His Third Wife

The brother in the chair continued what had been an ongoing exchange of questions and no answers.

“So no one’s giving you any information? We’re supposed to believe a low man like you, fresh out the gate, just has all the right moves? Just knows where to be and when?” The brother laughed.

“I told you already. I’m not working for anyone,” Dax cried defiantly.

“Lie.” The brother in the chair nodded to the brother standing over Dax, and he hit him so hard a tooth flew out of his mouth to the floor.

“See, that’s what happens. You lie to me, you get hurt.”

Dax coughed up blood and spit it out.

“Tell him something, man. You ain’t looking too good,” Scoot said, laughing. “Don’t know how long you’re going to last.”

“Fucking faggot,” the brother in the chair said before slapping Scoot five.

“Is that what you are?” Scoot asked. “You dress up in a skirt and blouse? Yeah, that’s you.”

“Who you dressing up for, Morehouse man?” the brother in the chair asked as the other brothers laughed.

“Fuck you!” Dax barked, and his mouth met two more jabs from his captor.

The brother in the chair sighed mockingly. “I hate to see this. A brother going out like this on some bullshit.” He paused for a second. “Look, you’re going to have to give us something. If you want to make it out of here alive.”

“I told you, I don’t know anything. I’m just a journalist.”

Emmit jumped in growling then. “Stop lying, motherfucker. We know you’re with the FBI. That they’re feeding you this information to take down Mayor Taylor.”

“What? The FBI? No. No?” Dax struggled.

Emmit went close in on Dax, and grabbed his throat. “We know they contacted you, boy. Stop bullshitting. Tell us what we need to know or you won’t walk out of here.”

“No—no—please don’t—” Dax cried after Emmit kicked him and his seat to the floor and Dax could feel him hovering over him. “I don’t know who he is. He just tells me where I need to be. What the stories are.”

Jamison unknowingly stepped out of the dark place.

“He said there was corruption in the mayor’s office and that he was about to go down,” Dax added fretfully. “Said it was in my best interest to follow the stories. That’s the truth. I swear it. That’s all. I don’t who he is. I swear I don’t.”

Emmit stepped back from Dax and looked at Jamison.

Another brother stepped to Dax, who was crying and repeating his claim as if it were a plea for his life. The brother reached for black gloves in his pocket.

Scoot nodded to him.

Everyone stood in place as Emmit walked to Jamison and grabbed him to drag him out of the room.

At 2 AM, Val woke to the sound of water running. She rolled over to see the light on in the bathroom and was about to roll back over, but then she heard a voice.

It was Jamison’s, as she expected, but there was something about the sound. It was cracked and weak like Tyrian’s after a fall. And where there might have been pauses for a response, she heard an ongoing lost nervous chatter that made her call out to her husband.

“Jamison?” Val was already getting out of the bed to see what the matter was in the bathroom.

Jamison was standing at the sink, bent over with his hands in a pool of water he kept splashing in his face.

Val stood in the doorway and watched this cycle repeat itself between bits of conversation Jamison was having with his reflection.

“What the fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Jamison would bring his soaking hands to his face and rinse. He’d stand and look at his face in the mirror. “Fuck! What the fuck!”

“You okay?” Val whispered, almost afraid to interrupt him.