Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry (5 page)

They were in bed, and Jenay was on
top.
 
Charles still hadn’t told her how
she added to his stress because he was too busy sucking her breasts.
 
And it was never a quick-off with
Charles.
 
He feasted on her breasts.
 
His mouth did the sucking, his hand did the
squeezing and rubbing, and all Jenay could do was feed them to him as if they
were as good as food.
 
They were going to
be sore when he finished, she knew, but right now they could not possibly feel
any better.

Charles loved sucking her
nipples.
 
He loved squeezing and fondling
her big, brown mounds.
 
He loved moving
from breast to breast until they were red from his abuse.
 
He didn’t want to stop.
 
He could suck her all night.
 
But when she began turning red, which meant
he was overdoing it, he knew he had to stop.

But Jenay knew his idea of stopping
meant that he was stopping in that area of her body, and moving another
area.
 
That was why, when he moved her
onto her back, and slid down between her legs, she knew more mouth action was
coming.
 
And it came.
 
Charles began licking between her legs
vigorously.
 
He was craving her taste,
and her breasts only gave him a sample.
 
It was her pussy, it was the taste of her vaginal juices that wet her as
quickly as his mouth dried her, that he was after.
 
And he stayed after it for a long time.
 
Jenay was squeezing the sheets, and he was lifting
her thighs for greater access, until she was on the verge of an orgasm.

Charles wanted more.
 
Her taste intoxicated him and he wanted to
eat her as long as his mouth could chew.
 
But he knew his wife.
 
If she came
now, it would be nice and she would enjoy it.
 
But nothing like the orgasms she displayed whenever his cock took her
over.

“Turn over,” he said when he stopped
giving her head, and she quickly turned onto her stomach.
 
He leaned down, kissed her cheeks, licked
her, and then put it in her.
 
From the
back.
 
He pushed in and almost out, going
further in with every push-in, until he was in his rhythm.

And he found his stroke as he kept
hitting her special spot.
 
He laid down
on top of her bare ass, squeezed her tight beneath him, and fucked her like
she’d never been fucked before.
 
That was
the way Charles always made her feel.
 
As
if this was their very first time.
 
As if
he was so in awe of her super-wet pussy that he was determined to dry it
out.
 
Only to wet it even more.
 
Only to fuck her so hard that the sound of
his pre-cum and her vaginal juices mixed together and created a harmony.
 
They were in sync.
 
And both of them were on the verge.

They rarely came together, but they
came together this time.
 
Charles was
just feeling the squeeze against his rod, and Jenay was just feeling the
pulsations within her folds, when they went over.
 
He continued to fuck her, without letting up,
as their harmony created rolls of white cream that saturated his penis, and her
vagina, until there was nowhere for it to go but out.
 
An overflow of cream slid down Jenay’s
thighs, as Charles still continued to fuck her.
 
He was pounding, not only her pussy, but her ass too, as they fucked.

Jenay was holding onto the headboard,
her upper body lifted slightly, as Charles put on her the kind of sex her
fondest dreams were made of.
 
She came
again.
 
And again.
 
Until he was out of gas.
 
Until he couldn’t make another move.
 
Until there were no more strokes left in
him.
 
He collapsed on top of her, their
bodies filled with sweat and drain, and she collapsed too.

After several moments of heavy
breathing and relaxation, Jenay was the first to speak.
 
“And you had the nerve to say I stress you
out,” she said, in a voice barely discernible.
  
She was still out of breath.

“Your pussy notwithstanding,” Charles
said, virtually out of breath too, “you do.”

 
Jenay smiled.

“But it was great, my darling,”
Charles said, kissing her sweaty back.

“Yeah, it was,” Jenay agreed.
 
“But I’ll pay the price.
 
I’m going to be a sore motherfucker in the
morning.”

Charles laughed.
 
“But don’t you worry,” he said, holding her
even tighter.
 
“I’ll be thinking about
you, and how you gave it to me in that magical way once again, every step of the
way.”

Jenay snorted.
 
“I’ll be sore, but you’ll be thinking about
me?”
 
She smiled.
 
“Some comfort you are!”

She fought like hell, but it felt
like she was beating steel.
 
She tried to
scream, but he covered her mouth.
 
When
he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom, it felt as if she was floating in
space.
 
When he threw her onto the bed,
he got on top of her and covered her mouth again.
 
The feeling of his weight on her small body
took her breath away.

“Scream, bitch,” he said to her,
again with clenched teeth, “and I’ll kill you.”

The murderous look in his small, blue
eyes made her know this was nothing new to him.
 
And the way he was doing her, the way he was stripping off her blouse
and tearing off her bra, was just like the way that thirteen year old said he
did her.
 
The girl said, when he
threatened her and ripped off her shirt, that she knew she had to give him what
he wanted or he would kill her.
 
And as
he sucked Carly’s bare breasts, she, too, felt like giving up.
 
She felt like giving him what he wanted
too.
 
He was too big.
 
She couldn’t even breathe beneath his big,
sweaty body.

But his hand wouldn’t let her give
up.
 
Because his hand was covering her
mouth.
 
And it did something to
Carly.
 
That hand over her mouth felt
like the same old thing coming back again.
 
It felt like her father’s hand.
 
It felt like the same thing!
 
She
couldn’t fight back then.
 
She didn’t
know what fighting off a man meant back then.
 
But she knew now.

She stopped hitting his back with her
fists.
 
That was a waste of energy.
 
But she began looking for whatever advantage
she could find.
 
Because she didn’t know
how the evening was going to end, but she knew he wasn’t raping her.
 
She wasn’t going to let him do to her what
all those hundreds of men did to her and got away with it.
 
She couldn’t let him get away too.

All she had was her laptop on her
bed, and as he attempted to suck her breasts dry, as he pulled down and
completely removed her pants and panties while he sucked, rendering him
sufficiently distracted, she grabbed it.
 
She grabbed that laptop and slammed the sharp edge into the side of his
head with such force that it knocked him off of her and caused him to start
bleeding immediately.

But she didn’t stop there.
 
As soon as he got off of her, she jumped out
of that bed and ran.
 
When Ethan felt the
side of his head and saw that there was blood on his hands, his anger
heightened, and he got up and ran after her.

She ran down the hall, through the
living room and into her kitchen.
 
He ran
down the hall, through the living room, and into her kitchen too.
 
Only when he came in, ready to kill that
bitch, he didn’t see her at all.
 
Was she
already gone?
 
Did she run through the
backdoor in the kitchen?
 
Had she gotten
away from him?

He began to hurry toward the kitchen
door in panic, to stop her if she got that far, knowing his freedom was on the
line if she got away.
 
It was one thing
when a kid with no power accused him of rape.
 
It was another thing when a sophisticate like Carly Sinatra did the
same.
 
No amount of PR was going to beat
that rap for him!

But as he began moving toward the
back of the kitchen, Carly, hiding behind the center island in the middle of
the room, stood up with knife in hand and ran up behind him.
 
Just as he was about to turn around, just as
he was about to grab what his instinct told him was just behind him, she
stabbed him in the back.

She was amazed that she had done such
a thing.
 
She was amazed at the force of
her stab.
 
And when he turned and looked
at her, stunned that she would go that far, fear took her shock away.
 
Because he didn’t fall.
 
Because he was about to take that knife from
her and use it far more effectively than she had.

And that was why she knew she
couldn’t let up.
 
She saw too much.
 
She saw life going backwards to all those
nights in that bedroom, and all of that helplessness.
 
She stabbed him in the front.
 
Straight through the heart.
 
And she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.
 
He was down, as lifeless as an ornament, and
she kept stabbing.
 
She stabbed for her
innocence lost.
 
She stabbed for her
inability to trust.
 
She stabbed for her
inability to be anything but a bitch because her father and those men treated
her as if that was all she’d ever be.
 
And she stabbed.

When she finally came to herself, and
saw the blood in her kitchen, and realized what she was doing, she stood up,
and backed away from him.
 
What had she
done?
 
What had she done
?

She looked around, on the verge of
sheer panic.
 
She looked at the knife
still dripping with Ethan Campbell’s blood.
 
And she ran.
 
She ran to the
living room to retrieve her cellphone.
 
But it was busted.
 
When Ethan
knocked it from her hand so violently, it broke apart.
 
Then she remembered her landline, the only
one she had in the house, and ran back into her kitchen.
 
Ethan was still there.
 
Still lifeless.
 
Still, she thought with horror deep within
her soul, dead.

She grabbed the phone from its cradle
on the wall and dialed direct.
 
Not to
the police, but to the only man she ever trusted in her life.
 
She slid down the wall until her bare butt
was touching the cold floor.
 
And she put
in a call to Big Daddy.

Brent Sinatra drove his father’s
Jaguar, with Charles on the passenger seat and Jenay in back, as they left
Maine in a blaze of speed.
 
They left as soon
as the call came in.
 
They drove nonstop
to Boston, some two hours from Jericho, and pulled into the driveway of Carly’s
beautiful home on the lake in even less time.
 
Charles’s heart was pounding.
 
He
had a close relationship with all of his children, but his relationship with
Carly, his adopted daughter, was what even he would describe as special.
 
She was his golden child, and all of his
children knew it.
 
She was the only one
of his grown children who never disappointed him.
 
She made it with her brains and talent and
she made it big.
 
And for her to have
this happen to her just broke his heart.
 
He couldn’t wait to get to her!

He was the first to jump out of the
car and hurry to her front door.
 
Jenay
wasn’t far behind him, and Brent wasn’t far behind them.
 
All three were worried sick.
 
All three still couldn’t believe the words
Carly had spoken.

“I’m in trouble, Daddy,” she’d said
when she phoned him.
 
“I killed Ethan.”

Charles didn’t know who Ethan was,
and he didn’t care.
 
He told her he was
on his way.
 
He and Jenay took Bonita to
Brent’s house for Brent’s wife Makayla to take care of, and they, with Brent,
took off.
 
It was a two-hour drive, but
they reached her home in almost half that time.

Charles, who visited her in Boston
more than anybody else in the family, had a key to her home and did not bother
to knock.
 
He unlocked her door and
hurried inside, with Jenay and Brent behind him.

“Car?” he yelled.
 
“Carly?”

He ran through her house until he ran
into the kitchen.
 
And that was when he
saw her.
 
Her bare butt still sitting on
that cold floor.
 
Her torn blouse and
bra.
 
That blood-stained knife still in
her hand.
 
She didn’t even bother to look
at her father.
 
She was still staring at
Ethan.

Jenay’s heart dropped through her
shoe when she saw the dead man on that kitchen floor.
 
And when she saw her baby, when she saw the
child who was once her stepdaughter when she was married to Carly’s father
Quince, sitting in an almost catatonic state with that bloody knife in her
hand, she pushed past Charles and made her way to Carly.
 
She got on the floor beside her, and pulled
her into her arms.
 
But Carly continued
to stare at Ethan.

Charles and Brent went over to the
body and knelt down.
 
Brent, the chief of
police in Jericho County, checked to see if the man still had a pulse.
 
The blood made it obvious that he did not,
but in his line of work he never took anything for granted.
 
He checked.
 
Ethan Campbell’s death was confirmed.

“I’ll be damned,” Brent said when he
finally took a good look at the dead man.
 
“I know him.”

Charles, still knelt down with his
expensive shoes within mere inches of the pool of blood, looked at his oldest
child.
 
“You know him?”

“Not personally.
 
I know of him.
 
That’s Ethan Campbell, Dad.”

Charles frowned.
 
“Who’s Ethan Campbell?”

“He used to be the quarterback for
the Patriots.”

“A starter?”

“He was the starter a couple of
seasons.
 
He once even made it to the Pro
Bowl.
 
He’s a big deal.”
  

Charles didn’t want to hear
that.
 
Because the bigger the decedent, the
worst it would be for Carly.
 
He stood
up.
 
And then went over to Carly and
knelt beside her and Jenay.
 
He removed
the knife from Carly’s hand.

Jenay still held their daughter in
her arms, but Carly continued to stare at the dead body.
 
“Carly,” Charles said, but she didn’t even
blink.

Charles and Jenay exchanged a
glance.
 
Jenay shook her head in agony.

Charles, his face frowned with
anguish too, took Carly by the chin and turned her small, beautiful face toward
his.
 
“Carly,” he said again.
 
“This is your father talking.
 
I need you to hear me.”

And she blinked.
 
When she realized it was Charles, when she
realized it was Jenay, she blinked.
 
And
the tears began to flow.

As Jenay pulled her closer, to
comfort her, Charles knew he had to hear the story.
 
He had to know what he was going to do about
this.
 
“What happened, sweetheart?” he
asked her.

It took her several moments, but then
she was able to speak.
 
“He tried to rape
me,” she said in that clear way she always spoke.
 
She looked at Ethan again.
 
“I wouldn’t let him.”

Charles nodded.
 
“Good.
 
You did the right thing.”

Her voice sounded confident, but her
face told a different story.
 
“I killed
him, Daddy.
 
I stabbed him over and over
and over again.
 
I killed him.”
 
Then she looked at her father again.
 
“Will they believe me?”

She asked a direct question because
she knew, with Charles, she would get a direct answer.
 
He never bullshitted any of his
children.
 
That was why every one of his
children respected him above any human being alive.
 
“No,” he said to her.
 
“They will not believe you.”

The tears streamed harder when he
said those words, Carly’s already distressed face turned even more anguished,
and she placed her face in her hands.
 
She began to sob.
 
Jenay held her,
and looked at Charles.

Charles fought back tears as he saw
his daughter in anguish.
 
And he knew he
couldn’t let it be.
 
He touched her on
the arm.
 
She looked at him.
 
“Don’t worry, baby,” he said to her.
 
“They don’t have to believe you.
 
Nothing is going to happen to you.
 
I promise you that.”

Then Charles took the landline phone
that was still off the hook, the landline phone that was beside Carly on the
floor, and stood up.

But Brent hurried over, and placed
his hand on the phone.
 
“What are you
going to do, Dad?” he asked.
 
He knew his
father.

Charles looked at Brent.
 
“The only thing I can do.”

But Jenay wasn’t onboard.
 
“Charles, you can’t,” she said.
 
She feared for Carly, but she feared for her
husband too.

“What do you mean I can’t?” Charles
asked.
 
“I have to, Jenay.
 
Somebody’s got to pay for this.
 
You can’t kill a man and there be no
retribution.
 
I have to handle this.”

“But this is Boston, Charles.”
 
Jenay once lived in Boston for many
years.
 
“This isn’t Jericho.
 
Brent isn’t the police chief here, and Makayla
isn’t the DA.”

“She’s right,” Brent echoed.
 
“You’ll never see the light of day again if
you take the fall for this.”

“And what do you think Carly will
see?” Charles asked him.
 
“You think
they’ll go easier on my child?
 
A young,
black woman who killed their white hero?
 
This superstar quarterback even you’ve heard of?
 
They’ll crucify her!
 
She’ll never see the light of day and she’s
still a baby!”

Brent, outdone, looked at Jenay.
 
He knew, when his father was this high
strung, only Jenay could talk him down.
 
Tears began to drop from Jenay’s eyes as she removed her arms from
Carly, and stood in front of her husband.

That was the worse pain of it all for
Charles.
 
The fact that he might never
see Jenay again.
 
Or Bonita.
 
Or the rest of his children.
 
The fact that Jenay, by virtue of loving him
so much, would be imprisoned too.

Jenay placed her hands on either side
of his handsome face, and they touched forehead to forehead.
 
She was in pain too, but she was not going to
let it overtake her.
 
They had to be
practical.
 
They had to see this for what
it was.
 
She stared into her husband’s
eyes.
 
“I know you, Charlie.
 
And you’re a good man.
 
You’re the best father our children could
have ever hoped for.
 
But you cannot take
the blame for this.
 
None of us can bear
this.
 
Especially not Carly.
 
And not you either.”

Brent was relieved that Jenay was
there.
 
She was first and last a level
head in their family.

“Then what is the answer, Jenay?”
Charles asked her.
 
She was his best
counselor.
 
“What are we going to
do?
 
If anybody in this room takes the
blame, it has to be me.
 
I protect my
family.”
 
Emotion welled up inside of
Charles as his voice broke.
 
“Carly’s my
baby.
 
From the moment that social worker
said we could take her and Ashley with us, she’s been my baby.
 
She killed him in self-defense, but they
won’t believe her.
 
Not with this many
stab wounds.”
 
He looked at Ethan’s
body.
 
Then he looked at Jenay.
 
“What are we going to do?”

Jenay pulled the big man into her
small arms.
 
She didn’t know what to do
either.

But Brent, the lawman, did.
  
“We’ve got to move the body,” he said.

Charles and Jenay stopped embracing
and looked at him.
 
The idea of
straight-lace Brent suggesting something illegal on its face astounded
them.
 
But what he was suggesting astounded
Charles more.
 
“Move the body?” he asked
with a frown on his face.
 
“What are you
talking about move the body?”

“We’ve got to get this body to
Jericho,” Brent explained.
 
“I’m chief of
police there, and my wife is the District Attorney.
 
Jenay is right.
 
We can have some control there.
 
We don’t have shit here.”

“If Cruikshank wins that election,”
Charles said, “you won’t have shit there either.”

“They’re trying to get rid of us,”
Brent admitted.
 
“And if Cruikshank wins,
they will get rid of us.
 
But not before
we refuse to prosecute you.
 
Not before
we declare it a case of self-defense and refuse to press charges.”

Charles stared at his son.
 
It was the first sign of hope they had.
 
And right now, they were all grappling at
straws.
 
But the logistics of the
thing!
 
“How the hell are we going to
move a body?” Charles asked, giving voice to his skepticism.
 
“We don’t know anything about moving a body.”

Then Jenay’s look suddenly
changed.
 
“But Mick does,” she said.

Charles and Brent, both taken aback,
looked at her.

She looked at Charles.
 
“Mick does,” she said again, with even more
conviction, as if she was just beginning to believe it herself.