CHAPTER NINE

Tony Sinatra watched his father and stepmother enter the restaurant and he couldn’t help but smile. Although his father in his blue business suit and his stepmother in her above-the-knee, form-fitting dress looked like any other couple in Jericho, the fact that his stepmother had a thirty-thousand dollar Prada bag on her arm, and his father had on Versace shades and a ten thousand dollar pair of Ferragamo’s on his feet, gave it all away. They were rich as fuck and everybody in Jericho knew it. But you had to look awfully close to see it. First glance rarely did it. Unless you were Tony, whose job it was to look closer. To look deeper in.

It was also his job, because his sessions always were on the clock, to keep time. He looked at his watch as his father and stepmother made their way to his booth.

“Hey baby,” Jenay Sinatra said as she moved around and gave her stepson a big hug.

“You’re only what?” He looked at his watch again as his parents sat across from him. “Thirty-nine minutes late?”

“Who do you think you are to keep tabs on us?” Charles looked sideways at his son. “I know you aren’t keeping tabs on me and my wife.”

“Just stating a fact, Pop. You’re late.”

“Says who? You? Who had you?”

“My mother.”

Jenay burst into that throaty laugh Tony loved. Even Charles smiled. “Although I wish I’d never met her,” Charles said about his first wife and their disastrous marriage, “her ass didn’t have you by herself. And I know that’s right.”

“Brent and Makayla not here yet?” Jenay asked.

“Nope. They’re late too.”

“No surprise there,” said Charles. “Those two are going to be late for their own funerals.”

“Don’t mention funerals,” said Jenay. “Some of these heifers around this town are still angry at me for coming back to life, as they call it, after my funeral. They thought my ass was gone for good and they had the inside track to your heart.”

Tony laughed. “That is so true!”

“One or two of them might have stood a chance,” Charles said nonchalantly.

But Jenay leaned back and looked at her handsome husband as if he’d just lost his mind.

“Don’t believe him Ma. He was cussing those same ladies out left and right for even trying to take your place. He was a mess.”

Jenay smiled. “That’s more like it!”

Charles looked at her. “What’s more like it? That I was a mess? You’d rather I be sad and a mess if you die before I do?”

“Absolutely!”

Tony was laughing heartily. Charles could not believe she said that. “Shame on you, Jenay.”

“Hear me out. You should be a mess at least until you can find a good woman that’s not after your money like these heifers around here, or just want you because you’re cute and got that big-ass willy.”

Tony hit his forehead. “Ma, too much information thank you very much! That’s my dad over there you’re jabbering about!”

Both parents laughed. Tony grinned.

Then the waiter arrived at their booth. “What would you care to drink, sir, madam?” Tony was already drinking tea.

“Two gins and tonics,” Charles said to the waiter before Jenay could say a word.

Tony looked at his stepmother. She had confided in him, a licensed clinical psychologist, that his father had become super-possessive of late. Annoyingly so. Tony reminded her that Big Daddy was still getting over that trauma of believing he had lost her when he actually had not, and that it would take some time for him to return to normal. Be patient with him was his advice. And he could tell she was adhering to it. That was why, when Charles didn’t bother to ask what she wanted to drink before ordering for her, she let it stand.

“Speaking of a good woman,” Charles said to Tony after the waiter left, “where’s Samantha? And why haven't you gotten off your rear, went to wherever she and Myles are, and brought them back to Jericho?”

“We’re talking, Pop.”

“Talking? What’s there to talk about?”

“What it will take to bring her back home.”

Charles frowned. “What do you mean what it’ll take? It’ll take marriage, that’s what it’ll take. Nobody wants to be some old lady still waiting for you to make up your mind. She’s ready to get married while you, on the other hand, still have cold feet like always.”

“I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“Rush? What rush? When your baby sister Bonita got engaged – that was a rush. But you and Sam? That’s more like a turtle walk.”

Jenay laughed.

“Ain’t no rushing nowhere near that,” Charles added.

Tony looked up and was happy for the reprieve. “Big Brother and Makayla have finally arrived,” he said. “Looking like Bonnie and Clyde,” he added as they all looked over at the entrance and saw Brent and Makayla walking in. Tony jokingly referred to his oldest brother as Big Brother because of his mini-me relationship with their father, whom the town derisively called Big Daddy because of his heavy-handedness and ruthlessness and wealth. But years after that term was first coined, Big Daddy became a term of endearment inside the family.

Although Brent wore his customary jeans and polo shirt and blazer, along with his big cowboy hat, Charles’s eyes were on Makayla, who wore a light-green Prada dress that highlighted her exceptional curves. She was one of those women with that look. That sweet, smooth, just great-looking dark-brown face. And unlike some of those full-figured gals, at least in Charles’s view, Makayla had every single curve in every single perfect location. It was as if she had been chiseled. That was how fine she was to Charles. She was just gorgeous to him.

After just being elected to a new term as the town’s district attorney, she helped solidify the Sinatra stronghold on every area of local government: Bobby Sinatra was mayor. Brent was police chief. Makayla was DA. But that unchecked power all in one family only added to the envy and rancor many townspeople felt for that family. But all three were voted in. The elections were legit, despite some who claimed otherwise. They earned the right to be where they were.

After hugs and kisses, Brent and Makayla sat on the booth seat beside Tony, with Makayla in the middle.

“What were you two up to?” Charles asked.

“Look who’s keeping tabs,” said Tony with a grin.

“We ran a little late,” said Brent as he removed his hat, revealing a very neat haircut, and sat it on the booth seat beside him.

“A little?” said Jenay. “ We were a little late. We were what they call fashionably late. But you guys?”

“Thirty-nine minutes late is fashionable now?” asked Tony. “I didn’t know that.”

Makayla laughed. “Neither did I!”

And then they all laughed and talked and ate and talked some more until Makayla got a phone call that she couldn’t ignore. She excused herself and went outside.

When she returned, it was as Brent had suspected it would be. “Sorry to break up the party,” she said, “but I’ve got to run.”

Brent looked at her. “Run where?”

“I have a meeting. Hand me my purse.”

“A meeting this time of night, Kayla?” Brent asked her.

Charles’s face asked the same question.

“It’s almost eleven,” Brent added.

“I know what time it is. Will you please hand me my purse?”

Brent was upset, but he stood up and handed her the purse.

“Don’t you need your briefcase?” asked Jenay.

“It’s in my car,” Makayla said as she hugged her in-laws and gave Tony an air-kiss. She then hugged Brent, whom, his family noticed, had his eyes squeezed shut as they hugged, as if it pained him that she was leaving. And then she broke away from him and left. They all could see the men assessing her uniquely fine body as she walked out of the upscale space.

Brent sat back down. And Charles didn’t waste any time. “She say anything about that new judge?”

Brent frowned. “Why would she, Pop?”

“I hear he’s taken to her quite a bit. I hear they’re quite chummy.”

“And?”

“Keep your eyes open,” Charles said. “That’s all. Smart, talented girl like Makayla is a great catch to these thirsty men out here. Just keep that in mind.”

“I do.”

“And what are you doing about it?”

Brent was stressed enough on his job. He didn’t need it at home too. “What do you want me to do about it, Pop? Tackle her and tell her don’t go?”

“Tackle her? No. But tell her don’t go? Absolutely!”

Brent shook his head. “I’m not doing that.”

“And why not?”

“Because he’s stubborn just like you,” said Jenay. “Let me out. I need to go to the little girls’ room.”

“Why not the ladies’ room?” asked Charles as he stood up from his booth seat to let her out. “You’re a little past your little girl days, don’t you think?”

“You’re not past getting a mallet up your ass. Don’t you think?” Jenay asked as she left their booth. Tony burst into laughter.

“Very funny,” Charles said as he watched his wife leave. Like Makayla, she was African American too. And like with Makayla, certain members of the elites didn’t like it. And he knew that look they gave her. He watched to see if any of them gave her that look to his face. A few tried, but when they looked over and saw that he was glaring at them, they quickly looked away and back at their own wives or girlfriends or mistresses: whichever applied. And Charles sat back down.

But Brent’s phone rang and he answered quickly before his father could continue on about his personal life. It was Sergeant Doke Pyles, the nightshift supervisor. Brent had to be informed whenever there was a violent crime reported. “Yep?”

“We got a DV on Norris.”

“How’s manpower?”

“Light. Most are on calls already.”

“I’m not far away,” Brent said, standing up. “I’ll take it.”

“Thanks Chief,” Doke said. “I’ll try to get a uniform over there too. But I have to warn you.”

“About what?”

“The alleged victim is Zepena.”

Brent frowned. “Who the hell is Zepena?”

“You know, Chief. Zibby. From high school?”

“Oh!” He hadn’t heard that name in years. They used to fool around, but it was never that big a deal. But that only redoubled his resolve. “I’m on my way,” he said again, and ended the call. He didn’t like men that got their kicks knocking women around.

“I’ve got to run,” he said as he grabbed his cowboy hat and began sliding across the booth seat. “I’ll see you guys later,” he added as he got up and turned to leave.

“Brent?”

He looked at his father.

“Keep your eyes open. That’s all I’m saying.”

Brent studied his father. “I trust Makayla.”

“So do I,” said Charles. “Trust her with my life. But how many of these motherfuckers out here eyeing her do you trust?”

Brent stared at his father. As usual, he hit the nail on the head. Because the answer was obvious. “See you later, Tony. Pop,” he said in a voice that could not hide his frustration with his increasingly stressful job and the fact that he and Makayla already weren’t on the best of terms. And now some judge had the hots for her too? A great-looking black guy with designs on his wife? It was getting to be too much. He put on his hat and left.