✓5 - Wrong Turn.

As though dressed in a discomfiting disguise on a day so hot wasn't enough, the court session took hours; the men generally bantered, their faces taut as they sought to drive home their points without anything meaningful coming out of it. Rita Beasly was called to the bar for the last time and she now stood swearing in the little brown box — her vibrant features similar to a midday witch.

Luckily, they'd found a place to sit at the back edge of the room with a full view of it all. Preston tapped at the thin pair of googles propped at the extreme tip of his nose and smiled — a tired honest one of satisfaction. Perhaps this was an adventure to him, Chester thought. A secret undercover mission to catch a cheating husband.

Perfectly fitting.

At last, the exhausted judge gave his verdict and at that suspenseful moment, the room appeared smaller and more cramped — like a pocket that was turning itself inside out. Chester gasped in dismay as Rita was acquitted from all charges and given the sole ownership of the string of properties. Leo's brothers were surprised as the will was further readout. It was a big smack to the face and her grin had never been wider. She left the courtroom with a dainty pompadour and a devious smirk as she crossed over to the parking lot opposite. Chester felt her sense of triumph was being directed at him.

It unsettled him even more. The days weren't in his favor.

"She's one lucky bitch," Preston sneered then nudged him on the ribs. Brock padded down the stairs at the entrance of the courthouse and discreetly disappeared into a black Volvo.

His mind revved up at once and before he could process what was going on, he found himself sprinting to a nearby cab with Preston trying to keep up while giggling.

The cab driver fell in place behind the wheel with Chester spitting out directions — his eyes still on the Volvo which moved very fast. They took a bend and many more turns until they eventually stopped at a curb in Northside Manhattan. Brock got out and Chester watched him walk up the Park to Disco Joe. His brow drew together momentarily. Why this place? Was this a diversion?? Or was Brock up to nothing???

"I don't think he's up to anything sketchy," Preston informed, seemingly at a loss too but they'd been quick to conclude for Disco Joe was a graying part of Hotel Lè Par and Brock was taking the back door to bypass the entrance security.

How very clever, Chester murmured through gritted teeth. The possibility hadn't been on yet until now and almost nothing could be done at this point.

Even if they succeeded in avoiding interrogation at the entrance, the room number where Brock would have gone in to see Rita was unknown. It all came down to a dead end.

"Sir?" the cab driver raised a petty brow at them like he knew they were up to something dirty. Sure it made Chester's blood boil,  it also supplied an idea. A thinning one from strands of uncertainties and with that they got out and paid. Walking around the tall buildings, having confronted no security men yet, they passed on till the entrance came into view.

He was ready to face the enemy.

The lady at the receptionist's desk had her hair up in a spinning bonnet with light makeup on. She stood up now as they approached. "Welcome to Disco Joe Sirs, care for a room? We're not filled in yet at the moment."

Chester hesitated before taking in a deep breath. "I'll like to apply for the post of a cleaner here if you don't mind."

She began typing. "Okay. I believe we still have some slots open but maybe you should talk with the boss. CV?"

"I never thought I needed one and as a matter of fact, the boss here is my brother. We spoke about this yesterday."

Her mouth flung open. "Y-you you're the boss's brother? And you're applying for a cleaner job??"

Chester glared at her.  "I can't see why not"

She paused, staring at him straight in the eye as though attempting to read his heart. Chester kept up with the smile and at last, she broke.

"Alright. I'll still have to speak with him later on but for now, the backroom is that way so you'll need to go there and collect your uniform. I trust you've discussed with him how much he'd pay you. Is the other boy working too?"

Chester turned to his escort who's brow drew together at the middle as he frowned in disapproval. "No. He accompanied me."

Pulling Preston over to a corner, he whispered. "Look, I need to take things from here. I appreciate the fact that you took time to follow me and for all these makeovers but now it's just me."

There was a lengthy pause. "But Sir, lying wasn't an option. I do understand you, this is your fight and I'll have nothing to do with it but you're taking this a bit far. He could be up with nothing."

"I still need proof. I need an assurance that he's not sleeping with that bitch behind my back."

"Alright," the teen resigned. "Good luck."

Chester gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "Thanks, man."

The lady led him over to an old storeroom. It was vented and airy — the lemony smell coming from the toilet not too porous. She dug over a neat stack of yellow jumpsuits and handed him one. "You're to wear this every day along with the other staff. If it's not your size or you'd like a better one, just choose from the others."

He nodded.

She glanced around. "This is where you'd be staying if you have nothing doing and you may also be called upon any minute through the intercom over there" She pointed at the wall opposite. "Make no delays."

He nodded again, watching her leave.

The room became silent as he waited for her footsteps to phase out of the corridor before unwinding a skirt from the ladies pile dumped at the farthest extreme. It looked short and would expose his bum if used and he sure as hell was looking for that. Tiring as it was to handle the situation liberally, a distinct action could be required, one that they wouldn't see coming. He needed to show Brock just how twisted and exciting he could be both as a male intellectually and a female physically.

—

Halfway through applying the final dabs of brown powder, and flipping the wig on without fitting, the silence of the room was shattered by a piercing ring. Chester skunked to the intercom and chunked it off — clumping the mouthpiece tightly to his ear.

"Cleaning department," he said carefully.

"Come up to room 201," the voice was unmistakably Brock's. His heart did a flip in thanksgiving, his game coming together at the seams.

"Okay Sir," he placed the piece back onto the wall and patted his wig down. Through a splintered mirror he'd come with, he found his reflection satisfactory. A better sight than Rita's dingy outlook and soggy makeup.

He made a beeline down the empty corridors. Room 201 wasn't hard to find, gently pressing his ears against the wooden door, he attempted to pick up some sounds; grunts or something that would give Brock away but it was all perfectly still — so still he became impatient and knocked.

Brock opened, stepping out quietly.

He was all...dressed!

Craning his head forward over his shoulder to take a peek into the room, Rita smiled back as she came after him. Their clothes were intact, no ugly lines to show they'd been up to anything. He stood mortified as she closed the door and turned to face him.

For minutes, no one spoke.

They both stared down at him — hard. Chester felt four again when he'd default and had his father stare at him in contemplation of the kind of punishment to award the occasion. Chester tilted his head back to speak but something stopped him.

Brock shook his head, his left hand out. Much to Chester's shock, he pulled off the wig. "You didn't have to come this far. I promise I'd never been unfaithful."

The tears chose at that moment to force their way out. Chester broke down uncontrollably as he slid down the smooth wall to the floor, pushing his legs up so that he hugged them.

Rita cleared the phlegm in her throat. "Oh Chester, there's so much to say and explain. Brock and I are... siblings. We've been in touch quite less over the last few years until a few months ago when Leo died and I needed him to help me win the case concerning the properties." She paused at this juncture and as though as to assure him, She added. "Brock and I weren't having an affair in there. We've been planning to give up all of Leo's properties to charity."

A smack to the face would have been better. Chester felt his throat tightening as he struggled to choke back his tears. This was too much. He'd gone through the stress of the last few days for nothing.

"But the letters..."

Rita gave a small wave. "We'd both gotten separated during our childhood days. Brock was unto me a few months before he met you and he found out we'd been siblings."

Chester held his husband's softening gaze. "Why didn't you tell me? Couldn't it have been better than keeping it all bottled up?"

"Chester — " his voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I know I promised not to keep anything away from you but I just felt like there was no need for you to know this just yet."

"I don't think I'd want to go through this again. I mean, look at all I did thinking you both were up to something sexual."

"You won't have to. I'm making a genuine promise this time."

"There you go Brock," Chester chuckled. "No more promises. It'd do you a lot better if you don't have to keep them."

"Now say you forgive me." Brock pleaded.

"Yeah I do," he said. "I'm just not sure I'd believe anything about you again."