if she was the sister from another planet. Then she shook her head and headed for conference room A.

  Upstairs, as he sat in front of Roz’s desk in her office, Billy Lancer’s hands were sweating. He couldn’t believe it. His hands were sweating as if he was the starlet about to meet the big producer. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. What on earth was wrong with him? Yes, he’d liked Roz ever since he first laid eyes on her, but back then he figured he was out of her league. And then, when he made it so big that she was out of his league, he met Natalie, and didn’t give Roz a second thought. And then Roz became tangled up with Mick “The Tick” Sinatra, that slimy gangster, and that was the end of that.

  Until his wife died. And Mick the Tick was responsible.

  Until he realized that even a ticking time bomb might explode in the wrong direction, if you tampered with it right.

  He smiled as he put his handkerchief back into the pocket of his suit. Because he wasn’t just tampering with that bomb. He had the power to make sure there were severe consequences, when that bomb blew.

  And when that office door opened, and Roz Graham walked in, his tampering began. He turned toward her, smiled even greater, and stood to his feet.

  “Roz!” he said happily, his arms outstretched, when he saw her beautiful face. And they ran into each other’s arms.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They walked up the six flight of stairs as if they belonged there. Mick suited up in his long white custom-made coat, his black trousers, his black turtleneck, and was walking alongside Teddy, who wore jeans, a brown leather bomber jacket, and a skull cap. They looked like two heavies in that rundown apartment complex in Rome, coming to negotiate their boss’s business, except they were the boss and the underboss, and Mick Sinatra was not there to negotiate a damn thing.

  That was why, when they made it to the sixth floor and walked over to apartment 2-16, they didn’t knock. They didn’t ask whomever was inside to open up. Mick leaned back, lifted his expensive shoe, and kicked that door down.

  Pauley Jay, Mick’s man in Rome, was on the sofa getting head from some woman, and he immediately reached for the gun he had beside him. Until he realized who it was. And he was stunned. “Boss? What you knocking my door down for?” He quickly pushed the woman away and put that thing back in his pants. And hurried to his feet. “Boss, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” Mick asked as Teddy grabbed the still-clothed woman and flung her out the door, tossing a hundred dollar bill at her. The woman grabbed the money and ran. Then Teddy tried to close the broken door.

  “You hear that, Ted?” Mick said to his son. “He wants to know what’s wrong. My main facility in this town was raided by the ATF, and he wants to know what’s wrong?”

  “But I handled that,” Pauley Jay pleaded. “I got the lawyers onsite just like Lewdy ordered. I shut down every other facility in this town just like Teddy ordered. I handled it!”

  Mick couldn’t believe he said that. “You handled it?”

  “I handled it!” Pauley Jay said again, talking with his hands, trying with all he had to appear large and in charge.

  It wasn’t working. Not for Mick. “Those fuckers took every cargo, every scrap of paper at Main, and arrested every one of my people onsite, you stupid fuck! What did you do about that? Hun, Pauley? Did you handle that?!”

  Pauley didn’t know what to say. He knew there was a screwup, but he expected Mick to understand. That was the whole plan. That Mick wouldn’t trace that shit to him! “I wasn’t even told you were coming, Boss. Or I would have--”

  “Or you would have what?” Teddy asked. “You would have had your ass at Main trying to pick up the pieces and determine how that raid went down? Or would you have been hitting the streets trying to find out who’s the fucking snitch? Or would you have just come home to this rathole, getting womanly pleasure at a time like this, because you know the man who snitched? And that man is you.”

  “Me? Get the fuck out of here! I did go to Main. I did hit the streets. I did all that shit, Teddy, how could you claim I didn’t? How could you claim I snitched on the boss?”

  “How? I’ll show you how!” Teddy grabbed Pauley by the catch of his shirt and began raining haymakers down on him, one blow after another blow after another blow. Pauley tried to fight back, but he was no match for Teddy. Mick’s muscular son took care of him in short order and then pushed him away from him. Pauley stumbled, but he didn’t fall.

  “You hit the streets?” Mick asked him.

  “I hit the streets,” Pauley pleaded, as blood oozed from the wounds Teddy had inflicted on his face. “I went everywhere. I knocked down every door.”

  “And what did you find out?” Mick asked.

  “I couldn’t find nothing. Boss, I tried. But nobody knew nothing about it.”

  “Nothing?” Mick asked.

  “Nothing,” Pauley said. “Nobody knew nothing!”

  Mick nodded his head, which Pauley thought meant he was understanding. But Teddy knew better. His father nodding his head never meant he understood. It meant Pauley was about to be in a world of hurt.

  And just as quickly as Teddy thought so, it happened. Mick grabbed Pauley and threw him against the side wall. Teddy, understanding what that meant, hurried to the window beside that wall and opened it. Mick hurried over, too, and grabbed Pauley again and leaned him, head first, all the way out of that window. The only thing keeping Pauley from falling six flights down was Mick’s grip on Pauley’s two legs. “Who’s the snitch?” Mick asked.

  “I told you I don’t know,” Pauley said.

  “Who’s the snitch?” Mick asked again.

  “Boss, you got the wrong guy. I tried to stop’em. I told’em it wouldn’t work. I told’em you’d track’em down. But they wouldn’t listen to me!”

  “Who’s the snitch?” Mick asked again.

  Pauley hesitated. But in that hesitation, Mick released one of Pauley’s legs, causing Pauley to dangle sideways and cry out for mercy.

  “Pop!” Teddy said anxiously, touching Mick’s massive bicep. He knew his father was strong, but they were six stories high. He was playing with a man’s life!

  “Who’s the snitch?” Mick asked Pauley again.

  And just as Mick knew, Pauley quickly gave up a name. “It’s Randazzo,” he said as he continued to wiggle, to try to lift his body up, to reach for the window sill.

  But Mick just stood there, staring down at him. “Randazzo?”

  “That’s the snitch,” said Pauley. “It’s Denny Randazzo. I didn’t wanna tell you because I know he’s your friend. But the Randazzo crime family is behind it. They snitched. It’s Randazzo, Boss!”

  And Mick didn’t hesitate. He let Pauley’s other leg go.

  Teddy, stunned, leaned all the way out of the window, as if he considered reaching for him. And all he could hear were the cries of Pauley as he fell six feet to his death.

  Teddy then leaned in, looking at his father. Sometimes he wondered if he knew him at all. “Why did you let go, Pop?” he asked. “He gave us a name!”

  “He was lying,” Mick said as he began heading for the exit.

  “But how do you know that?” Teddy asked, following his father.

  “I know it.”

  “Because Randazzo’s your friend?”

  Mick turned and grabbed Teddy by his shirt collar. They were within an inch of each other. “I don’t have friends,” he said as if the very idea offended him. Then he released Teddy. “It’s not Randazzo,” he said, although he didn’t say why he was so certain. But Teddy was accustomed to that too. He was second in command in the Sinatra crime family, but that didn’t mean he was in his father’s inner circle. Nobody was.

  Mick opened the front door for them to get the heck out of dodge before the heat came, but as soon as he opened the door, he and Teddy were met with two men standing at that door, with rifles in their hands.

  Mick pushed Teddy one way, he dived the other way as the gunmen fi
red their weapons. Teddy got up and ran down the hall. Mick got up and ran through the kitchen, both of them dodging bullets that were flying through that apartment as they ran.

  The first gunman to enter the apartment followed Mick into the kitchen, while the second gunman followed Teddy. And the first gunman didn’t take any chances with a man like Mick the Tick. As soon as he entered that kitchen, he began firing away. He was hitting every corner of that small space. He filled cabinets with bullets. Shelves and cannisters too. But there was no sign of Mick.

  Until the gunman realized that he had forgotten to look behind the door that led into the kitchen. He began firing bullet after bullet through that entrance door, certain Mick had to be behind it. But when he stopped firing and looked behind that door, he didn’t see anybody.

  Until he felt something rub against his face and looked up. And that was when he saw Mick, like fucking spiderman hanging from the ceiling, the hem of his white coat hitting the gunman in the face.

  The gunman lifted his gun to take Mick out, and he shot the gun out of Mick’s hand. But Mick jumped down on top of the gunman, and they struggled for dominance.

  Mick ended up on the floor on his back, with the gunman on top of him, and the two strongmen fought to control that rifle. Every vein in Mick’s body was popping as he fought with all he had to gain control.

  And it worked. Mick’s strength was Herculean compared to the gunman’s strength and he was shakily able to turn that rifle away from his chin and aim it at the gunman’s chin. The gunman kept fighting. He kept struggling to regain his grip on that trigger. But Mick placed his own finger, not on the trigger, but on the gunman’s finger, and with all the strength he pressed down on that finger, crushing the bones in that finger and pulling the trigger at the same time. The rifle went off. And the gunman, a hole through his chin, fell over dead.

  But Mick had no time to even sigh relief. Because he heard gunfire in the back of the apartment. Because his beloved son was in the back of that apartment with gunman number two.