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After giving the guard ten one-hundred-dollar bi
lls, Jamison walked out of the jail feeling like his world had just gotten a little smaller and more complicated. With every question he couldn’t answer, he thought of a new question. Kerry was right. Ras wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t stupid. But if all those things were true, everything he was saying must be true. And if those things were true, many things Jamison thought he knew were false.
His phone rang. He looked down to see Leaf’s name. His world fell into itself more. Felt more complicated. He didn’t take the call. Stuffed the phone into his pocket and descended the steps to make it to the parking lot. Then the small world crashed in some more.
Lights. Cameras. Dax.
“Mayor Taylor,” Dax called, rushing up on Jamison with his microphone extended. The common company of cameras and men were behind him. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Not today,” Jamison said, avoiding the urge to put his hands up to the cameras and grab one that was in his face with a bright light hanging over it.
“But we see you’re leaving the jailhouse and we know your former roommate, alleged militia drug lord, Ras Baruti is inside. Were you here to see him today?” Dax and his crew were following closely behind a briskly walking Jamison.
“No comment.” Jamison felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.
“Are you here to support him?”
“No comment.”
“Are you a part of his movement?”
“No comment.”
“Come on, Mayor Taylor, give us something. The people of Atlanta deserve to know what their mayor is up to. They put you in office. They can take you out.”
Jamison stopped walking and looked at the man holding the microphone to his face like he was an insect on a wall.
“No comment, Dax.”
Dax pulled the microphone back.
“So, you remember my name now?” Dax was wearing a nasty grin. The kind that started fights. That made grown men spit on one another.
It took a few quick reminders for Jamison not to jump on Dax. He reminded himself of who he was and where he was and who was watching. He looked into the camera and saw so many layers of mirrored glass.
Dax just kept on pushing. That was his plan.
“Is it true that this drug dealer is your friend and you two were doing business together? Working on a contract with the city?” Dax asked with hints of his grin still tugging at the sides of his lips.
“He’s not a drug dealer,” Jamison said, feeling his pocket vibrate again.
“So, you did see him in the jail?” Dax’s voice went lower. Became more intense. Accusatory. “He is your friend. You are working with him.”
“What do you want from me?” Jamison couldn’t really say whom he was asking. His little world was eating itself. He was forgetting to breathe.
“This interview isn’t about what I want,” Dax said. “It’s about what the people want to know about you. About your activities.”
“Interview? Activities?” Everything was spinning. Jamison was sinking in now, too. He knew what he was supposed to say; his publicist had trained him for moments like this: no comment. No comment. But where was that? His pocket was vibrating. “What are you talking about? What do you want?”
“The people are beginning to question your judgment, Mayor Taylor. The headlines. Corruption in City Hall.” Dax held the microphone to Jamison again.
“There’s no corruption.”
“With Ras Baruti on your staff, I’m sure you know we know that’s a lie,” Dax claimed. He was pushing his microphone back to Jamison again when a white Mercedes turned sharply around the corner and stopped just short of where Jamison was standing. All eyes turned to the screeching tires. The blackened window came down, and Jamison saw Leaf in the driver’s seat.
“Get in,” Leaf said to his boss.
“What? What are you doing here? How’d you know I was here?” Jamison asked, still dizzy from Dax’s interrogation and confusing the men for maybe being two in the same.
