In Firm Pursuit (28 page)

E
ntering Special's hospital room and seeing her lying there unconscious rendered me totally numb. Her barely recognizable face was bruised and swollen, and her neck and chest were patched with bandages.

I walked over and embraced Special's parents, who were standing on the far left side of Special's bed.

“I don't understand why somebody would do this,” Velma Moore cried, turning back to Special and stroking her limp hand. “Why would somebody want to hurt my baby?”

Although her eyes were swollen with grief, Special's mother was still as immaculately dressed as ever. Her linen skirt was much tighter and shorter than the average fifty-five-year-old woman would have been comfortable wearing. A matching tam, tilted to the side, revealed only a glimpse of her honey-blond dye job. Her bright orange earrings, from the same set as her necklace and bracelet, dangled from her ears like two miniature sweet potatoes. Her two-inch heels did little to heighten her petite, five-foot frame. A strong whiff of Chanel No. 5 encircled her like an invisible hula hoop.

“What did the doctor say?” I whimpered, unable to control my own tears.

“Her lungs collapsed,” Milton Moore said quietly. His words were barely audible, as if he were mumbling to himself. I had never heard his normally booming voice sound so feeble. “But my baby's a fighter like me. She's going to be fine.”

Special's father was almost seventy, but he had the physique of a man almost half his age. After years of his wife's nagging, he had finally started dying his naturally silver-gray hair. He insisted, however, on leaving his bushy eyebrows untouched. At six-four there was no question about where Special had inherited her height.

“The doctor said they're moving her out of intensive care as soon as she wakes up from the anesthesia,” Special's mother said.

I walked around to the opposite side of the bed and moved a wisp of hair from Special's forehead. “You can't leave me, girlfriend,” I sniveled. “You have to hurry up and get well.”

Detective Coleman remained planted near the door until I remembered to introduce him. When I mentioned that he was with the LAPD, Special's parents began pelting him with questions he could not answer.
When did it happen? Who found her? Did anybody hear anything? Why would somebody do this?

I torpedoed a sharp look at Detective Coleman to make sure he was not about to volunteer any unnecessary information. Special had never told her parents about the earlier break-in for fear that they would have pressured her to move back home with them.

When I could no longer bear to look at my friend's mo
tionless body, I walked out into the hallway and pressed my face against the nearest wall. The initial flash of cold felt good. I pulled my BlackBerry from my purse and dialed Jefferson's number. When I heard his voice, I tried to speak, but only sobs escaped from my lips.

“Babe, babe, what's the matter? Did something happen at work again?” Jefferson asked in alarm. “Are your parents okay? Please stop crying and talk to me.”

“No, no. It's…it's Special,” I blubbered. Only the sturdiness of the wall kept my body from collapsing into a heap on the floor. “She's at Centinela Hospital. Somebody broke into her apartment and stabbed her. She's in intensive care.”

“What?” The panic in Jefferson's voice mirrored mine.

“And it's all my fault,” I sniffed. “She wanted to stay with me but I made her go home. She'd be okay if she'd still been at our house. It's all my fault!”

“No, no, listen to me,” Jefferson said. “You can't blame yourself.”

“Yes, I can! I shouldn't have made her go home. Jefferson, I need you. I'm scared.”

“Just calm down,” Jefferson said. “I'll be on the next plane back home as soon as we hang up.”

B
y nine o'clock that night, I was sitting across from my husband at our kitchen table, sipping cranberry juice, my nose runny and red. I had spent the last hour telling Jefferson everything about the Randle case, including my theory about the ATPs and Carruthers's death, as well as my newest suspicion that Micronics probably had something to do with the attack on Special.

When I finished, Jefferson had a look of complete shock on his face. “This sounds like something out of a movie,” he said. “I can't believe you guys didn't let the police handle this.”

He reached across the table and grabbed both of my hands and kissed them. “I'm not going back to San Diego until I know both you and Special are okay.”

“I'll be fine,” I said. “I know your project is in a crunch right now.”

“No, I'm staying right here with you,” he insisted, “at least until all of this blows over. But there's something I need you to do. You have to go into work tomorrow morning and tell O'Reilly everything you just told me.”

I felt nauseous. “I can't do that. They'll fire me for sure!”

“Babe, this is some serious stuff you just told me. These
people aren't playing games. I don't want anything to happen to you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He stood up and pulled me into his arms. “I know it doesn't seem like it now, but everything's going to turn out fine. But you have to report what you know to the firm and to the police. And when I say police, I'm not talking about this Coleman dude.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “But maybe if I confronted Ferris first, I could find out who attacked Special.”

Jefferson gently squeezed my shoulders and leaned back so he could look me in the eyes. “No way,” he said firmly. “All this detective work you and Special have been doing is nuts. It's bound to get you both killed. I won't have that. You have to talk to O'Reilly.”

“I know, I know,” I said again. “But how am I going to explain why I didn't come to him earlier?”

“Let's just worry about that in the morning. Right now you need to get some sleep.” Jefferson placed his arm across my shoulders and guided me to the bedroom.

Just as I sat down on the edge of the bed, I heard the faint ringing of a telephone. I dashed back into the kitchen, determined to grab my BlackBerry from my purse before my voice mail picked up the call.

“Hey, what's…what's…happening, homegirl?” Special's words came out haltingly, in a voice that sounded as if it belonged to a ninety-year-old woman.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” I said. Tears started to flow again. “How are you? You had me so scared.”

“Girl, you know I…ain't leaving this earth until I get a look at Jefferson's cousin,” Special said in a measured, raspy voice. “That man might be my future husband.”

We both chuckled weakly. “Is there ever a time when you're not thinking about some man?”

“Hell, no,” Special said.

“How are you really? Are you in pain?”

“I've got stitches up the…wazoo, but I'm not really in that much pain.” The hoarseness in her voice indicated otherwise. “I have a…a machine with a little remote-control gizmo. The minute I feel even a twinge of pain, I can just press a button and boom. I'm as high as a kite. Technology is a mutha, ain't it?”

I laughed again.

“And I even lucked up and got me a male nurse.” I heard Special grunt. “And he's quite a hunk. I swear to God…” Her voice trailed off. I could tell it was a major struggle for her to speak. “He looks just like that fine brother who used to play for the Pittsburgh Steelers, Jerome Bettis. But after that thing with Trent, I need to be extra careful. And he's a nurse, so that's already one strike against him.”

“Well, don't get too used to him because I want you back home. And when I say home, I mean home with me. I'm so sorry I made you go back to your apartment.”

“Girl, this isn't your fault.” Special cried along with me.

“You told me to stay out of it. I should've listened to you.”

“You were only trying to help me,” I sobbed.

We both boo-hooed in unison for a while.

“Anyway,” Special managed to say between sobs, “I
don't even remember what happened. The doctor said it's possible I may never remember.”

“Don't cry,” I said, ignoring my own advice. “You're going to be fine.”

“I know I'm lucky to be alive,” Special said. “But, girl…tell me the truth. How bad did they mess up my face? They won't bring me a…a mirror, and they won't let me get out of bed so I can see for myself.”

“Your face is fine.”

“It feels hard and swollen and no matter where I touch it, it hurts. I bet they scarred me for life!” Special's sobs were now interspersed with hiccups.

“No, they didn't. You're still the finest woman in L.A.”

“You're just saying that.”

“No, I'm not. You just have a few bruises that need time to heal. That's all. I swear. I'll even bring you a mirror tomorrow. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now why don't you get some sleep?”

“Okay, girl, but don't forget that mirror. And make sure you don't let Jefferson's cousin hook up with some other babe while I'm in here recuperating.”

“I'll tell Jefferson to put him under house arrest,” I said, chuckling. “I love you, girl.”

“I love you, too.”

T
he next morning, I paced the short length of my office until my feet went numb. I fully intended to keep my promise to Jefferson and tell O'Reilly everything, but each time I picked up the telephone to dial O'Reilly's extension, I felt like I was having a panic attack.

And it didn't help my state of mind that I hadn't heard back from Hamilton regarding the settlement agreement. Maybe Hamilton was having a hard time reaching Randle. I thought about calling him, but I didn't want to let on how anxious I was to wrap up the case.

I quietly rehearsed what I planned say to O'Reilly as I paced between the door of my office and my desk. I reviewed which facts were essential to include and which ones I could conveniently leave out. I also tried to anticipate any questions O'Reilly might ask. Like,
Why didn't you come to me earlier?
For that one, I still had not thought up an acceptable response.

Just before ten, I decided to run down to the Starbucks in the lobby, hoping a dose of caffeine would boost my confidence. I'd only eaten half of a banana for breakfast, but I was too nervous to think about lunch. I had pulled a five-dollar bill from my purse
when the phone rang. The caller ID showed my home telephone number.

“I've been waiting for you to call me,” Jefferson said when I picked up.

I sat down on the edge of my desk. “I haven't had a chance to talk to O'Reilly yet,” I said before he could ask. I neglected to mention that I had not even called his secretary to make an appointment.

“You
are
going to talk to him, right?” Jefferson's question was more like a command.

“I promised you I would.”

“And you're going to do it today, right?”

I paused. “Yeah, if I can catch him.”

“Why don't you call him right now? Tell him it's an emergency.”

I was near tears again. “I don't know what to say. This is going to end my career. I just know it.”

“Right now I'm more worried about your life than your career. If they fire you, you can find another job. You're an excellent lawyer.”

“I won't be able to find another job if I get disbarred.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I can. You haven't done anything to get disbarred for. And if they do disbar you, I'll go down to the State Bar and kick everybody's ass.”

I chuckled. “Stop making me laugh. I don't want to laugh right now.”

“If I don't hear from you soon, I'm coming down there and you know you don't want me to do that. No
telling what could happen if I run into that little rent-a-cop again.”

“You better not come down here, boy.”

“Then you better go take care of your business. I got your back, babe.”

I hung up and dialed O'Reilly's extension. When his secretary told me he would be out of the office all morning, my whole body exhaled. I made an appointment to see him at two.

After returning to my office with a Caramel Macchiato, I picked up a copy of
California Lawyer
and tried to read a story about some public interest lawyer who had eight foster children. I read the same sentence three times, then tossed the paper aside. I knew it would be useless to try to do any work. My concentration level was nil. Maybe seeing Special would give me the courage I needed to face O'Reilly. I grabbed my purse and headed out of the door.

Thirty minutes later, as I pulled into a parking space at Centinela Hospital, my BlackBerry rang. When I answered, the sound of Hamilton's voice thrilled me.

I wondered if he had heard about Special. I doubted that she would want to see him, so I decided not to tell him what had happened to her.

“You know, counselor,” he began, “I should be amazed, but I'm not. Seems you've been withholding some very important information from me and my client.” His voice was both calm and hostile.

I felt a hot tingle all over my body. “What're you talking about?”

“Don't you think your star witness's death was some
thing you should've disclosed to me? Did you really think I wouldn't find out that your client put a hit out on her?”

“A hit? C'mon, Hamilton. That one's a stretch even for you.”

“Well, that's exactly what my sources are telling me.”

“Your sources are misinformed,” I said. “Karen Carruthers died in a car accident.”

“Why would you expect me to believe that when you don't believe it yourself?”

“Talk to the police,” I said. “They'll tell you what happened.”

He chuckled sarcastically. “Come now. You don't trust the cops any more than I do. But I don't have a lot of time, I'm on my way in to court. I was calling regarding our tentative settlement agreement?” Hamilton said.

“There was nothing tentative about our agreement, Hamilton. We had a deal.”

“
Had
is right. All bets are off. That agreement isn't binding until it's been signed by your client and mine. You almost pulled one over on me. I'm just lucky that one of my paralegals happened to hear about Carruthers's death from a friend of hers who works at Micronics.”

“Now what?” I asked. “You're upping your demand?”

“You got it. This case is looking a whole lot better to me right now. Call me back when your client's ready to write a check for ten million dollars.”