by Shelly Ellis
Bridget had warned him not to do it. She’d told him to leave it alone and mind his own damn business.
“Focus on the fact that you’ve accomplished all that you have by the age of thirty. Focus on what you need to do to execute your job well, and maybe one day you can become mayor yourself,” she’d said that morning in their bathroom.
She’d even given him a blow job to make sure he stayed in line—something she usually did only once a month, or on his birthday—but it hadn’t worked. Jamal couldn’t resist digging deeper, wanting to know more about Mayor Johnson and his relationship with Dolla Dolla.
Once Jamal started researching, it was easy to pick up the trail of the mayor’s questionable business dealings. They included contracts awarded to companies that were subsidiaries of subsidiaries of subsidiaries. All of them had an endless line of parent companies that made it obvious that the true owners were trying to hide their identities. These companies had been hired to build homeless shelters or rehab facilities across the city, receiving millions in payments. They’d always begin design or construction, and then let the projects stall for years. Some of those shelters and facilities still hadn’t been completed. The companies had taken the money and run, and Jamal wondered if the mayor had gotten his cut before the companies disappeared for good.
Then, about two years ago, Mayor Johnson started getting a big boost in campaign contributions from hundreds of private donors who all donated five hundred dollars here, a thousand dollars there. An intrepid reporter followed up with the people who donated and saw that they were all living in tiny apartments in the rough part of town or in Section 8 housing. With their limited incomes, they couldn’t possibly have afforded the contributions on their own. The reporter had asked them where they got the money, but they either came up with vague answers or didn’t answer his inquires at all.
Someone had given them the money, but who? Jamal suspected he now knew the answer: it was Dolla Dolla. The drug kingpin had given money to all those poor people and paid them, in turn, to donate the money to the mayor. Secretly donating what totaled to hundreds of thousands of dollars to the mayor’s re-election campaign would certainly enamor Dolla Dolla to Johnson. It could also earn him quite a few favors.
Jamal considered what to do with this information for more than a week. Should he confront the mayor with it, or take the info straight to the press? Should he pretend like he never saw any of it?
He didn’t feel equipped to answer these questions by himself, and he didn’t trust any of his colleagues with this type of information. He couldn’t talk to Bridget about it either; she’d told him to stay the hell out of it.
So who could he turn to?
There was only one man Jamal knew who would “keep it real” with him about what to do, who had the type of moral compass and level of honesty to give him the best advice. It was Derrick. But he and Derrick weren’t talking anymore. They hadn’t spoken in weeks—and yet, he couldn’t imagine his old friend turning him away if he approached him with something this important.
To test the waters, he tried sending Derrick a friendly innocuous text:
You catch the Redskins game last night?
Derrick never responded.
He tried calling him, but the phone just rang. Jamal hung up when he heard Derrick’s voicemail message.
That weekend Jamal drove to Derrick’s neighborhood. When he parallel parked along the busy tree-lined street and gazed at the seven-story apartment building where Derrick lived, he only hesitated for a few seconds before he climbed out of his Audi. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor, walked down the hall, and knocked on the door 522.
When Derrick opened the door, he looked surprised to find Jamal standing there in his hallway. But his shocked expression quickly morphed into anger.
“What are you doing here, man?” Derrick asked. His body language conveyed anything but friendliness at that moment.
“Well, I . . . I hadn’t seen in you in a hot minute,” he said awkwardly, feeling his mouth go dry as he gazed up at his childhood buddy. “I wanted to—”
“You haven’t seen me in a hot minute because you didn’t wanna see me,” Derrick interrupted loudly. “Remember that weak ass speech you gave us at Ray’s? You basically told me and Ricky to lose your number.”
Jamal looked down at his feet. He hadn’t expected Derrick to greet him with open arms, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t make him have to work this hard just to start a conversation.
“Look, I told you why I did it, Dee. I didn’t want to do that to you guys, but—”
“But you did. So why are you here now?”
“I just . . . I just had to ask you . . . well, I needed to—”
“Jay, just say whatever you gotta say, man. All right? I don’t got all damn day.”
Derrick looked five seconds away from slamming the door in his face.
“I came because I needed to talk to you, Dee. I . . . I need your advice. It’s important.”
Derrick’s glare and stony expression disappeared. He looked genuinely interested now. “Advice about what?”
“It’s some heavy shit and . . . and I need your opinion on what to do about it. You’re the only person I would trust to give good advice about something like this. It would have to stay between us though. You couldn’t tell anyone else—including Ricky.”
Derrick stepped aside. He waved him forward, gesturing Jamal into his apartment.
When Jamal stepped inside, he saw their cat, Brownie, staring at him curiously from the end of the hall. Jamal looked around him. It was Derrick’s place but Jamal was always vaguely aware that Melissa also lived here. He could see her fuchsia raincoat hanging on a nearby coatrack, still damp from the rain shower earlier that day. A vase filled with fresh peonies and hydrangea sat at a small desk in front of the hallway mirror. A whiff of her perfume draped itself lazily in the air.
“Is Lissa home?” Jamal asked hopefully.
“Nah, she went to go get her nails done. She said she’d be back in a bit though. Why?”
Jamal stopped looking around him and met Derrick’s gaze. He didn’t want to admit to Derrick that part of him was hoping he’d see Melissa today. He hadn’t seen her in a while.
“No reason. Just wondered if she was here too.”
“Let’s go in the living room,” Derrick said while strolling down the hall.
Again, Jamal saw traces of Melissa in here, too—in the furniture choice and the artwork on the walls. He tried his best to ignore it and focus on the subject at hand.
“So what did you have to tell me?” Derrick asked, reclining back on his suede sectional.
Jamal sat on the cushion facing him. He stared down at the carpet beneath his feet, unsure of where to start.
“It better be somethin’ real deep if you’re hemming and hawing this much, bruh,” Derrick joked, cracking his first grin since Jamal had arrived.
Jamal took a deep breath. “Fuck it,” he said, then unloaded. He started from the beginning, telling Derrick about what he’d seen in the community center parking lot more than a week ago. He told him about his research since then, and all that he’d dug up on Mayor Johnson. When he finished talking, he felt like a boulder had been lifted from his shoulders. He stared at Derrick expectantly.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“What do you mean, what I think?”
“I mean . . . now that I know all this, what the hell do I do with it, Dee?”
He watched as Derrick pursed his lips then shrugged. “Well, as I see it, you’ve got two options. You either quietly hand in your resignation now that you know what type of dirty motherfucka you’re working for, and let Johnson stay dirty—or you put all that info in a big envelope, anonymously send it off to a reporter at the Washington Post or somethin’, then resign.”
Jamal squinted. “Why in both scenarios you have me resigning? I’m not the dirty one. Why should I have to quit?”
“Because I doubt the mayo
r did that shit all by his lonesome, Jay. There are other people in city hall covering up for him, working deals just like he is. That’s the only way it could work. The whole damn system is corrupt. Open your eyes!”
Jamal exhaled and slumped back onto the sofa. “Come on, man, you don’t know that. He could’ve done all of this shit on his own. It doesn’t mean everybody in the mayor’s office has to be rollin’ in the dirt too.”
“Why the hell not? Besides, even if, by some extreme chance, he did do all that shit alone, how long do you think it’ll take for him to be pushed out of office? He’s not gonna step down. Not Johnson! This is how he makes his money; he’s got too much to lose. You saw what happened with Clemmons. They investigated that dude for years before they finally charged him with anything! An investigation of Johnson could last for years and years, too. Meanwhile, you’ll still be working for a corrupt boss!”
Jamal clenched his jaw in frustration. “I can’t just quit, Dee! I’ve worked too hard and paid too many dues just to walk away.”
“Oh, so you’re willing to walk away from a friend of twenty years because he’s associated with Dolla Dolla, but you won’t walk away from your job as deputy mayor you’ve had for less than six months even though the mayor is associated with Dolla Dolla too? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“It’s not that simple! I’ve got a career. Rent and bills to pay. I can’t just come home and tell Bridget—”
“Nah, man, it is that simple. It’s as simple as you being a hypocrite or not being a hypocrite. It’s as simple as you saying what you mean, and meaning what you say.”
“Yeah, well, sorry I’m not fucking perfect like you. Sue me!”
“Don’t give me that shit! This has nothing to do with being perfect. If you know the mayor is dirty and you continue to work for his ass, as far as I’m concerned,” Derrick said, pointing at him, “you’re as dirty as he is.”
“That’s some bullshit!”
“No, it’s not bullshit! It’s the truth, nigga!”
“Whoa!” Melissa cried as she strolled into the living room, holding up her hands.
Neither man had heard her come into the apartment and shut the door behind her, because they both had been shouting at one another. Even Brownie had slinked off to find solace in the quiet of Derrick and Melissa’s bedroom.
Melissa looked back and forth between the two men. When Jamal saw the bewildered look on her face, he clammed up and went sheepish.
“Why are you guys coming at each other like that?” she asked, removing her purse from her shoulder and dropping it to the carpeted floor. “You sound like you’re about to fight.”
“I’m sorry,” Jamal mumbled, rising to his feet. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Derrick agreed, glowering up at him.
“I’m out,” Jamal said before excusing his way past Melissa. “Sorry I wasted your time, Dee.”
“Wait! What the hell is going on with you two? Wait, Jay, come back!” Melissa shouted after him, but he didn’t stop. He continued to walk to the front door and swung it open. He strode down the hall, but stopped when he neared the elevators and felt a hand drop to his shoulder.
He angrily whipped around, expecting to see Derrick. It was on the tip of his tongue to unload all his frustrations, to rail at his former friend for condemning him for something he hadn’t done wrong, but he saw Melissa instead. Kind, beautiful Melissa. When he realized it was her—not Derrick, his anger immediately dissipated.
“What’s going on, Jay?” she asked softly. “Why were you two arguing?”
He unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. “We just had a . . . a disagreement. That’s all.”
“Then sort it out! Don’t just storm out like this! Come on, y’all are friends, right? You can work through it.”
Jamal looked at her in shock. Derrick must not have told her about the conversation they’d had at Ray’s weeks ago. He shook his head. “No, we’re not friends, Lissa. Not anymore.”
“Huh?”
“Dee and I are just too different.” He turned back around and pressed the down elevator button. “We may have been tight years ago, but we’ve obviously grown apart. I can’t . . . I can’t live up to his standards. Deep down I admire who he is . . . how he thinks, but I . . . I’m not him. I’m not all self-sacrifice and honesty. I’m not some saint. I may want to be, but I’m not.”
“I get it,” Melissa whispered. “Dee can be pretty judgmental sometimes. But believe me, he’s no saint, Jay. You shouldn’t let this drive you guys apart. Come back. Talk it over.”
The elevator bell dinged. The metal doors opened and Jamal shook his head again.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. This way is best. Dee knows it, too,” he said before stepping into the elevator compartment and pressing the button for the first floor. He watched her until the elevator doors closed.
Chapter 10
Derrick
“What the hell was that?” Melissa asked as she charged back into their apartment and closed the door behind her.
Derrick shook his head and waved her off. “It was nothing, baby. Don’t worry about it.”
He walked back across their living room to their stereo shelf where he had been sorting through vintage albums before Jamal had knocked on the door and rudely interrupted his day. He dropped to his knees and returned to the stack that he’d compiled on the floor.
“How can I not worry about it?” Melissa persisted. “Your best friend of almost twenty years just stormed out of here, and you didn’t even bother to try to talk him into staying. You’re acting like you don’t give a fuck one way or the other!”
“Because I don’t!” he barked over his shoulder, making her jump.
He dropped his head as she gaped at him. He hadn’t meant to yell at her, but the whole situation was beyond frustrating. He didn’t need yet another reason to have a fight with Melissa.
He certainly didn’t want to waste his breath arguing over Jamal.
When he saw his old friend standing in his apartment hallway, he’d thought Jamal had come to apologize, to say that he’d made a mistake. He’d realized how tight their trio was and wanted to make amends.
“Y’all my brothas. Always will be,” he’d thought Jamal was going to say.
Instead, Jamal had come asking for something, like the callous user that he was and always would be. And when Derrick had given him what he asked for—the advice he’d sorely needed, Jamal had gotten defensive.
I don’t need that shit, Derrick now thought. Fuck him!
“Look, baby, Jay and I are done with each other as far as I’m concerned, but it’s what he wanted—not me. He said he was ready to move on from me and Ricky. He said we were holding him back. So let him do his thing, and I’ll do mine.”
Melissa squinted, looking confused. “That doesn’t sound like Jay. Why would he say you were holding him back?”
“Well, not me specifically. He really meant Ricky. He said it wouldn’t look good to be friends with someone who works with known criminals. I wasn’t cool with that shit, so he dropped me too.”
“But it doesn’t look good, Dee! Jay has a point. He’s a city official. He has a reputation to uphold. You might choose to keep Ricky around despite the shady shit he does, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to do it.”
Derrick stared at his fiancée, now dumbfounded. “Why the hell are you defending him? Why are you defending his bullshit?”
“Because he’s right! He made a smart decision that needed to be made. Maybe if you made that decision too, Ricky would wise up and finally get his act together. He doesn’t need friends who enable him, Dee. He needs friends who can intervene and call him on his shit!”
“Are you serious? You’re really fucking serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m serious! You keep making allowances for all these other people . . . Ricky . . . my father . . . but the folks whom you should have their backs, you completely ignore
. It’s like our feelings don’t matter.”
“Our?” Derrick slowly rose to his feet. “Please don’t tell me you think what happened between me and you over your father is remotely close to the shit that went down with me and Jay?”
“Why wouldn’t I? What’s the difference?”
“What’s the difference? What’s the difference?” he yelled. “You honestly going to compare my relationship with you . . . the woman I love, the woman who I got down on bended knee and asked to marry me, to my relationship with J. Sinclair Lighty—a nigga who’s so fake and out of touch with himself he won’t even go by his own fuckin’ first name anymore? Are you kidding me right now, Lissa?”
“How do I know you’re not going to throw me under the bus like you’re throwing Jay?”
He stared at her, utterly horrified. “Lissa, how can you even ask me that? Let’s understand something. You matter to me. You will always matter to me. There is nothing—”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means lately I’ve been seeing a lot of talking and not a lot of action on your part. You say you love me. You say you have my back, but I’m not seeing it!”
He took one step toward her then another, wondering if he was hearing exactly what he was hearing. It had to be a mistake, some malfunction in his ear canal, because there was no way possible Melissa could be accusing him of such a thing.
“You think . . . you think I don’t have your back? You think I betrayed you?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she obstinately crossed her arms over her chest. Her silence was golden and it resonated louder with him than if she had yelled at him.
“I . . . I just . . .” He shook his head in bewilderment and held up his hands. “Look . . . umm . . . I’m gonna leave now, before I say some shit I can’t take back. All right?”
She shrugged and pursed her lips. “You do what you gotta do.”