His Third Wife

“Come on. You don’t believe that. I told you—” Leaf started and then paused. “This isn’t your fight. This is about Ras and his mess. You’re just caught in the middle. Right? And so what if the system is trying to take him down? Shouldn’t it? Isn’t that what it’s for?”

Jamison was clearly ignoring Leaf’s rationalizations. He opened the back door to get the papers.

“So, what? You’re gonna go in there on the news and say the police are trying to arrest a drug dealer? What if all of this is a lie?” Leaf asked, trailing behind Jamison as he started walking to the station doors. “What if it has nothing to do with you and your friend is using you? You said already there’s so much going on. You aren’t thinking straight. You don’t need to do this.”

“I’m the only one who can do this,” Jamison said when they got to the doors.

Leaf grabbed Jamison’s arm to stop him from opening the door.

“Look, if you have something to do with this, tell me. Tell me now,” Leaf said. “So I know what I’m dealing with.”

Jamison looked at the hand so hard, Leaf let go.

“No worries, my friend,” Jamison said. “No worries.”

When he was turning to go into the station, his eyes caught a glimpse of silver rolling slowly along in the lot behind Leaf.

Jamison’s stare lingered so long, Leaf turned too.

The silver was the top of a Maserati with limousine tinted windows rolled up to hide any inhabitants. The car slowed to a pace that might allow a gunman riding shotgun to steady his weapon. But just as Jamison and Leaf got any inclination of what could be happening, the car bolted forward with speed that indicated not an escape but a certain threat.

“You know who that was?” Leaf asked Jamison after looking long enough to see there was no plate in the back.

“I think I do.”

It wasn’t ever hard for an embattled mayor to get on television. A notable man with one hand holding a folder of secret files and the other in a closed fist was the kind of thing news stations lived for. An exclusive on a drama that had other news stations scrambling for leads meant any plans producers had from the local stand-ins to the national mother station were on hold. The only issue was that when Jamison and Leaf walked in, the in-house crew was preparing to shoot a segment about the importance of late-summer sun protection and the only camera-ready face in the building was that of the pixie-cute lifestyle journalist Alina Blue.

Her boss pulled her out of the bathroom as Jamison was being outfitted with a wire microphone.

“You’re the only person who can talk to him,” the producer said. “Opal and King are over a half hour away and he says he’s going to another station with this if we don’t move.”

“But I’m not a real journalist,” Alina said by mistake. “I mean, I’m not—this isn’t—my thing.”

“Doesn’t matter. You went to school for it. It’s your job.”

Alina followed her boss to the set where she could see Jamison and another man looking over a stack of papers and seemingly practicing a statement.

“What does he want? What is he going to say? What should I ask him?” Alina asked, remembering the director of her department in college telling her she shouldn’t even think of going into political journalism because she was too cute and no one would take her seriously.

“I have no fucking idea. And I don’t really care,” the producer said as a team of makeup artists finished off Alina’s lipstick and added more blush. “All I know is he promised he’d only talk to us and only right now.”

“Does he know I’m just a lifestyle journalist?”

“I don’t think he half cares who you are. Look, just go and talk to him. Talk and take it from there,” he said before nearly pushing Alina toward the little interview area where Jamison was already seated. “And, hey, try to get him to say something about his baby dying. Everyone’s talking about that right now.”

So, the important late-summer sun-protection story was scrapped and too-pretty journalist Alina Blue and her panicky eyes were sitting across from Jamison. She’d actually heard the rumors around the office that the mayor had something to do with Dax’s death. It sounded like nonsense. Politics couldn’t be that perilous. These were men in suits. Not gangbangers or mobsters who’d kill someone just for talking. Right?

Alina tried to smile. To catch her breath. To show her teeth.

Jamison looked at her and saw all of this debate.

“Just relax. This will be fast,” Jamison said, and then the producer counted down to the camera taping a live broadcast.

“We’re ready?” Alina said, looking at the cameraman, who pointed to the camera to let her know she was already on the air. “OH!” Alina refocused. “I’m Alina Blue and you’re watching Fox Five News. We have a bit of a treat for you today. A special, exclusive visit from Mayor Jamison Taylor.”

The shot widened to show Jamison sitting beside Alina.

“Welcome,” Alina added, unsure of what to say next.