Attorney-Client Privilege (18 page)

I
pulled my Land Cruiser to a stop in front of the Center for Justice and scanned the cars and vans parked along the street. We’d flooded the media with press releases about our class action and I had hoped a couple of reporters would show. I happily counted five local TV news vans.

I hopped out and hurried past the receptionist into Benjamin’s office. He had a big smile on his face. “Can you believe it? The conference room is packed with reporters!”

“This is wonderful,” I said.

“They’re all talking about the sick-in and the work slowdown. That’s what got them here.”

“How many of the women showed up?”

“Just Olivia, Robyn and Marcia,” he said with a shrug.

We had hoped more employees would show, but I’d rather have three solid fighters than fifteen shaky ones.

I followed Benjamin into a small office next door where the women were waiting.

“I’m really proud of you,” I said, giving each of them a hug. “What you’re doing isn’t just for yourselves, but for other women too. Let’s go fight this fight.”

The five of us walked single file into the conference room. Camera shutters clicked and lights flashed on, brightening up the room. We sat down at the conference table with the three women in the middle, Benjamin and I on either side of them. I introduced everyone, then gave Benjamin a nod.

“Thank you for coming today,” he said, a nervous quiver in his voice. “I’m Benjamin Cohen, Executive Director of the Center for Justice. As you know, the Center has been in this community for more than fifty years, fighting for the rights of those who don’t have the resources to fight for themselves. The lawsuit we’re filing today against Big Buy department stores is a cause the Center for Justice is proud to take on and so is attorney Vernetta Henderson, who will be litigating the case, along with the Usher, Davidson law firm. I’ll let Vernetta tell you more about the case.”

He slid the group of microphones to my end of the table.

“I’ve litigated dozens of discrimination cases in my career,” I began. “But none as egregious as this one. Big Buy’s treatment of women is not only discriminatory, it’s archaic. During the course of this litigation, we’re going to produce evidence which shows that the company blatantly refuses to pay women equal wages for the same job that men perform.

A female reporter from KNX news radio grimaced and shook her head.

“Big Buy refuses to consider women for promotion to department manager, store manager and higher positions in the company solely because they are women. Female employees at Big Buy are also subjected to crude and sexist jokes. The three women sitting at this table were all given the message that management jobs were for men, not women. Their lawsuit is going to change things at Big Buy for the benefit of all women.”

With that, I handed out copies of our complaint and opened it up for questions.

The reporters were anxious to hear directly from the plaintiffs. The first question was directed at Olivia.

“After working at Big Buy for several years, what made you decide to finally file suit?” asked a reporter from KNBC-TV.

“Right is right and wrong is wrong,” Olivia said. “I couldn’t stand by and continue to allow this company to treat us like second-class citizens.”

I made eye contact with Benjamin. His smile told me he was thinking the same thing I was. Olivia’s sound bite was going to sound great on the six o’clock news.

And, I hoped Girlie Cortez was watching.

C
layton and Special lay on opposite sides of her queen-size bed, sweating and panting and staring up at the ceiling.

Special wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t say anything. They had just broken up and here they were having sex.

And it wasn’t just sex. It was skillet-hot, off-the-chart sex. Maybe committing to celibacy wouldn’t be so hard after all. After what they’d just done, she could survive off the wet dreams for months. They should break up more often.

There was no need for her to look over at Clayton. She didn’t need to see his face to know that he was upset about what had just happened. She could feel his disappointment sucking the air out of the room.

The bed shifted as Clayton sat up and flung his legs to the floor. He stood, picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped into it.

“I better go,” he mumbled.

Special admired his strong legs as he stepped into his boxers and slacks. When his eyes finally met hers, he stared at her nakedness as if it repulsed him.

It wasn’t her fault that he was just as horny as she was. She sat up and looked around for her top, then remembered that Clayton had stripped off her clothes in the living room.

Why in the hell was she feeling guilty?
This was crazy. She was glad they were breaking up. Good riddance. She didn’t need his phony ass. If he was too damn religious to have sex, he should keep it in his pants.

Clayton disappeared into the bathroom and Special grabbed a robe from the back of the door. After about ten minutes, Special figured Clayton must’ve been in there on his knees praying to Allah for forgiveness.

When he finally walked out of the bathroom, she saw shame in his eyes. She followed him down the hallway into the living room, where he began looking around for his keys.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to the coffee table.

Clayton picked up his keys and moved toward the door.

“Hold up,” Special said. “I know you’re not about to just walk up out of here without another word. So exactly where do we go from here?”

“I have no idea where we go. I need to clear my head. I’ll call you.”

“Oh, hell naw. You need to tell me something. One way or the other.”

“I’ve asked you on more than one occasion not to cuss. It’s unladylike and it’s disrespectful.”

Special’s head whipped from left to right in rhythm with her words. “
Hell
is not a cuss word.
Damn
is a cuss word. And I’m tired of you telling me what to do like you’re my daddy or something. I’m a grown-ass woman. If I wanna cuss, I can cuss. Damn it!”

“You know where we are?” The curves of Clayton’s jawline transformed into sharp angles. “We’re nowhere. You’ve just shown me once and for all that we can’t be together.”

“Fine. I don’t wanna be with your hypocritical ass anyway. I’m tired of you judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. Only Allah can judge you. All I’ve asked is that you make the same commitment that I’ve made. I need a woman who can stand behind me.”

“That’s the problem. I shouldn’t have to stand behind you.”

“That was just a figure of speech. You know what I mean. You obviously aren’t the woman I thought you were.”

Special could not hold back her tears. “And you’re not the man I thought you were. At least I tried to support you. You won’t even try to compromise.”

“Compromise? Is that what Christianity teaches you? Compromise? I’ve made a decision to live by the Holy Qur’an, which I don’t find all that hard to do. I know a lot of women who would love to be with a brother who wasn’t constantly trying to get into their pants. But all you’ve done lately is try to trick me into bed.”

“Trick you into bed? Oh, hell naw! I know you’re not blaming this on me. You started it. You came on to me.”

“And you didn’t have the strength to stop me. A true Muslim woman would’ve never let that happen.”

“Screw you!” Special shrieked. “A true Muslim man wouldn’t have let it happen either. Don’t blame me because your ass is weak.”

“Like I said, thanks for showing me your true colors.”

Special jumped in front of him and snatched open the door. “Get out!”

“Gladly.”

Clayton stepped onto the porch a split second before the door slammed shut behind him.

“I
don’t believe this prick,” Mankowski said, both amazed and annoyed at what he was seeing. “Is he stupid or what?”

Mankowski and Thomas sat in an unmarked sedan, peering across Beverly Boulevard as Phillip strolled around the lot at Mercedes Benz of Beverly Hills.

“We’ve been on his ass like white on rice.” Mankowski gripped the steering wheel. “He has to be stupid to go out and buy a hundred thousand dollar Benz. He’s messing with us. He’s saying,
I killed Judi, but you can’t touch me
.”

“That insurance money is still tied up. Where’s he getting the dough?” Thomas asked.

“Maybe he’s got a sugar mama. Let’s get out and mess with him.”

“We have plenty of time to razz him,” Thomas objected. “Maybe he’s dealing with his grief by window-shopping.”

“Grief, my ass.”

They remained parked for close to forty minutes, watching as Phillip examined nearly every car in the showroom. He ultimately test drove the SL-class coupe.

“That car costs a hundred grand easy,” Mankowski said.

“I’d say more like a buck fifty,” Thomas corrected.

Thirty minutes later, Phillip drove an apple red Mercedes-Benz convertible off the lot.

The detectives exited the car and jogged across the street. They pretended to be checking out a black SUV and waited for a salesman to approach them. Ten minutes later, no one had.

Mankowski began to tap his foot in frustration. “They’re ignoring us. Don’t I look more like a rich guy than that prick Phillip Peterman?”

Thomas grinned. “Maybe it’s your cheap suit.”

Mankowski tugged at his collar. “This is the most expensive suit in my wardrobe. Got it on sale at the Men’s Warehouse for half off.”

A salesman finally walked over to them, but not the one who’d been working with Phillip.

“How can I help you gentlemen?”

“What’s your best offer on this SUV?” Mankowski asked, patting the hood.

“Fully loaded, eighty-five grand. But I could probably get you in a stripped-down version for a lot less.”

“Do I look like I need a stripped-down version?” Mankowski said, indignantly. “What makes you think I can’t afford the fully-loaded model?”

The salesman raised his hands in surrender. “No offense intended. Why don’t I go get the keys so you can take it for a test drive?”

Mankowski saw the salesman who’d helped Phillip approaching. “Forget it. I’d rather deal with that guy.”

“We’re interested in this SUV,” Mankowski said, walking up to the other salesman. “Your colleague here was rather rude to us, so we’re giving you our business. Why don’t we talk in your office?”

The guy gave his co-worker an apologetic shrug and happily escorted the two detectives to his office. Once the door was closed, Mankowski flashed his badge. The man’s vision of a commission on the sale of a second Benz disappeared with his smile.

“You just sold a red convertible to a man by the name of Phillip Peterman. We’d like to know how he paid for it?”

“Our customer’s financial information is confidential. I can’t—”

“So you telling me you want us to come back with a search warrant?”

“You definitely don’t want that,” Thomas chimed in. “There’ll be so many cops converging on this place, you’ll have to shut down for at least a day.”

“What you’re asking me to do is illegal.” The salesman’s voice was now several octaves higher.

Mankowski had been standing to the right of the salesman’s desk and noticed Phillip’s sales’ contract on top of a stack of papers. He gave Thomas a signal, which he quickly picked up on.

Thomas kept the guy engaged by recounting a long list of bad things that could happen to the dealership if he didn’t cooperate, while Mankowski scanned Phillip’s contract.

Finally, the salesman had enough of being threatened. “I don’t care. I can’t give you that information. You need to see the general manager. I’m not losing my job over this.”

“Alright, alright,” Mankowski said. “Thanks for nothing.”

As they passed the first salesman, Mankowski scowled at him. “We’re taking our business to another dealership.”

“What did you find out?” Thomas asked as they waited for the traffic to clear so they could jaywalk across the street.

“For one, Phillip didn’t buy the car,” Mankowski said. “He’s leasing it. Almost two grand a month.”

“That’s more than my mortgage.”

“And he prepaid the first three months.”

Thomas arched a brow. “Maybe he did have those Big Buy documents and did some bartering with them.”

“If he did,” Mankowski said, “I wish I knew who in the hell he was bartering with.”

M
y phone rang and I made the mistake of answering it without checking the number on the caller ID display.

“Glad I finally got you,” Lamarr said. “Why haven’t you called me back?”

“I’ve been wrapped up with another case.”

“I just got off the phone with my agent. The team just dropped me because of this bullshit with Tonisha.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry ain’t good enough. I ain’t letting this go. We need to meet so we can talk about my appeal. That bitch was on another talk show yesterday. She’s still tryin’ to—”

“I’ve asked you repeatedly not to use that kind of language in my presence.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“The notice of appeal is ready to be filed.”

“And how long is it gonna take after that to get my new trial?”

“A long time, Lamarr. It’ll be months before we even get a briefing schedule. The courts are seriously backed up due to budget cuts.”

“Well, I can’t wait months. I got some new information for you to put in my appeal. Word on the street is that Tonisha admitted to one of her girlfriends that she lied on me. I got somebody lookin’ into that.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I have to do something. I wanna make her take a lie detector test.”

“There’s no way we can do that.”

“Well, you need to set up a press conference. I saw that press conference you did for those women at Big Buy. I wanna have a press conference too. If Tonisha’s gonna keep slandering me, I need to say something in my defense.”

“We have to have some news to announce in order to have a press conference.”

“You said you’re filing the appeal. That’s news, ain’t it?”

Actually, it was. But it wouldn’t help Lamarr’s case to put him in front of a bunch of TV cameras and let him lash out at Tonisha. I wouldn’t mind doing a press conference if I knew Lamarr would behave. It might not further his case, but it would definitely piss off Girlie Cortez.

“So you gonna get me a press conference?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think it’s a wise move. You can’t just go around attacking Tonisha.”

“Why not? That’s what she’s doing to me.”

“People see her as a victim.”

“She ain’t no victim. I’m the victim!”

“Who told you she admitted lying?” I asked, simply to steer him away from the idea of a press conference.

Lamarr proceeded to tell me about a guy whose sister heard it from her hairdresser, who heard it from her cousin’s best friend. I gave absolutely no credence to the tale.

“I’ll look into it.”

“You don’t have to do that. I already got my peeps lookin’ into it. I can’t live my life with everybody thinkin’ I’m a rapist.”

“Lamarr, please don’t make your situation worse by doing something stupid.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am gonna prove that I didn’t rape that ‘ho. So when are you setting up my press conference?”

“Were you listening to me? I said I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have time for this. I have a meeting.”

“I’m not done yet. I wanna know why I can’t have a press conference.”

I pulled a bottle of Advil from my desk and swallowed two tablets dry. “I’m sorry, Lamarr, I have to go.” I placed the phone back into the base.

Lamarr called right back. I let it go to voicemail, then erased the message without listening to it.

Lamarr “The Hero” Harris was turning out to be a nightmare of a client. After I filed his notice of appeal, I planned to put him in the hands of an able appellate attorney and let somebody else deal with his craziness.