That made the woman burst out laughing and then quickly cover her mask with her hand.

  Whit cocked an eyebrow at me and then walked back up to the counter.

  The woman said, "Would you mind? It's for my son." She had a piece of hotel letterhead and a big marker ready to go. "He loves football and he's been a big fan of yours ever since you took over the Matadors."

  Whit nodded. "Not a problem. How old is your son?"

  "He's 8."

  "What's his name?"

  "Michael."

  Whit uncapped the marker and quickly wrote out "Hey Michael! Let's go Matadors!" and then scrawled his professional signature below that.

  "Oh! Thank you very much!"

  Whit capped the marker and handed it back over. "Tell you what," he said. "Do you think he'd like to go see the Jaguars play?"

  She hesitated.

  "Or is he a Bucs fan?"

  She nodded. "Neither. His grandparents live outside of Atlanta, so he likes the Falcons." She looked at me. "Among the local teams."

  Whit asked, "What's your name?"

  "I'm Jaylene Walker."

  "Nice to meet you, Ms. Walker."

  She nodded.

  "Well, I'm sure Billy Carmichael gave you his number, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Just call him and tell him we talked and that I asked for your mailing address. When I get home, I'll overnight some Matadors merch. And, as soon as the tickets go on sale, we'll get you as many as you need for whichever Falcons game you want this fall."

  She swallowed hard. "That's very generous."

  "It's my pleasure." He glanced at me and put his hand on my shoulder. "It's our pleasure."

  I nodded and said, "It definitely is." The part I always wanted to say, but never had, was how much I loved watching Whit do his thing when he talked to fans (or, and this happened a lot, the mothers of fans) and signed autographs and figured out how to give them tickets.

  Once we were in the room, we both immediately stripped, laying out our clothes on the king bed.

  As I pulled off my socks, I said, "This is the first hotel I've been inside of since we took over WilliamsJones that wasn't a Hopkins."

  "What do you think?"

  "Well, I can't figure out where this brand sits. It's kind of like an Aloft." I looked around. "But with wood floors instead of concrete." I pointed. "And that's a big-ass TV on the wall."

  "As long as the water pressure is good," said Whit. He dropped his underwear and then added, "Edward."

  I grinned up at him. "Yes, Whitley David?"

  "That was kinda cute." He put his arms around me. "And I like it when you say my name like that."

  "You mean without a last name?"

  He nodded. "Otherwise, it sounds like Mama or Daddy."

  "I understand."

  "Why don't you have a middle name?"

  "I have no idea. You should ask Mother the next time you talk to her."

  He pressed against me. "Let's don't talk about parents right now. My fat Ukrainian dong might be offended."

  My face was smothered by his chest hair and muscles. I murmured, "Never say that again."

  He nodded. "You're right." He reached down and slapped my ass. "Let's get cleaned off."

  We were both dried off and getting dressed when the phone on the desk rang.

  Whit and I both looked at it as if it had come to life.

  "What do we do?" he asked, standing like a crane with one sock on and pulling the other one up.

  I laughed as I walked over to the desk. "Answer it." I picked it up. "Hello?"

  "Oh my God, you need to get out here right now!"

  "Ms. Walker? Is anything wrong?"

  "City cops. Sheriff. Everyone is in the parking lot. They've got him face-down and are cuffing him."

  "Is it Dwayne?" I asked as I tried to stay as calm as possible.

  "Is that the Black one?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "That's him, then."

  We quickly got dressed and ran into the lobby. Several people were milling around, looking out the windows, and nervously talking. More than a few had their phones out and were filming.

  Ms. Walker poked her head out of a door behind where she'd been standing earlier. "Come here," she hissed, waving at us.

  We walked around the counter and back to where she was standing.

  She led us into an office that had a window looking out at the parking lot.

  "What happened?" asked Whit.

  "All I know is one of my guests walked into the lobby sayin' how there's police activity. I came back here and looked. That's when I saw three cops and deputy standing over a Black man. One of the cops was cuffing him. I knew it was one of your folks because of the car."

  I could see that Dwayne was still on the ground. He was actually on the sidewalk, face-down with a double cuff on his wrists and wasn't moving. Billy was in the car with his hands on the dashboard. The back of the SUV was open.

  There was one older white cop who seemed to be in charge, and he was on his mobile phone. I saw five or six other cops and two deputies. There were several cars and SUVs surrounding Whit's Escalade and they all had their lights on.

  "I'm sorry," added Ms. Walker, "but I didn't wanna deal with this mess."

  Whit put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you didn't."

  "They'd have arrested me, too."

  Without thinking, I turned to her and said, "We're going out there."

  She shook her head. "I wouldn't."

  "I need you to call a phone number for me and tell them what's going on. Can you do that?"

  She walked over to the desk phone and picked up the receiver. "That I can do. What's the number?"

  "415-777-7777."

  She frowned a little. "OK."

  "Whoever answers, tell them, 'Zebra nine'." That was the code that meant that someone outside of the company was calling in with emergency information. Whoever answered in San Francisco would press a button when they heard the phrase. Mario and several other people on our security team (including Dwayne and Billy, of course) would be immediately notified on their smartphones by our corporate app and could listen in as Ms. Walker was talking.

  "Zebra nine," she repeated.

  "Tell them what's going on."

  She nodded as she shakily pressed the buttons. "Zebra nine," she repeated again.

  Whit pulled me over to the door. "I'm gonna start as the football player."

  I nodded. I knew exactly what I would do. "And I'm gonna sue them sumbitches."

  He kissed me on the forehead and led me into the lobby as I heard Ms. Walker say, "'Yes, hello. I'm supposed to tell you 'Zebra nine'."

  The glass doors slid open. Whit and I walked outside.

  A masked white cop intercepted us. He held up his hand. "Go back inside."

  "That's my employee you're arresting."

  The cop's eyes took Whit in and then he whispered, "Oh, fuck."

  I took that as my cue. Standing next to Whit and staying perfectly still, I said, "'Oh, fuck' is right. Do you have any idea the number of lawyers who will be descending into Lake City as a result of this?" I hated that the ridiculous situation meant I had to play that card, but it was the one I had, and it was one I was pretty sure would trump all the others.

  The cop leaned his head over and activated the mic on his shoulder. "Sergeant, you need to come to the front door."

  An annoyed male voice replied, "Can't it wait, Wills?"

  "No, sir. There's..." He looked up at Whit. "No, sir, It can't."

  "Roger that," was the reply.

  "Sergeant Loomis will be here in a moment."

  I looked over. I could see our car, but I couldn't see Dwayne. One cop was inspecting the back of the SUV while another one was looking at the backseat. Billy was still sitting in the passenger seat with his hands on the dashboard. His window was down. Nobody seemed to be talking to him. I wondered why.

  A chunky white cop came around the corner that was blocking my view of Dwayne. He was red-headed and the frown over his splotchy face made him appear to be seriously annoyed. "What's the deal, Wills?"

  The officer just pointed at us.

  Sergeant Loomis took one look at Whit and then at me and turned ghostly white. "Oh, fuck me."

  I nodded. "That man you've arrested is Dwayne Smith. He's the head of our personal security team. What's he being charged with?"

  The sergeant nervously licked his lips. "We got a call that there was a Black man dealing drugs from an Escalade in this parking lot."

  "Find any drugs?" asked Whit.

  "Uh, no, not yet."

  Whit held out his hands as if he was going to be arrested. "Cuff me. I own that car."

  Officer Wills backed up a couple of steps while Sergeant Loomis looked at Whit for a long moment before saying, "Uh, no."

  I held out my hands. "Then cuff me. I'm Edward Smith and I'm Whit's husband and I'm the fourth richest person in the world." I hadn't meant to say all that, but the words tumbled out of my mouth nonetheless.

  Sergeant Loomis stared at me while both Whit and I held out our hands. "No, thanks," was his only reply.

  The older cop I'd seen talking on his phone suddenly came around the corner. He stopped and looked at me and then at Whit. He asked, "What's going on here, Loomis?"

  "These men..." The sergeant cleared his throat. "What I mean to say, Lieutenant, is that the suspect works for these men."

  "Why are their hands out like that?"

  "Because," said Whit in a calm and measured tone that belied his fury (which was palpable even though I couldn't see his face), "I'm the owner of that car. If you find any drugs, which you won't, then you should arrest me and not Dwayne."

  "Why don't you two put your hands down?"

  I shook my head. "If you're arresting Dwayne, you're gonna have to arrest me."

  "And me."

  "Mr. Smith had been released and is free to go. As are all of you."

  "Free to go?" asked Whit, still calm and furious.

  "Yes. We found nothing on his person or in your car that would allow us to hold any of you."

  Still holding out my hands, I glanced up at Whit. His nostrils were flaring a mile a minute.

  "So, you can all leave." The lieutenant's eyes flashed a little.

  I lowered my hands after quickly realizing holding them up wasn't going to help Dwayne.

  Whit followed my lead.

  The lieutenant visibly relaxed.

  "May I have your card?" I asked.

  The man's face soured. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a white card. "Of course," he said as he handed it to Whit who pocketed it.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "Will you be leaving now?" asked the lieutenant.

  "No, sir," I replied.

  Whit jumped in. "We have to make sure our employee is OK, we need to talk to the people in the lobby who saw this, and we need to thank the front desk manager. We'll wait right here while you get your team together."

  The lieutenant started to say something but didn't. He looked at the sergeant. "Loomis? Wills? Let's head out." He turned and walked back around the corner.

  Wills quickly followed his boss.

  Sergeant Loomis, however, stayed behind. "I'm very sorry about this." I was certain that was a prelude to something else he wanted to say.

  Whit scathingly said, "Sorry because of what you just did to Dwayne or sorry because of all the lawsuits you're about to have to deal with?"

  I put my hand on Whit's arm and said, "Thank you, Sergeant."

  Obviously angry, the man said, "Not all of us like how this works."

  "Then do something about it," spat out Whit.

  "You don't know how it is," said Loomis, looking at me.

  I nodded. "You're right. I don't. We don't."

  "Ask for his card," said Nick in my head.

  "Do you have a card?"

  He nodded, pulled it out, and handed it over. In a whisper that was hard to hear, he said, "Can I come work for you?"

  I pocketed his card. "You're always welcome." I then glanced over at the car. Billy had gotten out and had his arms around Dwayne, holding him tight. "As long as you're willing to work for the man you just arrested."

  He made a face. "I didn't arrest him. That was the lieutenant. I wouldn't have—"

  "Loomis!" barked a voice.

  "You can quit today. Right now, if you want," said Whit. "Just call us."

  "How?" he whispered.

  "Ever heard of Google?" asked Whit with a slight grin.

  "Loomis!"

  I handed the sergeant my card and said, "Call this number." The number would put him directly in touch with Mona who would know what to do.

  He slipped it in his front pocket and then walked off at a fast clip.

  Whit and I were standing in the lobby. Billy had taken Dwayne to our room through a back door, courtesy of Ms. Walker.

  "Is he gonna be OK?" asked a tall Black woman in a sweatshirt with an Emory University logo on it. Like everyone else in the lobby, including us, she was wearing a mask.

  Whit nodded. "We'll do everything to make sure he gets whatever help he needs."

  "And what about the next Black man who gets arrested like that?" asked a second Black woman who was wearing a purple t-shirt. "What are you gonna do about that?"

  "Well," I said, "we're definitely going to sue the city. And then we'll fund re-training for the police force if they'll let us."

  "And what about the county? I saw two deputies out there."

  I nodded. "The same."

  A white man who was a little younger than me, was wearing jeans with a Cleveland Browns t-shirt, and who'd been hanging around the back of the small crowd of ten or twelve people said, "Well, if he'd been cooperative with the police, none of this would have happened."

  Several of the other people made some sort of noise that obviously meant they didn't like what he'd just said.

  I put my hand on Whit's arm. To the man, I asked, "Did you see it happen?"

  "No. I heard the fuss and then saw the lights and thought I'd come down and see what was up."

  "Well, then," said the tall Black woman, her eyes on me and her back to him, "you don't know that he was completely cooperative. He did everything the cops told him to do and he was quiet and slow."

  The other Black woman nodded. "She's right. I saw it. It was like the kinda thing my daddy always told us to do. He didn't talk back, and he followed their instructions."

  "Dwayne is a retired police officer from the Detroit area," I said. "He knows the drill."

  "So, what was that all about?" asked a white woman who was wearing a light brown business suit.

  Whit replied, "From what we understand, someone put in a call to report that a Black man was selling drugs in a white Escalade in the parking lot."

  "Sounds like a set-up," said the Black woman in the purple t-shirt. She was looking at me.

  I nodded. "It could be."

  The woman in the Emory sweatshirt said, "Well, thanks, y'all, for talkin' with us about what went down."

  Most everyone else nodded.

  I motioned towards the front desk. "If you're willing to share you contact info in case our lawyers need to get in touch, Ms. Walker has agreed to compile that for us."

  "You don't need to," added Whit, "but it would help Dwayne out."

  Several people nodded and the crowd started to drift away. The woman in the Emory sweatshirt walked up to us. "I'm Leticia Hawkins and I teach poli-sci and race relations at Emory. I'm down here taking care of something for my aunt who's in the hospital."

  "Nice to meet you," I said.

  She crossed her arms. "Good for you for doing this and talking with all of us after the fact."

  I looked up at Whit. "It was his idea."

  "And I was trying to make the lieutenant embarrassed when he tried to get us to clear out," said Whit.

  "Well, whatever the reason, that was good for everyone. I imagine the people who were filming will probably also talk about that on social media."

  "Do you think so?" asked Whit.

  She nodded. "I do."

  The white man who'd spoken earlier suddenly appeared next to Ms. Hawkins. "Tell your guy that I'm sorry that happened. I guess I never realized it could happen to a cop."

  "There was that Army officer," said Ms. Hawkins.

  "Oh, sure," said the man as he walked away.

  "What do you make of that?" asked Whit.

  She glanced over her shoulder before replying. "I'd say he's trying to come to terms with what many of us have known most of our lives. It's shocking when it's in your face." She glanced over her shoulder again. "I think he's shocked, more than anything else."

  "Thanks for taking the time to speak with us," said Whit.

  She nodded. "You need to go check in on Dwayne." She looked at me. "Is there a way to get in touch with you?"

  I pulled out a card and handed it to her. "This will connect you with my assistant who will know I gave you the card."

  She looked at it. "How does that work?"

  "That number is one that's only on this card."

  With some amusement in her eyes, she waved the card in the air and asked, "And what if I post this online?"

  "No one's ever done that," I replied.

  "And I think you're the only person who's ever asked us how it worked," added Whit.

  She nodded thoughtfully. "I won't give it away. I promise."

  I smiled under my mask. "Thanks. And let me know if there's anything we can do to help with your work at Emory."

  She pointed the card at me as she raised her eyebrows. "You'll regret having just said that."

  I laughed. "Somehow, I doubt that."

  Whit knocked on the door to our room and waited. After a suspiciously long time, Billy opened the door a crack and looked out with a red face. "Um..."

  "We'll be in the car," said Whit as I grinned.

 

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