Brent Sinatra: All of Me (13 page)

Charles hurried to his son, and placed his hands on either
side of his face.
 
Bobby was still having
his fit, but Charles held his hold firmly.
 
“Listen to me, Robert,” he said.
 
“Listen to me!”

Bobby finally stopped all movement, and turned his big eyes
to his father.
 

Charles’ heart dropped when he saw the pain, the fear, the
panic in his son’s eyes.
 
But right was
still right.
 
And he had to make his son
understand that.
 
“If what you tell us is
true,” he said to his son, “a woman has died.
 
Somebody’s wife, mother, daughter is dead.”
 
Charles frowned.
 
“Somebody has to pay for that.
 
If I could put myself in that car,” he said,
fighting back his own tears, “then I would.
 
But I can’t.”

“You did it for Donnie,” Bobby pointed out.
 
“You told Brent and the police that you fired
that shot when Donnie was the one who fired it.”

“Donnie wasn’t drunk and high,” Tony pointed out.
 
“He was protecting our sister from the man
who had raped and nearly killed her.
 
Don’t you dare compare your situation to his!
 
Besides, that was four years ago.
 
This is now.”

Charles knew that Bobby knew better.
 
He knew his situation was not similar to what
happened with his baby brother Donald.
 
But he was a bag of terror right now.
 
Fear was dominating his every thought.
 
Charles had to get him away from fear, and take him to courage.

“When my father killed my mother,” Charles said, “he had to
be held to account.
 
And I was the only
one there who could do it.
 
It broke my
heart, and sealed my father’s fate, but it was the right thing to do.
 
You and Kaci chose to drink and do drugs and
you allowed her to get behind that wheel.
 
She took somebody’s life.
 
Think
about that life that’s gone.
 
You still
have your life.
 
Kaci still has her
life.
 
You still have a chance to live
again.
 
But you took that away from that
woman.
 
I can’t make that horror go
away.
 
And neither can you.
 
You have to go to the police, and tell what
happened.”

Bobby’s heart was hammering, and his courage was wafer thin,
but he knew his father was right.
 
He
still could see that woman, lying on that sidewalk, and his scary ass driving
away.
 
His reckless living was finally
catching up with him.
 
His future was in
the hands of his big brother, and he already knew what Brent was going to
do.
 
He was in trouble.
 
An innocent woman was dead, and all of the
fear and panic in this world was not going to bring her back.
 
He had to face Brent.
 
He had to face the music.

Brent was still asleep, with Makayla downstairs, when his
cell phone rang.
 
He woke up slowly, and
felt around on the nightstand for his ringing phone.
 
It was near its last ring when he finally
grabbed it and answered it.
 
When he
realized who it was, he removed the phone from his ear, yawned, and then put
the phone back to his ear.
 
“I’m in bed,
Ed,” he said.

Makayla, who had heard the phone ringing from downstairs, had
hurried up to answer it.
 
She didn’t want
that ringing phone to wake up Brent.
 
But
she arrived too late.

“Sorry to disturb you, boss,” Eddie said, “but it can’t
wait.”

“What is it?
 
And
please don’t tell me that boy died.”

There was pause on Eddie’s end of the line, as if confusion
reigned.
 
“What boy?”

“The prisoner.
 
The guy
McCurdy and Saunders worked over?
 
The
kid in the hospital.
 
Remember him?”

“Oh!
 
He’s okay, thank
God.
 
The doctors believe he’s going to
pull through.”

“Thank God,” Brent said as Makayla sat on the edge of the bed
beside him.
 
He held her hand and laid
onto his back.

“I’m calling,” Eddie said, “because we had a bad hit-and-run
over on Belanchek.
 
Female, white, is
dead.”

Although Brent had perked up when he heard that the suspect’s
condition was improving, he was still half-asleep.
 
“And you had to call me why?” he asked.

“I had to call you, sir, because there were witnesses.”

“Good.
 
But that still
doesn’t justify why you phoned me.”

“We have witnesses claiming that they saw a red Corvette
leave the scene of the hit-and-run.
 
And
not just any Corvette, sir, but Bobby’s red Corvette.”

Brent’s eyes opened wide.
 
He frowned.
 
“My brother’s car?”

Even Makayla could sense a change in his entire
demeanor.
 
She stared at him.

“They claim they saw Bobby’s red-hot Corvette.
 
Yes, sir,” Eddie said.
 
“That’s why I phoned.
 
They are certain it was your brother’s car.”

“How many witnesses?”

“Two.
 
And they don’t
seem to know each other.
 
They seem
credible.”

Brent couldn’t believe it.
 
What was going on this week?
 
“Did
you bring him in for questioning yet?”

“I was waiting on you, sir.”

Brent frowned again.
 
“Don’t wait on me.
 
What are you
waiting on me for?
 
You treat him the way
you treat any other suspect.
 
Pick him up
and haul his ass in for questioning.”

“He came in on his own,” Eddie said.
 
“He’s here now.
 
Along with your parents.
 
I was waiting on you before I questioned
him.”

Brent wanted to throw his phone.
 
“Why didn’t you say that from the beginning,
Eddie?”
 
Then he exhaled.
 
He could only imagine what his parents were
going through.
 
“I’m on my way,” he said,
and ended the call.

“What happened?” Makayla asked.

Brent looked at her pretty face.
 
He smoothed down her hair.
 
“Witnesses saw a red Corvette leave a fatal
hit and run.”

“Fatal?”

“Yep.”

“And a red Corvette?”

“As in Bobby’s red Corvette, that’s right,” Brent said.
 
“Witnesses are claiming my brother killed a
woman, and then ran.”

“Brent, no!
 
Bobby
wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I pray he wouldn’t.”

“Are you going to tell your father?”

“He already knows.”
 
Then
he looked at her, and saw that worried look on her face.
 
“But I don’t want you worrying about any of
it.
 
You hear me, Makayla?
 
I can handle it.”

But he still saw the worry in Makayla’s beautiful eyes.
 
She worried about him, just as he worried
about her.
 
It was the nature of their
relationship.
 
He kissed her.
 
“I’m going to have to get to work,” he said.
 

She understood, although she hated to hear such terrible
news, and moved off of him.

He got up, still naked, and made his way to the bathroom.
 
“Come shower with me,” he said to her.
 
“I want to get inside of you again before I
leave.”

Makayla had already showered, but loved the thought of Brent
inside of her too much to turn it down.
 
She got up quickly, and followed him.

Brent entered the police station and headed upstairs.
 
He could hear a pin drop when he first walked
into the squad room.
 
By the time he
started heading upstairs, all of the chatter of his officers started up
again.
 
He shook his hand.
 
They were some sorry-ass cops if they thought
they were fooling him.

Since it was Saturday, and he wasn’t planning to come into
the office at all today, he wore a pair of track pants, a sweatshirt, and
tennis shoes.
 
And, of course, his
hat.
 
But clothes weren’t on his
mind.
 
His brother was.
 
And what in the world had he gotten himself
into now.

When he made it upstairs, Belma Finch, his secretary, was
seated behind her desk, which surprised him.
 
“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“Paperwork.
 
Earning
extra money.
 
What are you doing here?”

Brent didn’t answer.
 
He headed for his office.

“Whatever he did,” Belma said, “go easy on him, boss.
 
Bobby means well.”

Brent entered his office.
 
Jenay was seated in a chair beside Bobby, Charles was pacing, and Eddie
Rivers stood in the back against the wall.
 
Brent tossed his hat onto the hat rack, walked over to his desk, and
leaned against it.
 
He looked at Bobby.
 
“Have something to tell me?” he asked him.

Bobby looked at Jenay, then looked at his father.
 
“Tell him,” Charles said.

Bobby hesitated, and then he told the exact same story he
told his parents, but failed to mention the drugs and alcohol.
 
“After she didn’t have a pulse, Kaci called
911.”
 
He swallowed hard.
 
“And we left.”

Brent looked at Eddie.
 
“There’s no record of anybody calling 911, except one of the two
witnesses.”

Bobby frowned.
 
“But
Kaci called.
 
I saw her.”

“And you left that poor woman in the middle of the street?”
Brent asked.

“She was on the sidewalk,” Bobby said.

Jenay slapped him upside his head before Brent or Charles
could.
 
“What difference does that make,
boy?
 
You left.
 
That’s the point.”

“Right,” Brent said, agreeing with her.
 
“You left.”

“But it was an accident,” Bobby said.
 
“We didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Had you been drinking?” Brent asked him.

Bobby glanced at his father, but did not answer the question.

Brent exhaled.
 
“Okay,”
he said, and then looked at Eddie.
 
“Cuff
him, frisk him, and book him.
 
Go to Kaci
Keith’s apartment and haul her in too.”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie said, and walked toward Bobby’s chair.
 
“Come on, Bob.
 
Stand up.”

Bobby reluctantly stood up.
 
Tears began to appear in his eyes.
 
Jenay was already crying.

But just as Eddie was about to put him in handcuffs, Charles
spoke up.
 
“He’s lying,” he said, and
everybody looked at him. “He was trying to protect me.
 
He’s lying.
 
He wasn’t driving that car.
 
I
was.”

“Dad,” Brent said, understanding full well what he was up to.

“I was driving the car!” Charles blared.
 
“I borrowed it that night and I was driving
it.”

“Charlie,” Jenay said, with pain in her voice.
 
She knew full well what he was doing too.

But Charles was not backing down.
 
He knew he was wrong.
 
He knew this was a lesson his son needed to
learn.
 
But the cost was too high.
 
“So you have your suspect,” he said.
 
“Robert, take my wife and go home.
 
Now.
 
Eddie, you can cuff and frisk me.”

Eddie looked at Brent.
 
It was one thing to arrest Bobby on suspicion of a hit-and-run.
 
It was another thing entirely to arrest a man
of Big Daddy Sinatra’s stature.

Then they all heard a commotion outside, and then suddenly
the door flew open and Porter Keith, the portly mayor of Jericho County, walked
in.
 
Belma was behind him.
 
“I told him you were in a meeting, sir,” she
said.

But Brent waved her off.
 
“It’s okay,” he said.

“That woman,” the mayor said, closing the door in her
face.
 
“She tried to tell me what I could
and couldn’t do.
 
Fire her, Brent.”

“No thank-you,” Brent said.
 
“I’m busy right now, Mayor.”

“I know what’s going on,” Keith said, “so don’t play those
games with me.”
 
He tossed two folders on
Brent’s desk.

“What are those?” Brent asked.

“Sworn statements from the two witnesses.”

Charles and Jenay stared at him.

“What do you know about that?” Brent asked his boss.

“I know they originally claimed they thought they saw a red
Corvette leave the scene.
 
But they now
say, under oath, that they were mistaken.
 
They actually saw a red Ford Focus leave the scene.
 
And as you know, a Ford Focus looks nothing
like a Corvette.”

Brent looked at his brother.
 
“Bobby, did you hit that lady and fled the scene?”

Bobby knew his parents were staring at him.
 
But he couldn’t look at them.
 
“No,” he said to Brent.

“No.
 
See,” the mayor
said.
 
“You have to let him go now.
 
There’s no evidence of his involvement at
all.
 
And my daughter had nothing to do
with it either.
 
Nothing.
 
And if any of this leaks out to the press,
Eddie Rivers,” the mayor said, “then I’ll know who leaked it.
 
We’re in the middle of a campaign.
 
All my opponent will want is to scandalize my
good name by claiming that my daughter left the scene of a crime.
 
When she didn’t.
 
That unfortunate lady is dead, but it has
nothing to do with Robert.
 
Besides, that
woman wasn’t a lady.
 
She was a streetwalker.
 
That’s why she was out that late alone.
 
She was looking for a pick up.
 
So come on, Robert.
 
Drop the guilt.
 
You did nothing wrong.
 
Kaci is waiting for you.”

Bobby looked at his parents.
 
Charles was staring hard at him, as if he was willing him to do the
right thing.
 
As if he was holding his
breath to see what he was going to do.
 
Jenay could see the pain in Charles’ eyes.

But Bobby left with the mayor.
 
He saw a chance at freedom and took it.
 
He walked out the door.

Brent exhaled.
 
And
read over the sworn statements.

“What can we do?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing.
 
He confessed
to us, true enough, but then you confessed too, Dad.
 
And now the witnesses have changed their
stories.
 
And then he recants.
 
What am I supposed to do with all of that?”

Charles walked as if he was going to pace the floor,
disgusted with both his sons, and then he walked out.

“Dad,” Brent said, rising, but Jenay stood and held Brent
back.

“He’ll be okay,” she said, and hurried behind her distraught
husband.

Brent ran his hands through his hair.

“Your brother has got to be the luckiest you-know-what on the
planet.
 
Because I guarantee you, if
Porter Keith wasn’t up for reelection, he would let him swing.”

“He’ll swing anyway,” Brent said sadly.
 
“The truth always comes out in the end.”

Denise Donahue-Stravinsky spotted the reporter easily.
 
She would have thought he had enough sense to
come in disguise too.
 
They were three
towns over from Boston, in the tiny town of Carr, it was true.
 
But they still were in the state.
 
He should have known better.

But Jock Ambers didn’t care.
 
He just wanted the story.
 
He sat
down at the back table alongside the Lieutenant Governor’s wife and smiled at
her dark sunglasses and wig.
 
“I don’t
think anybody in Carr will know who the LG’s wife is,” Jock said, then threw up
his hands.
 
“Just saying.”

“You can never be too careful,” Denise reminded him, and
sipped more champagne.

“Okay give.
 
You wanted
to meet.
 
What you got?”

He sounded almost obnoxiously ignorant to Denise, even down
to his name, as if that
in-your-face
persona was his stock and trade.
 
But he
was actually a well-respected journalist in the Boston area.
 
And if she was going to go down this road to
perdition or, as she called it,
self-preservation
,
she needed a heavy hitter.
 
“I’m sure you
know that there are rumors about my husband’s business dealings.”

Jock smiled.
 
“Since
I’m the one who wrote the stories about those rumors, then yeah, I know.”

“What if I’m able to turn those rumors into facts?”

Jock’s smile was gone.
 
He was hoping this meeting would net him something juicy.
 
He just didn’t expect it to be this fat.
 
“And how can you do that?” he asked her.

“I know everything you need to know about Mark Stravinsky and
his businesses.
 
And when I say
everything, I mean everything.”

“And you’ll give me the info?”

“You and you alone.”

Jock stared at her.
 
They seemed like the perfect family.
 
The Lieutenant Governor, his African-American wife, and their biracial
son.
 
Always smiling.
 
Always positive.
 
The beautiful people.
 
Then suddenly hubby’s poll numbers went south
and the good wife was now ready to throw him under the bus.
 
But in exchange for what?
 
“What do I have to do to get this info?” he
asked.

This was the meat of the matter for Denise.
 
His response to her demand would determine
success or failure.
 
“I need you to be
available, on very short notice, to cover whatever story I need you to cover.”

Jock smiled.
 
“Is that
all?”

“Don’t underestimate what I’m telling you,” Denise said.
 
“Because it may seem like a fool’s
errand.
 
But I need you to do exactly as
I say, and to do it immediately when I request it.”

“And if I can’t come through for you?”

“Then I’ll have additional information that will contradict
all of the information you would have already put in your stories.
 
It will ruin your reputation as horrifically
as it is going to ruin my husband’s.
 
So
you will be taking a major risk.
 
But if
you stick with me, and do as I instruct you to do, the reward will be
incredible.”
 
For both of us
, Denise wanted to add.

And although Jock smiled, and shook her hand, he had a
sinking feeling that he was shaking hands, not with a woman of means who could
take his career to the highest level, but with the devil himself.
 
But his career was worth the risk.
 
He gladly shook her hand.

And afterwards, after Jock Ambers left, the man called Mister
Hide sat at the table with Denise.

“Good enough?” she asked him.

“That remains to be seen,” he said.