by Shelly Ellis
Jamal eagerly nodded, now relieved to have an excuse to walk away. “We do, sir. And you’re right. We should get going if we want to make it across town on time.”
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Seymour,” the mayor said before extending his hand to the reporter for a shake.
Phillip dazedly shook the hand that was offered to him. “Uh, n-nice meeting you too, sir. But if I could just ask—”
“I’m afraid not. We really must be on our way,” the mayor insisted before turning and walking toward the curb where a black sedan waited for them. “Jamal, are you coming?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir!” Jamal paused and slapped Phil’s shoulder. “See you, Phil.”
“Uh, yeah. See you,” Phil said before waving limply.
* * *
Jamal settled into the leather seat beside the mayor, shutting the door behind him just as the sedan pulled into traffic.
“That was an interesting discussion,” Mayor Johnson said, adjusting his suit jacket and reaching for a binder that sat on the seat between them. He began to flip pages.
“Phil is just a little overeager. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jamal said, buckling his seat belt.
“Why shouldn’t I? Overeager can also mean persistent.” He slowly looked up from his binder and glared at Jamal. “You should’ve told me about this. I thought you were my eyes and ears. I thought I could depend on you, Jamal.”
Jamal nervously cleared his throat. “I didn’t tell you because I . . . I didn’t think I needed to. I was taking care of it.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like you’ve taken care of it if he’s still pursuing the story . . . if he asked me questions like that in full view of my constituents and other members of the press.”
“Sir, I really will take care of it. Really, I will!”
Jamal watched as the mayor leaned forward and pressed a button to raise the partition between them and the driver. The sound of the droning voice on the car radio abruptly stopped. The only thing Jamal could hear was the soft hum of the car’s heater. He swallowed audibly, bracing himself for what the mayor was about to say next.
“I hope you do take care of this, Jamal, because you leave me with only two options if you don’t,” Johnson said, gazing at him unflinchingly. “Would you like to know what those options are?”
I think I can guess, Jamal thought bleakly, but remained silent.
“I can reach out to my friends, one of whom happens to be our mutual acquaintance, and tell him I’m experiencing a problem with the reporter at the Washington Recorder and have him deal with it.”
Jamal closed his eyes and cringed. Back to the death threats. He shook his head. “No, sir, please . . . please don’t do that. Phil is in his midtwenties. He’s barely out of college. He just started working there two years ago. He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t know any better! He doesn’t—”
“And my other option,” the mayor continued, pretending like he hadn’t heard Jamal’s earnest pleas, “is to give our reporter friend something that will distract him . . . a bigger story, shall we say, that he should focus on instead.”
Jamal quieted. His eyebrows drew together in confusion and concern. “I’m sorry, sir? What . . . what does that mean?”
“I mean that maybe your friend Phil should be less concerned with housing developments than what’s going on right here at city hall, with the behavior of one of the deputy mayors,” Johnson said, reclining in the back seat. “Perhaps he would find it interesting that the deputy mayor of planning and economic development has been using the city’s tax dollars to frequent prostitutes in New York . . . to get drunk, snort cocaine, and do God knows whatever else. I’m sure he and other reporters would find that to be a juicier story, don’t you think? I bet he’d forget about those little housing developments very quickly.”
Jamal blanched. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re really gonna throw me under the bus? Just because he wants to write stories about a housing development?”
The mayor shrugged and smiled. “I told you. I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do in this situation, Jamal. You’ve left me with little choice.”
“You took me to that place,” Jamal said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t even know where the hell we were going. I didn’t know prostitutes were going to be there!”
“And yet you partook of what was available,” the mayor said, speaking over him. “I didn’t force you, Jay. You did it because you wanted to do it. You certainly enjoyed yourself that night!” He chuckled again.
“You were there too. If Phil finds out about me, you don’t think he’d figure out that you were doing God knows what too?” he asked, repeating the mayor’s words back to him.
“I’m a member of that establishment. You are not. And I pay a great deal of money for them to protect my secrets. You do not. Besides, I don’t have photographic evidence of my . . . activities. Unfortunately, I do of yours, Jamal.”
“You . . . you took pictures?”
“I didn’t take them,” the mayor said, pointing at his chest. “One of your companions did. You were very intoxicated that evening. I guess you don’t remember her doing it?”
Jamal closed his eyes again, trying desperately to recall all the things he had done that night back in New York. The two prostitutes . . . the threesome . . . the drugs. He could only get flashes, quick snapshots of what had happened, but he couldn’t remember many details. If one of the women took pictures of even a small percentage of what they’d done, he’d look awful. He would not only lose his job but also be run out of town, and maybe government and politics entirely.
Had that been the mayor’s intention all along? Had he invited Jamal to the brothel just so that he could sucker him into letting down his guard, doing something incredibly stupid, and blackmailing him with the evidence later?
“Jesus,” Jamal whispered, opening his eyes and staring at the mayor in disgust. This man really was evil.
“Well, needless to say,” Johnson continued, “the photos were . . . very interesting. I’d suggest you do what’s necessary so that the only people who are aware of their presence are me, you, and your lovely companions that night. All right?”
Jamal slowly nodded. “All right,” he whispered just as the mayor leaned forward again and lowered the partition.
The mayor returned his attention to the binder that still sat on his lap. “Brian, can you turn up the volume? I wanted to hear that stock report.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said with a quick nod. The drone of the radio announcer’s voice filled the car again and Jamal turned to the passenger window, now sick to his stomach.
Chapter 13
Derrick
Derrick stared at his laptop screen, willing himself to type the email he had been trying to type for the past half hour. His fingers hovered over the computer keys for a few seconds. He typed one word, then two, then slumped back in his office chair in defeat.
He couldn’t concentrate. His mind kept drifting back to the confession that Melissa had made that weekend, the secret that she had been keeping from him for months: Jamal had kissed her. Derrick’s former friend had actually made a move on his girl and had tried to break them up.
Of course, Derrick didn’t let on to Melissa that he was still obsessing over her revelation. After that intense conversation in the car following dinner with Mr. Theo and Lucas, he and Melissa had woken up the next morning and behaved like the conversation had never happened. They had gone grocery shopping, arguing playfully over what brand of cereal to buy and whether Melissa really needed more bath gel. They went downtown to buy a birthday gift for his mom, came back, watched a movie while eating dinner, made love on the sofa, and fell asleep in one another’s arms. It had been a normal Sunday, but in the back of Derrick’s mind he could hear an ongoing, whispering dialogue.
She talked shit about you to him, the voice in his head would taunt. They sat around draggin’ you,
bruh.
So! She was just letting off some steam! She was mad at me at the time, he’d reassure himself. She didn’t mean anything by it.
She met up with him for coffee though . . . for lunch. Is that all they met up for? the voice would ask.
Melissa told me the truth, he’d argue. She didn’t have to tell me even that. She didn’t have to tell me anything!
She said he kissed her, but is that all they did? You’ve lied to her. Why wouldn’t she lie to you? Maybe she isn’t telling you the whole truth, the voice would say.
And it was that last thought that always gave him pause. Had Melissa left out part of the story? Had Jamal really kissed her—or had they done a lot more and Melissa had only told Derrick part of the truth to soften the blow?
He wanted to question her again, to grill her on the details. Just how long did Jamal kiss her before she pushed him away? Did he touch her? Did she touch him? Why had she waited so long to tell him what happened?
He knew he had no right to be jealous or suspicious of her; he wasn’t innocent himself. He had done his dirt too—a lot worse than her. But it didn’t stop the cyclone of emotions from sucking him in. It didn’t quiet the voices in his head either. They only seemed to grow louder.
But when it came to Jamal—the offender himself—Derrick didn’t have any questions he wanted to ask him. He didn’t want to know why someone he had once considered one of his closest friends would not only make a move on his girl, but try to convince her to leave him. He didn’t want to know if this was an impulse Jamal had felt, under the influence of a good time and too much alcohol, like Melissa had assured him—or if these were real desires and shady thoughts Jamal had secretly been harboring for years. All he wanted to do was hit him, over and over again. He wanted to stomp him into the ground. He wanted to beat him so bad that even his own mama wouldn’t recognize him. If Jamal knew what was good for him, he would stay out of Derrick’s vicinity. He wouldn’t ever walk in Derrick’s line of sight.
Derrick glanced at the clock on his laptop, realizing that it was almost noon. He had already wasted half the day. He shoved back from his desk and pushed himself to his feet. He was supposed to meet Melissa for lunch today. It was part of the effort they were making to get better as a couple by spending more time together. Little did she know he’d probably be focused on questions about her kissing another man during their lunch more than enjoying their couple’s time.
He opened the door and strolled down the hall, heading to the stairwell and the floor below, where Melissa was probably waiting for him at the receptionist desk, but he slowed his pace when he noticed the head security guard, Rodney, leaning against a doorjamb. Again, Rodney was having a conversation with Cole, though this time it was with Cole and another student—one of Cole’s fawning lackeys.
When Derrick saw them, his anger flared.
Seeing Cole being so chummy with Rodney was yet another reminder of how things were never quite what they seemed. While his fiancée was meeting behind his back with Jamal, maybe Cole was doing the same with Rodney. Hell, maybe all the security guards were under Cole’s thumb now, following his orders. The suitcases were gone, but who the hell knew what else Cole was conspiring to do at the Institute. Who knew what plans he had in the works or what plans he was carrying out at this very moment.
Derrick stalked toward the trio.
“What are you two doing out here?” he asked, not bothering with the formality or fakeness of a greeting. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
Cole’s companion fidgeted nervously, but Cole glanced at Derrick like he was some pesky nuisance he didn’t want to deal with right now. “Nah, class just let out. We were headed to the lunch room and just stopped to talk to our boy Rodney, here,” he said, thumping Rodney on the shoulder.
Rodney laughed, hooking his thumb in his belt as he continued to lean against the doorway.
“He’s not ‘your boy.’ He’s a security officer for the Institute, and one of the things he should be doing is making sure students aren’t lingering around in the hallways. We don’t pay him to shoot the shit with you two. If you’re heading to lunch, then go there.”
Rodney frowned. “We were only talking about a minute, sir. The boys were just about to leave. I wasn’t—”
“You weren’t doing your job,” Derrick said, cutting him off.
Rodney glared at him, but Derrick didn’t care that he was pissing him off. In Rodney’s face, he saw Jamal. He saw Cole. He saw everything that thwarted and undermined him.
“And I can think of a few other times when you weren’t doing your job around here, so don’t act like this is an isolated incident.” He pointed to Cole and his friend. “Now go! I’m not going to say it again.”
Rodney shoved himself away from the doorjamb and took a threatening step toward Derrick. “You got a problem with me, Mr. Miller?”
“Yeah, I got a problem with you,” Derrick said, not remotely intimidated by the brawny man standing in front of him. Cole and his friend looked on in awe. “I got a problem with what you’re doing around my school. And if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you gonna have to get the hell up out of here!”
“Man, I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but you are messin’ with the wrong nigga, you hear me?” Rodney yelled, drawing close to Derrick’s face. “Don’t be comin’ at me like that!”
“No,” Derrick said, taking a step toward him so that they were almost chest to chest, nose to nose, “don’t you come at me like that if you don’t want no—”
“Hey! Hey!” someone shouted, placing an arm between the two men. “Stop it! The both of you!”
Derrick looked down, shocked to see Morgan standing in between him and Rodney. She had a hand on his chest and was practically shoving him back.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you two lost your damn minds?” She glared at Derrick then at Rodney and back again. “I heard you shouting all the way in the stairwell. What is going on?”
“Ask him what the fuck is going on,” Rodney said, jabbing his finger at him. “He’s the one who came over here starting some shit with me. I don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about!”
“Don’t say ‘he’ like I’m not your boss, nigga!” Derrick shouted, stepping to him again.
“You don’t like it? Then fire me!”
“Fine! You’re fired! How about that?”
“Good, because if I’m not working for you no more I got an even better reason to whoop your ass!”
“Then let’s go!”
“Stop! Stop it!” Morgan yelled before grabbing Derrick’s arm. “Come on! I’ve got to separate you two because the kids can’t see this.”
Derrick didn’t fight her, though he wanted to. He wanted to tug his arm out of her grasp and start throwing punches at Rodney. He wanted to land blows like he had in the old days, back before he had even arrived at the Institute and served his two years for an assault charge. Back in the old days, Derrick didn’t take out his frustrations with words. If someone stepped to him, if someone tried to take what was his, he fought them and he fought hard. He could feel that old version of himself emerging. It was like a pit bull tugging at its leash, growling and baring its teeth.
Morgan had to practically drag him as they walked back down the hall. When they arrived at his office door, she shoved him inside his office and slammed the door shut behind them. She dropped her hands to her slender hips.
“What the hell has gotten into you? Did you really just fire Rodney?” Morgan asked, gesturing over her shoulder to his closed door.
He paced back and forth in front of his desk. Now stuck in his office with Morgan standing in front of his door, preventing his exit, he felt like a caged animal.
“Look, I appreciate you stepping in and everything, but seriously, this doesn’t have shit to do with you! Okay?”
“No, it didn’t have shit to do with me, but you realize more than a dozen of those boys were standing around watc
hing you two and your dick-swinging contest, right?” Morgan asked. “Those are kids that you care about, Derrick. Kids who look up to you. You really want them seeing you this way? Is this the type of example you want to set for them?”
Derrick stilled. He turned to face her. He could see the earnest concern on her honey-colored face, in her big green eyes.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” she said with a nod.
“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his dreads, feeling his anger deflate with a whoosh. “I don’t know what got into me out there but . . . but thanks for coming between us. It could’ve been worse if you hadn’t. I know I’m not your favorite person right now so—”
“Look,” she said, holding up her hands and taking a step toward him, “whatever is going on between us is irrelevant, Dee. I may be pissed at you, but I still respect you and what you do for these boys . . . what you mean to this school. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is, you can’t flip out on people like that, especially in front of the kids.”
“I know it wasn’t a good look, but I didn’t just flip out on Rodney for no reason. The way I said it wasn’t right, but I meant what I said: Rodney hasn’t been doing his job and I want to know why.”
“What do you mean, he hasn’t been doing his job?” Her brows furrowed. “What happened?”
Derrick pursed his lips, contemplating whether he should tell Morgan what had been going on for the last couple of months. Did he really want to drag her into the drama? But maybe she could give him some insight he hadn’t considered. Maybe she could offer some advice.
“There’s been some . . . some shit going down at the Institute that you don’t know about, and it’s bad . . . really bad.”
“What shit?”
He hesitated again.
“Just spit it out, Derrick!”
So he told her everything. He told her about the drugs and the money. He told her about Cole, and how the teenager had been behaving in the days since Derrick had found the clandestine suitcases. He explained that he still didn’t understand how the suitcases had made it into the Institute without security being aware of them. Cole hadn’t really tried to hide them, storing them for anyone to see right under his bunk.