Because of You

by Rochelle Alers

  She sniffled again. “It’s only a little weed. I smoked weed. His father smoked weed and we never went to jail.”

  Aziza stared at a spot over Benita White’s shoulder rather than glaring at a mother who was in complete denial when it came to her precious baby boy.

  “Ms. White, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Your seventeen-year-old son is going to serve time if you don’t acknowledge that he has a problem and he needs to go into treatment. Weed is illegal, and getting behind the wheel of a car after smoking weed is a lethal combination. What if he got into an accident and killed someone? Would you say to the family of the victims that it was only weed?

  “You were referred to me because you believe I can keep your son from going to jail.” Aziza paused, watching for a reaction from the woman with flawless dark skin who’d become a mother much too young, and believed because she and her boyfriend had gotten high that it was all right for their son to get high. “If you believe that, then you’re wrong, because I’m not going to defend someone who is a potential menace. I would never, ever live with myself if I get him off, and then he goes out and kills someone because he’s under the influence. I’m very sorry. You’re going to have to look for another attorney because I will not walk into that courtroom and lie so he can get high again.” She stood up, extending her hand. “Good luck.”

  Benita twisted the tissue around her finger, shredding it, the pieces falling like confetti in her lap. “If my son does go to jail, how much time do you think he’ll get?”

  Aziza lifted her eyebrows, unable to fathom how a mother would consider incarceration for her child rather treating his obvious drug problem. “Probably anywhere between three and six months. It all depends on the judge. I’ve known judges to give longer sentences if only to send a message. Six months is a long time for a teenage boy to be locked away from his family and friends.”

  “Okay, Ms. Fleming. He’ll go into treatment.”

  “It’s just not you saying he’ll agree to go into treatment. He has to agree to go. And if he skips his meetings or comes up with dirty urine, then Probation is going to violate him and he will be locked up. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Benita nodded, rising. “I understand.”

  Aziza escorted her to the door, promising to meet her at the courthouse on Monday morning. It wasn’t until Benita White drove away that she realized the woman might still be using. If that was the case, then mother and son needed outpatient treatment.

  Turning off the light in the office, she opened the door leading into the main house. The temperature had climbed into the forties again, and clumps of snow fell from trees and rooftops. Aziza knew she had to hurry and change into something comfortable, or she would miss the beginning of the game. Her brother’s team had made the play-offs for the second consecutive year. They’d lost the Super Bowl the previous year by a single point. They’d vowed it would not happen again.

  Chapter 7

  “When are you guys going home? It’s after ten.”

  Jordan and Kyle glanced up from the files spread out on the conference table. The rape case was pushed up on the docket, and Jordan had two days to prepare his defense.

  Kyle glanced at his watch, wincing. He hadn’t realized it was that late. He exchanged a glance with Jordan. “We’re almost finished.”

  Dr. Ivan Campbell walked into the conference room, flashing a rare smile. A dark gray tailored suit artfully concealed the solid bulk in his tall, muscular body. If it had been summer, then he would’ve worn his favored colorful tropical print shirts over a pair of slacks or jeans. Ruggedly handsome with a distinctive widow’s peak, Ivan had been the last of the trio to commit and the first to marry. He’d preempted Kyle and Duncan when he and his photographer girlfriend had a Christmas wedding after a whirlwind romance that had shocked family and friends.

  Reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, Ivan removed two tickets. His teeth shone whitely in his mocha face when he placed them on the table. “I think you gentlemen would be interested in these.”

  “Hot damn!” Jordan shouted.

  “Super Bowl tickets!” Kyle crowed loudly.

  Ivan crossed his arms over the front of his chest, the light glinting off the gold band on his left hand. “Didn’t I tell you that I’d come through?”

  “Did you get one for DG?” Kyle asked.

  “Yo, man. If I didn’t get a ticket for Duncan, do you think I’d be standing here? The number man does have a dark side.”

  Jordan waved his ticket. “L.A., here we come.”

  “I’m so ready for a little R & R,” Ivan admitted. “There’re times when I feel as crazy as some of my patients.”

  “Yeah, right,” Kyle drawled. “Now, you know we’re not going to rest or relax.”

  Jordan slipped the ticket into the pocket of his shirt. “You know we’re going to have to leave a few days before the game to recover from jet lag.”

  Ivan gave Jordan a layered look. “Keep running off at the mouth, Jordan. You’re the only single dude here.”

  “Hey. I’m still single,” Kyle chimed up. “At least until next month.”

  It was Jordan’s turn to look at Kyle. “Keep talking, buddy. Ivan’s right. I’m the only single dude in the bunch. You’re getting married next month, and Duncan and Tamara in June, so you’re really not single.”

  “Speaking of couples. Nayo and I are giving a little get-together this coming weekend,” Ivan announced. “It will be our first soiree as a married couple. DG said Tamara switched her shift with another doctor, so they’re coming.”

  Kyle nodded. “I think I can answer for Ava. Count us in.”

  “Wainwright?”

  Jordan gave Ivan a steady stare. There had never been a time when Kyle, Ivan and Duncan hadn’t included him when they gathered at one another’s house to watch a sporting event. He’d surprised the longtime friends when he’d presented them with tickets to the last World Series. He’d had to endure the wrath of their women when they’d attended all seven games, but all in all, it had been worth it.

  “Count me in, too.”

  Ivan smiled again. “Good. It will be Saturday at my place. Cocktails at seven. Knowing Nayo, she will design invitations, so expect to see them by midweek. I’m going to leave you to your work. Good night.”

  Jordan waited for Ivan to leave and then said to Kyle, “Why don’t you head on home to Ava? I can finish up here.”

  “Are you certain you can handle it?”

  “Man, go home to your woman.”

  Kyle gave his junior partner a sidelong glance. Making Jordan a partner in the firm had turned out to be a brilliant move. Jordan went the extra mile for their clients, as if he had to prove he was completely invested in the lives of the people in the Harlem community. He treated everyone with the utmost respect, and they in turn gave him the respect he deserved.

  Since the celebrated television exposé, Chatham and Wainwright had been forced to turn away clients because they were unable to give each case the undivided attention it warranted. He and Jordan had talked about bringing in a law clerk to pick up the slack but hadn’t found one willing to work in Harlem.

  Kyle smiled. “One of these days I’m going to tell you to go home to your woman.”

  “Maybe.”

  Kyle sobered. “What’s the matter, partner? Are you still trying to get over Natasha?”

  “No. Natasha and I never pretended that what we had was going to go beyond the summer.” Jordan had yet to tell Kyle that the woman with whom he’d shared a summer romance was married.

  “Are you saying you’re ready to move on?”

  Jordan smiled. “I’ve moved on.”

  “Good for you. If you need a date for Saturday I’m certain Ava or Tamara can hook you up with one of their friends.”

  “Lighten up, Kyle. What makes you think I can’t get a woman?”

  Kyle held up a hand. “I’m not saying you can’t get a woman, because I know you can. It’s just that you
r taste in women seems different now from when we’d worked at TCB.”

  “How many women have you seen me with?”

  Kyle’s expression stilled. “Actually, not that many.”

  “I rest my case, counselor.”

  Pushing back his chair, Kyle stood up. “On that note, I’m leaving. I’m going to be in court tomorrow and you’re scheduled for Wednesday, so we probably won’t see each other until the end of the week.”

  “Good luck, and thanks for giving me what I need to keep Robinson Fields from going to jail.”

  “No problem, Jordan. I’ll set the alarm on my way out.”

  Jordan knew when Kyle left he would be the only one in the building until the cleaning company arrived. His eyes were burning and he was stiff from hunching over the table reading every word in the case file, but he had to finish what he’d begun.

  He’d become so engrossed in NY v. Fields that he hadn’t listened to the tapes Aziza had given him. And he knew he wouldn’t listen to them when he got home. He’d promised her he would help her, but that wasn’t possible because he’d taken a case that was scheduled to go to trial. She’d accused him of not keeping his promises, but he’d prove her wrong.

  Reaching for his cell, he scrolled through the directory and punched the button for Aziza’s number. It rang two times before there was a break in the connection.

  “Hello, Jordan.”

  He smiled. He loved hearing her voice. “How are you?”

  “Delirious. I managed to keep a seventeen-year-old out of jail when I got the judge to mandate he go into an outpatient drug rehab program.”

  “Good for you.” Jordan prayed he would be as successful with his case. “I’m calling to ask if you’re busy Saturday evening.”

  There was a pause. “What’s happening Saturday?”

  “Some friends of mine are getting together and I’d like you to come with me.”

  There was another pause. “Are you asking me out on a date, Jordan?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You know I don’t date.”

  “I know. But are you willing to make one exception?” Jordan could hear her soft, even breathing coming through the earpiece.

  “Yes, Jordan. I’m willing to make one exception.”

  He blew out a breath. “Thank you. I’ll pick you at five-thirty. Barring traffic delays, that should give us enough time to make it back to the city by seven.”

  “What if I meet you?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll come into the city. Just let me know where I should meet you.”

  “Okay. But I’ll send a driver to pick you up. He can bring you to my place, and then we’ll leave together.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Zee, I haven’t listened to the tapes because I’m preparing to go to trial.”

  “Jordan, please don’t stress yourself out over them. Get to them when you can.”

  “Thanks, baby. I’m going to hang up, because I’m still working.”

  “You’re still at the office?”

  He nodded, and then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes. But I should finish up in about forty-five minutes to an hour.”

  “Weren’t you the one who talked about burnout?”

  “Most days I’m out of here before eight, so tonight’s the exception rather than the norm. I have an attempted rape case that’s going to trial Wednesday.”

  “Good luck.”

  He smiled. “Thanks.” Jordan wanted to tell Aziza that his client needed all the luck he could garner. He was confident he could present enough evidence to discredit the plaintiff’s charge, but no one could predict how a juror would react once he began his cross-examination.

  “What time do you get in?”

  “It varies. Why?”

  “Just curious. By the way, I want to thank you for the caviar and shoveling the snow.”

  “After all, I did promise to give you the caviar. And I had to shovel the driveway to get my car out.”

  “FYI—I have a contract with a landscaping company for snow removal.”

  “Knowing that, the next time it snows I’ll hang around long enough to let them do their job.”

  “Good night, Jordan.”

  “What’s the matter, Zee? Does the notion of my hanging out at your place make you uncomfortable?”

  “Good night, Jordan,” she repeated.

  He laughed softly. “Good night, Zee.” Pressing a button, he ended the call. It was apparent Aziza Fleming wasn’t that unaffected by him because he knew for certain that she affected him—in a good way.

  Forcing his attention back to the file, he read and reread the defendant’s deposition until the words were imprinted on his brain. Only then did Jordan put away the file before placing a call to a car service to pick him up in front of the brownstone to take him home.

  Donald Ennis sat across from Raymond Humphries, watching his reaction to the photographs he’d given him. Raymond’s head popped up.

  “Who is she and what is her connection to Wainwright?”

  “She’s a lawyer.”

  “So is he,” Raymond interrupted, visibly annoyed that the private investigator appeared intent on playing cat and mouse when he was expecting a television film crew to come to his offices within the hour. “What’s the connection?”

  Donald frowned. “Her name is Aziza Fleming. Her brother is pro football defensive tackle Alexander Fleming. She’s the woman Wainwright put into the limo the night of the party. I—”

  “Where does she live?” Raymond asked, again interrupting him.

  “Slow your roll, Slick.”

  For a reason he couldn’t fathom, this morning Donald enjoyed toying with Raymond Humphries. Maybe it had something to do with Robert Andrews officially announcing his candidacy to challenge a popular state senator for his seat in the upcoming election. Or maybe it was because he’d tired of Raymond’s god complex. However, he would continue to play along with the megalomaniac if only to get his apartment.

  Raymond’s eyes narrowed. “You forget yourself, Ennis.”

  “And you keep forgetting that I am not your employee. I am an independent contract worker, and whether you’re willing to admit it, you need me. From now on, whenever I come to you I want you to let me have my say before you start the interrogation. If there is anything you don’t understand, then please wait until I’m finished and I’ll answer all of your questions.”

  If Raymond didn’t need Donald Ennis, he would’ve had the man physically thrown out of the building. The flipside was that the scruffy little cretin knew that he needed him. “Go on.”

  Donald felt as if he’d won a small victory. “She lives in Bronxville and has a private practice which she runs from home. Ms. Fleming is thirty-one and a divorcée with no children. Her ex-husband works as a Bronx County public defender. Yes,” he said, smiling, “it appears as if the lady likes hooking up with lawyers.”

  He sobered quickly. “She’d worked for a Manhattan law firm for a couple of years before she quit and set up her own practice. I have someone checking why she gave up a six-figure position to run what translates into a mom-and-pop operation. It looks as if she and Wainwright are more than associates because he did spend the night at her home. My people will continue to keep tabs on Wainwright and Ms. Fleming, but I’m going to need a little extra to find out what I can on her.”

  “Come by tomorrow morning. Ms. Jackson will give you what you need.” Raymond always paid the P.I. in cash. Checks meant a paper trail neither man wanted to be bothered with. “Thank you, Ennis.”

  Donald bowed his head. “You’re welcome.” He stood up and walked out of the office, closing the door.

  Raymond stared at the photos, taken with a long-range lens, of the very attractive woman standing on her front porch. He didn’t know who the people were in Ennis’s employ, but they were very, very good when it came to surveillance. There came a soft rap on the door. “Come in.”

  Minerva Jac
kson stuck her head through the slight opening. “The camera crews are setting up in the large conference room.”

  “Is everyone here?”

  “Your wife just arrived with your grandchildren. Diane and Robert are with the makeup specialist.”

  “Let me know when they’re ready to begin.”

  Minerva smiled at her lover. “Okay.”

  The incessant ringing of the telephone jolted Jordan from a deep sleep that had been a long time coming. Reaching for the receiver of the annoying instrument on the bedside table, he mumbled a sleepy greeting.

  “Turn on the television,” Kyle said, his voice filled with tension. Jordan was suddenly alert. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he walked to the sitting area in the bedroom and flicked on the television. The grim face of the mayor, surrounded by the police, fire commissioners, head of the city council and other city officials filled the screen.

  An underground explosion had shut down a large swath of downtown Manhattan. Manhole covers had become missiles, shattering windows of vehicles and buildings, including those in the Manhattan Criminal Court building. There were more explosions when flames had engulfed parked cars, hampering firefighters’ efforts to contain the area. The fire commissioner took the microphone, announcing all buildings in the area affected by the explosion were evacuated and no one would be allowed to return until they were inspected and deemed structurally sound.

  Jordan whistled softly. “I’m willing to bet the people who live down there had flashbacks of 9/11.”

  “I’m sure they did,” Kyle agreed. “With the courthouse closed, the calendar will have to be revised. Take the rest of the week off and relax. You’ve been working nonstop since you’ve joined the firm.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, partner,” Kyle said, cutting him off. “You have nothing on your schedule because you thought you were going to be in court, so I’m pulling rank and ordering you not to come into the office. I’m certain you can find something fun to do in your spare time.”

  Jordan knew Kyle was right. Even though the firm closed down for a week from Christmas to New Year’s, he still had gone into the office. “I’ll see you Saturday at Ivan’s.”