In Firm Pursuit (24 page)

A
s Jefferson read LaKeesha's allegations, Special examined his shocked face with quiet amusement. She very badly wanted to tell the man that she possessed a smoking gun that would completely torpedo the little home wrecker's case. But she couldn't do that without getting herself in some serious hot water. Jefferson would just have to sweat it out until she could figure out the best way to use her secret nanny cam tape.

“This is a bunch of lies!” Jefferson shouted. Thick veins of fury protruded from the left side of his forehead. He stuffed the document back into the envelope and hurled it onto the couch. “I didn't force that girl to do shit!”

Whoooaaa!
Special pounced off the couch and faced Jefferson.
Didn't force her? What was that about?
“I thought you said nothing happened between you and LaKeesha?” Now Special was the one experiencing distress.

Jefferson massaged the back of his neck. “That's what I said.”

“Nooo,” Special said, her heart beginning to palpitate, “you said you didn't force her to do anything. That's totally different.” Special glanced over at Stan. He looked even more troubled than his business partner.

Jefferson walked over to the window, then absently marched back to where he'd been standing. “Well, that's what I meant,” he said. “People shouldn't be able to get away with making up stuff like this.” Jefferson fell onto the couch and Special sat down next to him.

Special didn't know what to think. But Jefferson's denial didn't make sense. “A man who'd been falsely accused would've said, it never happened,” she said. “Not,
I didn't force her.
”

Jefferson threw up his hands. “Special, this is all a bunch of bull. I swear it is. This thing has got me so mad, I don't know what I'm saying. But I'm telling you, everything written on that page is a bunch of lies. I'll swear to
that
on the Bible.”

“Okay, okay,” Special said, feeling a little better. Her mind went back to the videotape. When LaKeesha had threatened to sue for sexual harassment, Jefferson told her she didn't have a case and LaKeesha had clearly said she would make one up. Maybe Jefferson really was so upset that he didn't know what he was saying.

She gave him a sisterly pat on the back. “Don't worry about it, brother-in-law. It'll all work out.”

And she planned to make absolutely sure that it did. She just had to figure out a way to divulge her secret evidence without letting Jefferson or Vernetta find out that she had installed a nanny cam in Jefferson's office. Neither one of them would be happy about that.

Jefferson closed his eyes. “I hope Vernetta acts as calmly as you do about all of this.”

“I can guarantee you she won't,” Special said.

Jefferson slumped down even farther on the couch and leaned his head over the back. He stared up at the ceiling for a while, then turned to Special.

“I need a really big favor,” he said.

Special's eyes narrowed. “I'm listening.”

“I don't want you to mention this to Vernetta.” He rubbed the back of his neck for the umpteenth time. “It'll just stress her out. She's under a lot of pressure because of that Micronics case and being up for partner. She doesn't need to be worrying about me being sued, too.”

Special gave him an incredulous glare. “Do you know how mad your wife would be if she found out that I knew LaKeesha was suing you for sexual harassment and didn't tell her?” Special said.

“Just let me handle it,” Jefferson said. “I'm going to tell her that LaKeesha filed a workers' comp case. I just don't plan to mention the sexual harassment part.”

“Dang,” Special said. “You sure look awfully worried. You sure nothing went down with that girl?”

“I told you,” Jefferson said. “It's all a bunch of lies.”

“So,” Special said, “you want me to lie to my homegirl, huh?”

“I'm not asking you to lie to her. I'm just asking you not to bring it up.”

Special paused. She was in complete agreement with Jefferson. Vernetta really was wigging out behind all the crap over the Randle case and the possibility of not making partner. She didn't need anything else to add to her stress level. But Special wanted to let Jefferson stew a bit.

“So what do I get outta this?” she asked.

Jefferson exhaled. “What do you want out of it, Special?”

She tilted her head sideways and pressed her index finger to her cheek. “Let me see…. I gotta think about it.”

They heard the sound of a car approaching and Stan waddled over to the window and peered through the curtains. “Well, y'all ain't got a lot of time to negotiate,” he said. “Vernetta's pulling up right now.”

Jefferson moved closer to Special. “So are you with me on this?”

Special smiled and continued to mull over his request.

At the sound of Vernetta sticking her key into the doorknob, Jefferson snatched up the envelope, slid it underneath the couch and walked toward the front door.

He grabbed his wife in a bear hug as soon as she stepped inside, kissing her as if he might not have another chance to. “I really missed you, babe,” he said.

“Wow,” Vernetta said when he finally released her. “I guess I should send you out of town more often.”

“How're you doing, Stan?” Vernetta walked over and gave him a hug, then leaned forward and peered into the kitchen. “Uh, Special, don't you have some work to do?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Special said, rising from the couch.

But all four of them just stood there as silence saturated the room.

“Did I walk in on some confidential conversation or something?” Vernetta asked.

Jefferson laughed. “Nah, girl. We were just sitting here waitin' for you to get home. Come here.” He pulled her close again, smothering her with another hug.

Special made a move toward the kitchen, then stopped
and looked back at Jefferson. He stared at her over Vernetta's shoulder, his eyes pleading. She noticed a big half circle of perspiration under each of his armpits. Brotherman was definitely sweating bullets, Special thought.

She was enjoying the feeling of power she had over Jefferson, even though she knew the man was being falsely accused. But her job was to look out for Vernetta. Her buddy would flip out if she ever laid eyes on that that workers' comp lawsuit and all the lies LaKeesha was telling.

Special gave Jefferson a thumbs-up and hoped he could read her lips.

I got your back, brother-in-law.

“I'
m serious this time.” I sternly wagged my finger inches from Special's nose. “I'm not putting up with your craziness tonight. You better behave.”

“Why're you always jumping down my throat?” Special swatted my finger out of her face. We were standing on the doorstep of Bradley's Manhattan Beach condo and I was tired and irritable. I had stayed up late with Jefferson and spent the day in a long, frustrating deposition.

I was about to ring the buzzer when the door swung open and Bradley pulled me into his arms. His greeting was far more intimate than it should have been. He was wearing a Sean John velour jogging suit. The jacket was completely unzipped, revealing a tanned, muscular chest.

“You remember my friend Special,” I said, awkwardly pulling away from him.

“Nice to see you again.” Bradley shook Special's hand and led us inside. “Have a seat in the den. I gotta run back into the kitchen and finish preparing some snacks for us to munch on.”

“Dang!” Special said as our feet sank into Bradley's plush white carpet. “Does everybody you know have a big-ass crib?”

The enormous, stark white room had an artistic feel to it, as if it belonged to an architect or an artist. Sparse in furniture, but classy in style. The ten-foot couch, oval coffee table and twin club chairs were all snow-white, as were the walls. Huge floor plants and multicolored sculptures and paintings added a colorful but elegant contrast.

“I know this brother must've hired an interior decorator to hook this place up.” Special stepped up to the fireplace. “And I wouldn't be surprised if this fireplace worked by remote control.”

“Special, please stop acting like you haven't been nowhere before.” My frustration meter was already inching toward the red zone.

Special peered through the French doors, out onto a balcony overlooking a sea of lights. “This brother's got an incredible view!” She walked out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind her.

“I asked my brother, Trent, to drop by,” Bradley bellowed from the kitchen. “He used to work for DynaTech Software. I figured he might be able to help.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Special came back inside a few minutes later and walked right past me down a narrow hallway, peering into each room along the way.

“This crib is slamming!” she whispered, glancing back at me, still seated in the den. “But I wanna see his bedroom. I know it's pimped out.”

“The bedroom's upstairs so forget it,” I said. “Just get back over here and sit down.”

“I'm coming,” she said, continuing to take her sweet
time. “I know you're married and everything, but you might wanna consider keeping this brother on the side 'cause I would love to be chilling up in here on a regular basis.”

I closed my eyes, exasperated. “Special, can you please sit down before Bradley comes back?”

“Stop being so uptight.” Special finally sashayed back into the room. “I'm sure he don't mind me looking around. You know that boy still wants to get with you, don't you? That's why he left that jogging suit unzipped, showing off all five of his chest hairs.”

Bradley rejoined us carrying a silver tray with four wineglasses, deviled eggs, wheat crackers, pepper cheese and a bottle of merlot.

“How's life at O'Reilly & Finney these days?” Bradley asked. He placed the tray on the coffee table, then poured wine into three of the four glasses.

“Just fine,” I said. I felt no obligation to provide any specifics about all the professional drama I had experienced lately. I picked up a piece of cheese. “How's everything going with you?”

“I'm hanging in there.” Bradley crouched down on the floor and rested his back against an ottoman. “We just got this huge case for a major defense contractor. I'm the lead associate on the case and—”

The doorbell rang just in time. Bradley enjoyed nothing more than pontificating about his boring patent cases.

“That's got to be Trent.” Bradley hopped up and headed for the door.

“Who's Trent?” Special took a sip of wine at the same time she reached for a deviled egg.

“Bradley's brother,” I said.

Special's eyes lit up. “Really? Does he have a big-ass crib like this, too?”

Before I could respond, Trent and Bradley walked into the room.

Trent was tall and muscular and had the kind of versatile, clean-cut looks intended for television commercials and billboard advertisements. He could have advertised anything from a Mercedes-Benz to multi-grain cereal. Mr. All-American Mandingo.

Before Bradley could introduce him, Special rose from the couch and took charge. “I'm Special,” she said, extending her hand.

“Excuse me?” Trent replied, taking Special's hand in both of his.

“I'm sorry,” Special giggled girlishly. “My name is Special, and it's spelled just like it sounds.”

“Well, nice to meet you,” he said. “I have to say, you're the first
Special
I've ever met.”

“And I don't think you'll ever meet another one.” She smiled and slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

“And this is Vernetta.” Bradley intimately threw his arm across my shoulders, pulling me close to him. I squirmed free and reached out to shake Trent's hand.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Trent said. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Bradley crouched back down on the floor. “Okay, let's get started. How can we help?”

“Let me pour you some wine,” Special said to Trent in
a sweet, sultry voice, ignoring Bradley's attempt to get down to business. She filled one of the wineglasses and walked around the coffee table to hand it to Trent, even though she could have just as easily passed the glass to him without getting up.

“I hate to drag you guys into this,” I began, “so I'm not going to go into the whole long story. I'm just hoping you can take a look at these documents and tell us what they are.” I pulled the papers from my purse and handed them to Bradley.

“We think they're some kind of engineering documents,” Special volunteered.

Bradley reviewed the first page, then handed it to Trent.

“So, Trent, what do you do?” Special asked. Her legs were daintily crossed and her hands cupped her knee.

“I'm a struggling writer-slash-director-slash-producer.” He looked up from the papers and gave her a warm smile. “But I'm also working as a production assistant at Paramount Studios to pay the rent until somebody options one of my scripts.”

“Yeah,” Bradley teased, “he gave up a promising career as a software engineer in hopes of becoming the next Spike Lee.”

Trent turned to face his brother. “Okay, big bro, after I direct my first movie, don't ask me for tickets to the premiere.”

“That's so exciting,” Special gushed. “Brains and creativity, too.”

Special's mindless chatter was making me antsy. “How long did you work as an engineer for DynaTech?” I asked.
All I cared about was whether he had the expertise to decipher the documents.

“About five years,” Trent said, still studying the papers.

“Hey, Trent, do you ever run into any stars down at the studio?”

Before he could answer, I interrupted. “Which way is the little girl's room?” I asked. I had to get Special alone so I could tell her to put a lid on it.

“Don't act like you haven't been here before,” Bradley said playfully. “Down the hallway on the right.”

“Special, why don't you join me?”

Special looked perplexed. “I don't have to pee,” she said, then put a hand to her mouth. She hadn't meant to use such an unladylike word in Trent's presence.

I gave up and took off for the bathroom alone. I needed to think up a way to get her to turn off the charm so Trent could concentrate on the Micronics documents.

When I returned minutes later, Special was still at it. It had been a while since I'd seen her pour it on this strong.

“Trent, may I refill your glass for you?” Special asked.

“Thanks, but I'm fine. I'm hanging out with my friends Michelle and Curtis later tonight, so I better not drink too much.” His perfect teeth glistened when he smiled.

I stole a side glance at Special. If the mention of a female friend was meant to deter her, it had no impact whatsoever. Special thrived on competition.

“Where do you usually hang out?” Special asked.

“I really don't have a favorite spot,” Trent replied. “Tonight we're having dinner at The Abbey.”

“The Abbey? I've never heard of it.” Special nudged me with her elbow. “You heard of it?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” I said, trying to place it.

“Where is it?” Special asked.

“West Hollywood.”

Special gave me a furtive look that only the two of us could decipher:
The brother's into white chicks.
But I knew my girl. She would consider it an honor to help Trent find his way back to the hood.

“Well, I'll definitely have to drop by there sometime.”

Bradley had a disconcerting expression on his face. “Let's just get back to the documents,” he said impatiently. “What do you think, Trent?”

“They look like ATPs,” he said finally. “Except these documents are a lot more complex.”

My forehead creased in confusion. “English, please.”

“ATPs—Acceptance Test Procedures. At least that's what we called them at DynaTech. They probably call them something else at Micronics, but it's basically the same thing. Once a product is finished, it has to pass a series of tests to make sure it can actually do everything it's supposed to do.”

I pointed to a column on the second page. “What do these numbers mean?”

“They're test results. It looks like whatever product they were testing failed in five of the twelve categories.”

“How can you tell that?” I asked.

“The first column is usually the threshold number.” Trent leaned forward to hand me one of the pages. “If you go down the list of numbers in the second column here,
you'll notice that every number is higher than the threshold number except in five of the twelve categories. Any number lower than the threshold number is effectively a failing grade.”

I paused to study the page. “But the numbers aren't even off by much. This one is only off by one-hundredth of a point.”

“That might be a small number to you,” Trent said, “but in the world of engineering it could add up to major problems.”

A thought came to me. “What if somebody forges a copy of these documents?” I asked.

“Why would somebody want to do that?” Special asked before Trent could respond.

“To cover up the failed testing,” I said. “What if instead of turning in these documents—the original ATPs—someone created new ones with all passing scores?”

“That's it,” Special blurted out. “That's why they killed that woman. I bet you anything she was blackmailing them with these documents! That's why they murdered her ass!”