The Final Play

by Shelly Ellis

  “Not doin’ too good, Mr. Derrick.” He finally darted a glance up at him through the video screen. “Thanks for comin’ down here though.”

  “No problem. I wanted to check on you. Let you know that all of us are thinking about you—the staff and the students.”

  “Miss Owens, too?” Cole asked hopefully.

  Derrick chuckled and nodded. Cole had always had a soft spot for and maybe even a crush on Morgan. “Yes, even Miss Owens.”

  “Why ain’t she come to visit me then?”

  Derrick hesitated. He didn’t want to tell Cole that Morgan and he had broken up, that they were no longer on speaking terms so he couldn’t answer that question for him. Instead, he shrugged.

  “She took the news about you getting arrested pretty hard. I bet she’s not too eager to see you in here.”

  Cole grimaced. “I thought she might be mad at me for what I did.”

  “Less mad than disappointed. We both were disappointed, Cole. I wish you would’ve told me what you were about to do. I could’ve stepped in. It didn’t have to go down this way.”

  “It’s nothing you could’ve done, Mr. Derrick.” Cole wasn’t glancing at him now. He was staring at him openly. “I had to do what I had to do. I didn’t have a choice. I told dude that, even before I shot him. It is what it is.”

  “Ten minutes left!” the guard barked on the other side of the room.

  “We could’ve told the cops Dolla was threatening your family though. We could’ve—”

  Cole loudly shushed him and raised a finger to his lips. The young man looked over his shoulder before turning back to the screen. He slowly shook his head. “Don’t do that, Mr. Derrick. Don’t talk about that shit. Not in here.”

  “What do you mean?” Derrick looked at the receiver he held. “I’m not new to this. I know they’re monitoring and recording our conversation, Cole, but everything I’m saying now, the cops already know. Even your mama said—”

  “My mama ain’t say nothin’! All right?” Cole argued, leaning toward the screen. “The cops know what I did. I followed dude to his apartment. I thought I could get his wallet but I couldn’t. So I shot him. That’s it. I needed the money. I had no choice.”

  Derrick squinted at Cole in confusion. Why was he lying?

  Cole’s mom had told Derrick that they’d told the police that Dolla Dolla had put him up to Jamal’s attempted murder. They’d told investigators about the meeting in Prince George’s County the night before the shooting and how one of Dolla Dolla’s men had given Cole the gun and Jamal’s home address. The cops knew the details of what had happened, even if they may not have believed Cole’s account.

  For the first time, Derrick saw desperation in the young man’s eyes. He noticed that Cole stole another glance over his shoulder, like he was looking at someone on the other side of the room.

  Derrick started to realize what was going on. Cole wasn’t scared of the cops overhearing their conversation. He was worried more about his fellow inmates. Did Dolla Dolla have soldiers inside the prison, too? Derrick wouldn’t put it past the drug kingpin. And they would probably report back to Dolla Dolla that Cole was a snitch, that he had talked to the cops about him. That could put the boy’s life in danger.

  “Are you good in there?” Derrick asked loudly, hoping that the boy would get his double meaning. “Do you need anything? Anything at all? Do I need to tell your mom to send you something special in your care package?”

  “Five minutes left!” the guard yelled, interrupting their conversation.

  Cole shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. I got what I need for now.” He shifted in his chair. “I just gotta be careful, you know? It’s easy to get crazy up in here.”

  Derrick nodded grimly.

  “I’m okay, Mr. Derrick. You and my mama don’t have to worry. I just keep my head down and follow the rules. It’s just like the Institute, but with nasty food.”

  Cole laughed. Derrick wanted to join him in his laughter, but couldn’t.

  “You take care of yourself,” he whispered.

  “I will. And . . . and can I ask you something? Can you do something for me?”

  “Anything. Name it!”

  “Can you ask Miss Owens to come and visit me?”

  Derrick pursed his lips. “I’ll ask her. I definitely will.”

  “I know I disappointed her, but I hope she can forgive me. I didn’t want to do it. You just get caught up in stuff, you know?”

  Oh, yeah. I know. Trust me, Derrick thought. He, of all people, knew what it meant to disappoint Morgan, to get so caught up in his own mess that he didn’t even think of how it would affect her.

  “Okay. Time’s up!” the guard yelled.

  Damn! Already, Derrick thought, now at a loss. How had the minutes flown by so quickly? They had barely had a conversation.

  Cole winced. “I know my apology won’t mean much to her, but I want to apologize anyway,” Cole hurried to say. “Can you tell her that, Mr. Derrick?”

  Derrick nodded. “I will. Don’t—”

  He didn’t get to finish his assurances. The screen went blank.

  Chapter 13

  Jamal

  Jamal lingered near the revolving glass doors, watching as a line of people filed through—a man in a suit, a woman blabbing on her cell phone, a couple who seemed to be having a quiet but intense argument. He finally stepped through the doors, too, and stood in the lobby. He walked to the wall directory and frowned.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the uniformed security guard asked, strolling toward him. “You lookin’ for somethin’?”

  Jamal nodded. “I’m looking for the Conference of Public Officials meeting,” Jamal said. “I heard it was here today. I think it may have already started.”

  The security guard nodded. “Fifth floor. Room 508.”

  “Thanks,” Jamal murmured before walking to the elevators.

  “Sir!” the guard called out, holding up his hand, making Jamal halt in his steps. “You have to sign in.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Jamal painted on a smile and walked back to the desk. He grabbed a pen that sat on the granite countertop. He wrote his name and glanced at the digital clock nearby to check the time, and wrote that, too. The guard took the pen and clipboard and nodded.

  “Enjoy your meeting, Mr. Houghton,” he said, glancing at the false name Jamal had provided.

  “Thanks,” Jamal said before heading back to the elevators and pressing the up button. He boarded one a minute later and pressed number five, letting the doors close behind him.

  Jamal closed his eyes. He had done breathing exercises to make it this far, but he already felt the pesky tightening in his chest as he ascended floors; the rumblings of another panic attack was coming on.

  “Not now,” he whispered hoarsely.

  He wasn’t sure if it was anxiety related to what he was about to do or who he was about to see face-to-face. He knew the mayor would likely be here today. Jamal had been slated to attend the Conference of Public Officials meeting with Mayor Johnson before he quit, so he knew it was on the older man’s schedule. Johnson was one of the featured guest speakers, and he loved any opportunity to grandstand.

  When the elevator dinged, Jamal opened his eyes. The doors opened and he stepped out into the corridor. He walked down the hall, drawing closer and closer to room 508. When he finally reached the room, he grabbed the chrome door handle.

  No turning back now, he told himself, despite his heart racing and beads of sweat forming on his brow. He pushed the door open.

  He wouldn’t even need to be here today doing this if the detective had believed him, if he’d believed his claims about Mayor Johnson. Jamal had followed Melissa’s suggestion to go back to the detective, to try harder to convince him of the truth.

  “Did you follow up on what I told you?” Jamal had asked the detective over the phone. “Did you question Johnson?”

  The detective had loudly sighed. “Yeah, about that, Mr. Lightly . . .
I spoke to the mayor’s assistant and she provided the mayor’s schedule for the time the shooting occurred. He was out of town. He was on a flight to Los Angeles when you were—”

  “Of course, he was out of town! He wouldn’t want to be anywhere near here when it happened. That’s why you need to question him, not his assistant, Gladys. I told you that he’s connected to Dolla Dolla, and Dolla Dolla has plenty of shooters working for him. I bet they set it up together.”

  “Mr. Lighty, we arrested the punk that shot you. He hasn’t breathed a word about the mayor. The mayor was nowhere in the vicinity when the shooting took place. I have nothing . . . not a damn thing connecting Mayor Johnson to this crime! I just can’t go barging into city hall accusing the mayor of D.C. of conspiracy to murder someone without any credible evidence supporting it!”

  “What if I give you credible evidence?” Jamal had asked. “Then will you question him?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If I give you something that proves without a doubt that he was behind this, will you bring him in for questioning?”

  The detective had laughed. “Sure. Fine. If you can give me credible—and I mean strong—evidence that Mayor Johnson is connected to your attempted murder, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’ll see what you can do?” Jamal had repeated back, incredulous. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That means that I need something to prove that this isn’t a waste of time and police resources to take this further. As far as I’m concerned, we have our perp. But if you choose to hire a private detective to do your own investigation, I can’t stop you. It’s your money.”

  Jamal had fumed as he’d listened to the detective, angered by his patronizing attitude.

  He would prove the detective wrong with the evidence he needed and he wouldn’t need to hire a private detective to do it.

  Now Jamal stepped into the large conference room and looked around him. Almost every chair was filled. He spotted one toward the back and walked to it, using a moment when the crowd clapped as one of the speakers ended his speech, to quickly make his way to the empty seat. When he sat down, he stared at the front of the room, wondering if Mayor Johnson had spotted him. It looked like he hadn’t. The mayor was leaning toward another man, whispering. Jamal noticed a few other familiar faces toward the front: an assistant and a department head from city hall. But they hadn’t spotted Jamal either. Both were gazing down at their cell phones.

  He listened patiently to two other speakers, doing his deep breathing the entire time. The woman beside him glanced at him, squinting on occasion at his loud inhaling and exhaling, but he didn’t care. He had to stay in here long enough for the mayor to finish his speech and corner him after. He had tried to go to city hall to confront him, but he had been told by one of the guards that he was no longer allowed into the building.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lighty. I don’t make the rules,” one of the guards who used to say hi to him every morning had told him when he tried to walk inside earlier that week.

  But he figured Mayor Johnson wouldn’t be able to avoid him here.

  He glanced down at his cell phone to check his recording app again. He had tested it last night, slipping it inside his sling and seeing if he could inconspicuously press the button to record. He worried now that the motion would be too obvious, or maybe he’d press the wrong button. Either way, he had to try. This was his only hope to get the detective to take his claims about Mayor Johnson seriously.

  The crowd clapped again. Several more people had entered since Jamal had arrived and now lined the walls. He watched as Mayor Johnson rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket. The older man walked to the podium, smiling and waving at the crowd as he went.

  Despite his deep breathing, Jamal could feel his chest tightening again as the mayor leaned toward the mike. He was starting to feel light-headed, too.

  He flashed back to the conversation he’d had with the mayor about Phillip’s murder and the one after that, when he quit his job. He remembered the moment when he stood in front of his apartment door and noticed the gun in the boy’s hoodie. He remembered the sound of gunfire. He vividly recalled sitting slumped on his bedroom floor, filled with terror and clutching his bloody shoulder, wondering if he was about to die alone.

  “Not now. Not now. Not now!” he whispered to himself, trying to push those memories out of his head.

  Jamal wanted to escape. His eyes kept darting toward the door on the other side of the meeting room, but he knew if he stood now, the mayor would see him.

  The woman beside him gave him another nervous glance and eased a few inches away.

  Jamal closed his eyes. He counted to ten, then fifty, then hundred, willing himself to keep his ass in his chair. Finally, he heard applause. Jamal opened his eyes and saw the mayor walk away from the podium. The tightness around Jamal’s chest finally loosened. He could breathe again.

  A few minutes later, the audience began to stand from their chairs. The speakers began to make their way around the room, shaking hands and having conversations with attendees.

  Jamal watched as the mayor whispered something to one of the department heads before walking off. He headed to the side door with one of the assistants trailing behind him.

  Jamal quickly made his way through the crowd, excusing himself and shoving someone aside when they didn’t move fast enough. A few muttered at him angrily, chastising him for his rudeness, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Johnson get away.

  He reached the back door, pressed the button on his phone to record, and shoved the door open in just enough time to see the mayor reach the end of the corridor.

  His anxiety and fear finally subsided. He felt fury more than anything else at that moment.

  “Johnson!” he shouted.

  The older man whipped around and stared at him in surprise. When Jamal drew closer, Mayor Johnson broke into a grin. “Why, Jamal, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

  “You know how the fuck I’ve been.” Jamal narrowed his eyes. “And you haven’t seen me because you banned me from city hall.”

  “Well, you have to admit that you didn’t leave under the best circumstances. I’m not a fan of confrontations with disgruntled former employees.”

  “So much so that you tried to get rid of me? I would’ve expected some big goon to come after me, not a teenager. You’re sending kids to do your dirty work now?”

  Mayor Johnson’s grin abruptly disappeared. “Uh, Brian,” he said to the assistant who was now squinting in confusion, “why don’t you wait for me downstairs? I need to talk to Mr. Lighty for a bit.”

  The young man nodded before making a hasty retreat into the stairwell. They listened to his heavy footfalls as he walked down the stairs. Mayor Johnson then took a step toward Jamal.

  “I heard about your mishap,” he said, glancing at Jamal’s sling. “That was very unfortunate. But I’m happy they caught the young man who did it—and you survived. Problem solved. You should be happy.”

  “I’m not happy. They didn’t catch everybody involved. Before he did it, he told me had no choice. You and Dolla put him up to that shit.”

  The mayor shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jamal. Obviously, the shooting has made you paranoid. You really believe I was involved in some conspiracy with a seventeen-year-old to shoot you?” He tutted. “You should see a psychiatrist for that.”

  “You know what you did. You did the same thing to me that you did to Phillip Seymour, but I lived. Phil didn’t. You had him killed, like you tried to have me killed.”

  The mayor’s nostrils flared. “I’d be very careful with slanderous allegations like that, Jamal.”

  “It’s not slander. It’s the truth.”

  “Even if it was true, you’d be just as guilty as I am if you knew who killed him and all this time, you didn’t tell the police.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?” Jamal said, inclini
ng his head.

  “Because if you had and the cops believed you, I’d be arrested by now.” Johnson took another step toward him so that they were almost chest to chest. “And because you’d know that the first bullet may not have killed you, but the second one will if you cross me again,” he said through gritted teeth, poking Jamal in the shoulder not far from his bullet wound.

  Jamal winced in pain.

  The mayor stepped back and smiled again. “Glad to see you again. You take care of yourself!”

  He slapped his shoulder, making Jamal wince once more.

  Jamal watched him as he walked down the hall and opened the door. When he slammed the door shut, Jamal pulled out his cell phone and pressed the button to end the recording. He hoped this time, it would be enough.

  Chapter 14

  Ricky

  Ricky strode down the carpeted corridor, keeping his eyes locked on the door at the end of the hall that led to the penthouse suite. He’d made this trek dozens of times in the past year, but for the first time he wasn’t tense or nervous. He was completely relaxed, with a laser-like focus on the task at hand.

  He was headed for his first meeting with Dolla Dolla since he’d arrived back in D.C. Detectives Ramsey and Dominguez had given him his marching orders only an hour before.

  “We want names. The names of his contacts. The names of the folks he’s in business with,” Ramsey had said to him. “That’s the deal.”

  “We held up our end of the bargain by getting your girl and your kid outta here,” Dominguez had argued. “It’s about fuckin’ time you held up yours. It’s been damn near a year. Get the job done!”

  But Ricky was less concerned with getting the job done than doing whatever he had to do to get back to Simone and Miles, to get back to his family—a word he’d never thought he’d be able to use again after his grandmother’s and his sister Desiree’s deaths.

  He thought about Simone and Miles all day and every night. He wondered if Miles was still cross-eyed. The doctor had said it was normal and Miles’s eye muscles would eventually get stronger, but Ricky had been eagerly anticipating when his son could finally focus on his face when he spoke to him. Ricky wondered how Simone was making it through the late-night feedings alone. He still woke up at two a.m. like clockwork, a habit he’d developed so he could sit up with her and rock Miles back to sleep after she finished breastfeeding. Now when he woke up at that time, he was in bed alone. He’d stare at the ceiling until he fell back to sleep.