CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They flew from Philly to Baltimore and Charles and his brother hopped into the big black Cadillac Escalade Mick's men left for them at the Baltimore airfield and made their way to their sister's house. It was a long road years ago when the brothers to finally reunited with the half-sister they saved from certain death when their horrible father sought to kill her as soon as she came out of their mother's womb. The problem in their racist father's eyes was that she came out black, and they all were white. Their mother had cheated on their father with a black man and their father wanted retribution. And baby Amelia was his target. But the boys got their baby sister out of there and never saw her again until they all were fully grown. And although she had a different father, and she looked not at all like their whiteness but looked straight-up black to anyone caring to notice, all three of them were very close. She was their world. They treated her as if she was their child more than their sister, to her everlasting dismay. But she knew they'd do anything for her.

They both figured it was one of those times where they were going to have to go above and beyond on this one. A United States senator dead? And she killed him? This was major.

Mick flung the Escalade into her long driveway and stopped at the steps of the front entrance. Charles hopped out and hurried inside. Mick hopped out and searched around the premises.

Amelia was in her living room pacing the floor. When Charles walked in and saw her standing there in her big white dress shirt (Hammer's no doubt), and with a tourniquet around both her hands, looking more flustered than he'd ever recalled, his heart sank. He could tell it was going to be worse than she had let on.

As soon as Amelia saw her big brother walk into her home, she ran to him. She needed him in that moment like she needed air to breath. He held her in a big bear hug. He could feel her body trembling.

When she pulled back, he could see the anguish in her bright green eyes. "Where's Mick?" she asked him. Charles was a businessman who could be gangster when he needed to be. But Mick was a gangster who could be a businessman when he needed to be.

Amelia, Charles could tell, needed a gangster. "He's looking around. He'll be in. What happened to your hands?" Then he noticed dark rings on her neck. He touched her neck. "And your neck."

"He tried to strangle me. I wouldn't let him."

Charles exhaled. "Good for you," he said. Though he wished to God she wasn't put in these positions. "Let's sit you down," he said as he walked her toward her sofa. "And get you something to drink."

"I'm okay, Charles. I just need to get Mick to take care of this."

"He will," Charles said as he made his way to her full-sized bar. "What would you like to drink?"

Amelia couldn't even think straight, let alone think about drinking. But Charles, as he always did, chose for her and poured her a glass of wine. He was a little jittery himself. Anytime either of his siblings were in trouble, he felt it to the roots of his hair. He poured one for himself too. And then he handed her a glass and sat down with the other one. And then Mick walked in, went upstairs to take a look at the deceased perp, and then walked back down and sat beside Amelia.

And unlike Charles, he wasn't a consoler. He wanted just the facts, ma'am. "Why no cleanup crew," he asked her.

Amelia held the glass in her hand and leaned forward. "I had a case tonight where I caught Senator Stanley Kucinich with some whore at a motel."

"Kucinich? Never heard of him," said Charles.

"Neither had I until his wife contacted my agency. She knew he was cheating on her and wanted me to make clear to him what she intended to do if she didn't get everything she wanted during their upcoming divorce. He's a junior senator from Idaho."

"Why was he in Maryland?"

"His wife says he comes here to get his freak on. He has a thing for poverty-stricken hoes or whatever his predilection is, so he comes to black Baltimore once a month where he figures us black folk would never recognize him ever. His wife got fed up with his antics, filed for divorce, and wanted me to get her some leverage."

Charles looked at her suspiciously. "Was that all she wanted you to do?"

Amelia looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come off it, Millie. We all know your ass ain't clean. People come to that private detective agency of yours because they know you're get results by any means necessary. Including illegal means."

Amelia held up her glass as if to toast his cleverness. "Yes, she wanted me to order him to turn over most of his assets to her in their impending divorce. And I strongly suggested he do just that."

"What else did you do to him?" asked Mick. He knew her tactics too.

"I put a gun to his balls." She held her arms out as if she was some innocent. "That's all I did."

Charles shook his head. "You'll never change."

"Y'all haven't changed. Y'all as gangster as gangster can get. Especially Mick. Why I got to change?"

"Because I said so!" Charles said angrily. "I don't want you to be us. I want you to be better than us!"

Amelia closed her eyes. "Well I'm not better, Charlie. I'm not. That same fucked up blood running inside of you is running in me too."

"Keep going," said Mick.

"That was it. I did my job and left the scene."

"Then he shows up at your house to get revenge on you, instead of getting revenge on his wife?" asked Charles. "That makes no sense, Millie."

"That's why it's crazy."

"What's crazy about it? You pulled a gun on the man," said Mick. "Politicians don't take too kindly to that shit."

"Yes, I pulled a gun on him. But you're missing the point."

"What point?"

Amelia exhaled. "That's not him upstairs."

Both brothers were confused. "Wait, what?" asked Charles. "What are you saying?"

"The man that broke into my house and tried to strangle me to death is not Senator Stanley Kucinich."

Mick frowned. "Then who the fuck is he?"

"Senator Darby Reiner."

"A different senator?"

Amelia nodded. "That's the crazy part. Darby Reiner is a senator from here In Maryland. He was very popular. He was being touted as a possible presidential candidate after the current president's term ends."

"Geez, Millie," said Charles, astounded. "You threatened this second senator too?"

"No! I never met that man in my life. I don't know him at all. I know of him, but I don't know him."

"Then why would he be here?"

"I don't know, Charles. I don't know!"

"Unless that other Senator, that Kucinich, sent him here," said Mick.

But Amelia was already shaking her head. "Darby Reiner is way more senior than Kucinich. He's no back bencher like Kucinich."

"Damn, Millie," Charles said again. "What's going on?"

"I don't know! That's why I called Mick."

They both looked at Mick.

"This is bad," said Charles. "They find out this guy's dead it'll be headline news for weeks. And whoever did it is up the creek without a paddle."

"What do you mean whoever did it?" asked Mick. "Our sister did it."

"You've got to make this go away, Mick," said Amelia. "They were putting that guy up to be the next president. You've got to make it go away!"

"We don't know why he came. Or who all knows he's here. What the fuck can I do with that?"

Charles exhaled as if he had made up his mind. He ran both hands across his face. "We've got to pull Hammer in on this," he said.

But Amelia was adamantly opposed. "No way, Charlie. He'll find a way to blame me."

"Fuck blame!" Charles yelled at her. "I'm trying to keep your ass out of the electric chair and you're worried about blame?"

Amelia was about to speak, but Charles stopped her. "And don't you dare tell me Maryland doesn't have the death penalty anymore. I know they don't. Your life is on the line is the point. We need Hammer to try and save your life!"

"What are you talking?" Amelia shot back at him. "It was self-defense."

"Self-defense coming from a Sinatra?" Charles fired back. "Are you joking?"

"I can prove it. Look at my neck. Look at my hands." She held up her two bandaged hands. "He broke into my house and tried to strangle the shit out of me."

"I looked around your house," said Mick. "There's no evidence whatsoever of any break-in."

Amelia was floored. "What?"

So was Charles. "No break-in?"

"None," said Mick.

"Are you saying he had a key to my house?"

"He had something," said Mick. "Pull up your security cameras," he added, standing up.

Amelia, still looking at Mick as if he had to be wrong, got up and headed to her home office. Her brothers followed behind her.

With her fingers sticking out of her bandages, she was able to pull up the screen that housed video of her CCTV cameras all around her property. But there was a problem. All nine cameras were offline. "What on earth?" She was stumped again. She looked at her brothers.

Mick, who had been leaned over looking at the computer screen beside her, stood erect. It was as he had suspected.

"All cameras inoperable? What the fuck!"

Amelia kept going through each individual screen, to no avail. Then she pulled up the history. And they all went down just around the time she arrived home. "They might have followed me home," she said uneasily.

"But how did they get into your house?" asked Mick.

She had no answer for that either.

But Charles had an answer. He pulled out his phone and put it in Amelia's face. "Call him," he said. "A senator and this too? This is Hammer level shit."

Amelia didn't want to involve Hammer Reese in anything she was doing. She was trying to get over him, not stay entangled with him. She looked at Mick. He usually understood the nuance of morality more than Charles did. Doing the right thing was always black and white for Charles. Besides, Mick and Hammer never got along.

But Mick was no ally that day. "Charles is right," he said. "We need him."

"I can't call him. I'm not calling him."

Charles slung her around and threw his phone in front of her. He'd had it with her. "You call that man right now or I'll kick your ass, Amelia Sinatra. Call him!"

Amelia sparred with Mick all the time. They'd had legendary arguments. But with Charles? She didn't dare.

She snatched the phone from his hand, and made that call.