Attorney-Client Privilege (26 page)

S
pecial relaxed in a booth at TGI Friday’s, thumbing through the latest issue of
PI
magazine.

The best thing about her breakup with Clayton was having plenty of time to focus on getting her investigator’s license. The second best thing was her guilt-free reunion with Long Island Iced Teas.

As she took a sip of her drink, she spotted her friend’s bald head hovering above a small crowd gathered near the door. Special waved to get his attention.

Eli squeezed into the booth and planted his muscular forearms on the table. “You couldn’t wait for me before you started imbibing?”

“I’ve been on alcohol lockdown,” she said with a laugh. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Eli asked the waiter to bring him a vodka on the rocks, then some nachos for them to share. “So how can I help?”

Special opened one of the folders. “Is the written test hard?”

“Naw, you can buy a study guide. The BSIS only requires—”

“Hold up. I don’t speak the language yet. What’s BSIS?”

“The Bureau of Security and Investigative Services. They license investigators in California.”

He went through the list of things she would need to do to get her license.

“I get to carry a concealed weapon, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s way down the road. And you may end up rethinking that. If you want to carry, you’ll need at least a million dollars in liability insurance.”

“Okay, then,” she said. “I guess I won’t be needing a gun after all.”

“You know about the hours’ requirement, right?”

Special nodded. “Three years of paid experience, totaling at least two-thousand hours.”

“Okay, sounds like you’ve been doing your homework. I’m impressed.”

The waitress set Eli’s drink and a plate of nachos on the table.

“Once I get my license, I wanna try to get on staff at
Cheaters
. I’d be good at tracking down cheating husbands and wives.”

Eli grinned. “I could definitely see that.”

“I already have my first unofficial case,” Special bragged. “I’m doing some research for my best friend Vernetta. Wink, wink.”

He took a sip of his drink. “What kind of research?”

“There’s this lawyer who screwed her over big time. I’m just nosing around in her background trying to see if I can find some dirt on her. Her name is Girlie Cortez. You know her?”

Eli smoothed a palm across his baldhead and looked away.

“Uh oh! Looks like I might have an inside track!” Special reached for her notepad on the seat next to her. “Tell me everything you know about that wench.”

Eli solemnly shook his head. “Girlie Cortez is off-limits.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know why.”

Special peered at him over the rim of her glass. “You screwing her, aren’t you?”

“I wish,” Eli said wistfully.

“Then what’s the deal?”

“The deal is I don’t know anything about her and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Aw, c’mon Eli, we go way back. This is just between us. That heffa screwed over my girl big time. She had the
Times
run this story saying she was a member of the Community of Islam. It really caused some problems for her.”

Eli stared down at his drink.

“You
definitely
know something,” Special challenged. “Is she a client?”

“I’d never tell anybody who my clients were and if you’re serious about being an investigator, you better understand that client confidentiality is crucial to staying in business.”

“So she is a client!”

“I never said that.”

“C’mon, Eli. You don’t need her. I can get you work from my friend’s law firm.”

Eli’s expression grew stern. “We need to change the subject. Now.”

Special slumped back in her chair and pouted.

“I’ll tell you this much,” Eli said, lowering his voice. “Girlie Cortez isn’t sloppy about anything she does. If you find any dirt on her, then you have a long, successful career ahead of you.”

W
henever Mankowski and Thomas had a serious disagreement over approach, as the senior detective, Mankowski usually held his ground until Thomas relented. This time, Mankowski sensed that he would be the one saying uncle.

“Not yet,” Mankowski said. “We need to hold off until we have some solid evidence to work with.”

Thomas was pushing for another meeting with Girlie Cortez, but Mankowski was against it.

“You don’t want to interrogate her because you screwed her,” Thomas charged. “That’s exactly why you—”

“That has nothing to do with it. I just think we need to gather all our facts first. We’re playing our hand too soon. Girlie Cortez is no dummy.”

Thomas’ iPhone buzzed. “Hot dang! My new penny stock just reached a fifty-two-week high. I’m telling you man, this is going to lead to my early retirement.” He slipped the device back into his shirt pocket.

Mankowski hung his head.

“Okay, how about this?” Thomas said. “What if we just drop by her office and let her know Phillip Peterman is dead? We can at least see how she reacts.”

Mankowski grunted. “Fine.”

As they drove to Girlie’s Beverly Hills office, Mankowski was uncharacteristically mute. He was hoping his poor judgment in getting involved with Girlie didn’t blow up in his face.

“I think she was the front man for Big Buy,” Thomas surmised.

Mankowski shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense that a talented attorney like Girlie Cortez would risk her career doing something underhanded like that for a client.”

“It’s all about the money,” Thomas explained. “You need to watch
American Greed
on CNBC sometimes, dude. Super wealthy guys with a whole lot to lose do incredibly unethical stuff all the time. It’s a way of life in corporate America. The more you have, the more you want. Maybe Big Buy offered her some big money if she found those documents.”

Mankowski didn’t want to believe that Girlie was really wrapped up in all of this. But it sure looked that way.

Seconds after they told the receptionist they were there to see Girlie, she walked out to greet them in a short black skirt and white tailored blouse.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Mankowski asked, trying to ignore her cleavage.

“For you,” she said with a wink, “absolutely.”

Thomas pursed his lips and looked away.

As she led them back to her office, Mankowski stared at her tight ass and remembered how she’d slathered it with oil.

Girlie sat down across from them on her pink couch. She leaned back and made a show of crossing her legs.

“So how can I help you, detectives?”

“We’re still trying to track down those Big Buy documents,” Thomas said. “But we’re not having much luck.”

“You really think they exist?”

“Judi Irving certainly told enough people that they did.”

Girlie shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter now. She’s dead and that lawsuit is almost dead. Only one plaintiff left and if I have anything to do with it, she won’t see a dime.”

“I heard you like playing hardball,” Thomas said.

Girlie smiled. “Then you obviously have some reliable sources.”

Thomas laughed. “I do. We figured the documents might turn up now that Irving’s boyfriend is dead.”

Girlie swallowed hard then put on a poker face. “Phillip Peterman is dead?”

Thomas didn’t take his eyes off of her. “Yep.”

“How?”

“Car accident.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“You seem concerned,” Mankowski interjected. “I thought you didn’t know him?”

“I don’t.” Girlie crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “So did your investigation conclude that Phillip killed Judi Irving?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Just curious.”

“Yeah,” he lied. “We’re pretty sure he’s the killer.”

“So exactly what is it that you need from me?”

“We just wanted to make sure you hadn’t learned anything more about the documents.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Mankowski stood up. “Then we won’t waste any more of your time.”

Thomas didn’t speak until they were back in their sedan. “Your girlfriend’s a liar,” he said, starting up the car. “Since she’s lying about knowing Phillip Peterman, it’s a good bet she’s also lying about where those documents are. I’d bet every share of stock in my portfolio that she knows exactly where they are.”

Mankowski stared out of the passenger window. He hated it when he was wrong and his partner was one-hundred percent right.

T
he Conga Room was not one of my favorite haunts. It was too crowded, too trendy, and the music was way too loud. Despite those complaints, I had agreed to meet Special for drinks after work. As usual, she was late.

I tapped my feet to a spicy Latin number as couples twirled around the dance floor. This was the spot where serious salsa dancers showed off their stuff. The main room of the club was a kaleidoscope of bright yellows and oranges, accented with striped couches and velvet curtains. A humongous screen showed music videos in one corner. There was a concert stage a few feet away and three strategically placed bars.

I was about to text Special when I spotted her snaking her way through the crowd. The old Special was definitely back. She was dressed in all black: satin skinny jeans, a tight mesh top, and four-inch sandals. Her eyelashes were long enough to be butterflies and her glittery eye shadow sparkled like new diamonds.

“You look fabulous,” I shouted over the music as she sat down. “You still doing okay?”

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

She glanced around the club. “You spot any prospects for me?”

“Don’t you think you should fly solo for a while?”

“Absolutely not. The best way to get over one man is to hunt down another one.”

She leaned sideways and pointed over my shoulder. “Now
that
brother right there might be a suitable prospect.”

I glanced back to see the profile of a guy with chiseled features sitting at the bar. “You can’t even tell what he really looks like.”

“I’m not looking for perfection right now. Just something to do.”

“I thought you were busy preparing for your private investigator’s exam.”

“Ooooh! Speaking of investigations, guess who gets her hair done at the Emerald Chateau?”

I took a sip of my Diet Coke. “I have no idea.”

“Tonisha Cosby! You know Darlene is the weave queen, right? Well, I was getting my weave hooked up last week when Tonisha called Darlene to make an appointment. Now tell me that ain’t fate?”

“Exactly why would that be fate?”

“’Cuz I’m gonna be her new best friend and make her confess that she lied on Lamarr. And once I take credit for solving that case, my investigative career is gonna skyrocket. I plan to drop by the shop the next time Tonisha shows up to get her hair done.”

“Well, don’t waste your time. I don’t represent Lamarr anymore.”

“What? Why not?”

“Nothing I can to talk about. I just wish the fool would stop sending me flowers and blowing up my phone.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say I used to think that
maybe
he forced himself on Tonisha. Now I
know
he did.”

Special frowned. “I have no idea what that boy did to make you dump his behind, but I still think that girl is lying. I plan to get a confession out of her and it won’t be forced. You know how strangers love to tell me all their business.”

Telling Special to back off wasn’t going to do any good. So I didn’t even try.

“And just so you know, Darlene and everybody else in the shop thinks Tonisha is lying too. Darlene told me Tonisha used to brag about all the professional athletes she slept with.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t help Lamarr get a new trial.”

Special surveyed the room. “I need a drink. Where’s the waitress?” She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to me.

“I have to tell you,” she said with a pout, “that heffa Girlie Cortez is like Teflon. Don’t nothing stick to her devious behind. I haven’t been able to find even a speck of dirt on her.”

“Forget about it,” I said. “I can’t believe I even asked you to do that. But I was fit to be tied when I walked out of that courtroom.”

“Well, I ain’t giving up yet. There’s gotta be something out there.”

Special was talking to me, but her gaze was fixed on the guy at the bar. “Uh-oh, I swear baby just smiled at me. This might be a good night.”

“Are you going to spend all your time gawking at him or talking to me?”

“I’m multitasking.” She finally turned back to me. “So is Jefferson making out okay?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he be?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh…uh, nothing. Never mind.” She picked up her phone and acted like she was checking her messages.

I grabbed it from her. “What’s going on?”

“Damn. I hate being the bearer of news your husband obviously doesn’t want you to know.”

“Cough it up.”

“Jefferson was having problems with one of his subcontractors. He was talking to the Community of Islam about getting a loan.”

I felt my face tighten. “Who told you that?”

“Clay—I mean, Khalil.”

“You’re still seeing him?”

“Nope. But he still calls me every now and then. Now, don’t go off on your husband,” Special advised me. “You know how brothers are when they’re having problems. They don’t always tell their woman. It’s a pride thing.”

“This is something he should’ve talked to me about.”

Special was staring over my shoulder again. “O-M-G! He’s coming over here.” She sat more erect in her chair and puffed out her chest.

The guy reached our table, but kept walking. That was when I noticed where and who he was headed toward. “Don’t turn around,” I warned Special.

But of course, she did.

The man Special was all excited about was now smiling and laughing it up with Girlie Cortez.

Special pounded the table with her fist. “That heffa just stole my man!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I was about to know him if she hadn’t messed it up.”

Girlie and the guy breezed past us to the dance floor. We watched as they did a sexy salsa, grinding their bodies in rhythm with the music.

“Look at her,” Special said in disgust. “She dances like the skank that she is.”

When they finished dancing, Girlie slowed at our table.

“I thought that was you.” Girlie batted her eyes up at her dance partner. “Carter, this is my colleague, Vernetta Henderson.” She turned to Special. “And you are?”

Special ignored Girlie and extended her hand to Carter. “Hi, I’m Special.”

“
Special?
” Girlie said, cracking up. “Is that really your name?”

Special looked Girlie up and down. “Yes, it is and yes, I am. Special, that is. And you have some nerve talking about somebody’s name.
Girlie.
”

I needed to put some distance between my best friend and my archenemy.

I smiled up at Girlie. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we were in the middle of an important conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, forgive me for interrupting.” She grabbed Carter’s hand and fluttered away.

I could see that I would need a fire extinguisher to cool Special down.

“Bring me a Long Island Iced Tea,” Special growled at a passing waitress. “And make it a strong one.”

She glared over her shoulder at Girlie, who was hanging all over Carter.

“To hell with finding some dirt on that skank. We need to wait for her in the parking lot and beat her ass down.”

That was my cue. I flagged the waitress and cancelled Special’s drink order.

“We’re leaving,” I said, grabbing my friend’s arm and pulling her to her feet.

“I haven’t even had a drink yet,” Special complained.

“Okay, I owe you one.”

Special stared back at Girlie and Carter as I tugged her toward the exit. “We need to find her car so I can key it.”

“You’re not keying anybody’s car.”

“That heffa messed up real bad tonight,” Special muttered. “The only thing I had against her was what she did to you. Now it’s personal.”