In Firm Pursuit

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Girl, there’s not a man alive who can keep Special Sharlene Moore from getting what she wants. He doesn’t even know I have ’em. Anyway, you should be glad. This is our insurance policy. If they try to mess with us, at least we got the documents for bargaining power.”

  I felt flush. “You’re absolutely nuts! This is not some TV cop show! Somebody just vandalized your apartment. And the same person may’ve framed Henry Randle and killed Karen Carruthers. Do you understand that? Somebody is dead. D-E-A-D. Dead! And they could very well want you dead, too!”

  Special looked away.

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “You know what. The documents.”

  “I have them.”

  “I know that! Where the hell are they?”

  “Right here in my purse.”

  Instead of turning left onto Overhill Drive, I pressed down on the gas pedal and sped through the yellow traffic light. Then I abruptly hit the brakes and swerved into the parking lot of La Louisanne’s, a popular neighborhood restaurant and nightclub.

  “Good move,” Special said. She unhooked her seat belt and flung the door open. “I could definitely use a Long Island iced tea.” Special was halfway out of the car before she noticed that I had not moved. “What’s the matter? Aren’t we going in?”

  “I only pulled in here to keep myself from running off the road,” I snapped.

  “Girl, I don’t understand why you’re trippin’ so hard.” Special pulled the door shut. “I’m telling you, you’re going to need some insurance if them white boys start messing with you about partnership.”

  I pressed my head against the headrest and massaged my temples. “Special, you’re scaring me, okay?” This time my tone was gentle and full of concern. “You have to give this up. What you’re doing could have very dangerous consequences.”

  “Girl, nobody even knows I’ve got these documents.”

  “What do you mean, nobody knows?” I shouted. “How do you know those documents aren’t the reason somebody just tore up your place? For all you know, somebody could be watching us right now.”

  Special grabbed the rearview mirror, turned it in her direction and scanned the parking lot behind us. I was actually glad to see fear in Special’s eyes again. I needed her to understand that this was serious business. “Remember that investigator who took the pictures of Hamilton and me outside Little J’s?” I said.

  Special’s eyes widened. “Ooh, good idea! You’re going to hire him to find out who broke into my place?”

  “No!” I wished I had some Advil because Special was giving me a massive headache. “Can you just be quiet for a minute and let me finish. I didn’t tell you at the time because I didn’t want you to go off, but that investigator had a picture of you, too.”

  This revelation did not elicit the response I had hoped for. There was outrage, not fear in Special’s eyes. “They had the nerve to take a picture of me? I’m suing them for invasion of privacy. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  “You’re not suing anybody for anything. Nobody has an expectation of privacy in a public place.”

  “Well, I’m gonna—”

  “Look, Special, I’m just trying to get you to understand that if a major corporation like Micronics hired a private investigator to follow people and take pictures, this has to be some pretty serious stuff.”

  “That’s because they’re up to no good.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “But please, just swear to me that you’ll forget about trying to investigate this case. Karen Carruthers is already dead. I really don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Okay, but only if you do me one favor.”

  “What?”

  “Just look at these documents,” Special pleaded. “Nobody’ll know you looked at ’em except you and me.”

  The Micronics documents posed yet another ethical dilemma for me. Hell, I had already stepped way over the line with Norma. “Give ’em here,” I said.

  “See, I knew you’d—”

  “Just give ’em to me and don’t say another word. And hurry up before I change my mind.”

  Special hurriedly pulled the documents from her purse. I quickly scanned the six pages. “They look like engineering documents,” I said. “But they might as well be in German. I have no idea what this stuff means.”

  “Well, they’ve definitely got something to do with Micronics because the company’s logo is on every page. See?” Special leaned over and pointed at the small Micronics symbol.

  “And they also have the words company private stamped on them,” I grumbled, “which means we have no business looking at them.”

  “I know, but I can’t shake the feeling that these documents are at the center of this whole thing with Randle and that dead secretary. Don’t you know anybody who can tell us what they mean?”

  “No, I don’t. So let’s just—” I paused. James’s wife was an Assistant U.S. Attorney. She had recently prosecuted a senior engineer at Boeing for embezzlement, and had also majored in electrical engineering at MIT. Maybe she could help.

  Despite my nagging reservations, I started my Land Cruiser and headed back west up Slauson. Every few seconds I looked in the rearview mirror, then checked both side mirrors. I was apparently much more rattled than even I had realized.

  “Why are we going this way?” Special’s voice was infused with fear. “You’re not taking me back home, are you?”

  “I know somebody who might be able to tell us what these documents mean.”

  A flood of excitement filled Special’s eyes. “Really? Who?”

  “Just wait and see,” I said. “And, please—let me do the talking.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Less than five minutes later, we pulled into the driveway of a spacious ranch-style home on Shenandoah Street in Ladera Heights. The house stretched almost twice the length of every other home on the block. A narrow rainbow of flowers lined one side of a lawn plush and green enough for a House & Garden cover spread. A Lincoln Navigator and a BMW were parked side by side in the driveway.

  “Who lives here?” Special asked as she unlocked the passenger door.

  “James,” I said.

  “Dang! He’s living hella large off that white girl’s trust fund. But how is that Uncle Tom brother going to help us?”

  “Stop calling him that. We’re here to talk to Melissa, his wife.”

  I jogged up the driveway, while Special grudgingly dragged up the rear.

  The housekeeper, an older Brazilian woman, opened the door seconds after I rang the bell and greeted me with a hug. Special, still grumbling to herself, followed as Ana led us down a long marble hallway that opened into a sunken den almost as large as Special’s entire apartment.

  “Dang,” Special said after Ana had left to find James. “If marrying a white babe’ll get me a crib like this, I might have to check out the lesbo scene.”

  I pinched her on the arm.

  “Ow! That hurt!” she said, rubbing her arm.

  “Then hush,” I said. “Don’t you know how to whisper?”

  A large picture window took up most of the east wall of the room. If it weren’t so smoggy, the Hollywood sign would have been visible in the distance.

  Special walked over to check out the view. “I can’t believe they have a live-in housekeeper!” she said, astonished. “They ain’t even got no kids. That’s just lazy.”

  “Please be quiet!” I whispered. “And if you can’t do that, at least lower your voice.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “And please be nice to Melissa.” I did not waste my time asking Special to be nice to James.

  “Okay, okay. I’m cool with her. But you know I can’t stand James’s ass. He has some nerve thinking he’s too good to date black women.”

  “Special, I’m not playing. If you—”

  “Hey, Vernetta,” James said, walking into the room. He hugged me with honest warmth, our
tennis spat long forgotten.

  “You remember Special,” I said.

  “What’s up?” Special said flatly.

  James nodded in her direction. Neither made an attempt to hug or shake hands.

  “Want something to drink?” James asked.

  Special perked up. “I could use a glass of wine. What kind do you—”

  “No, we’re fine,” I said, cutting her off. “We’re here for business.”

  We all sat down. James and I on the couch, Special in an adjacent club chair. After swearing James to secrecy, I pulled out the Micronics documents and began giving him the background information. I left out some of the key details, like Carruthers’s death and exactly how Special had obtained the documents. There was no need to drag James and his wife all the way into this thing just yet.

  James listened without comment, then stood up. “Let me go get Melissa.”

  As soon as he left, Special began strolling around the room, her hands clasped behind her back. “Yeah, they’re living real high on the hog.” She stopped to examine a huge lithograph over the fireplace. “They spent some big bucks on this.” Special’s nose was so close to the glass frame she left breath prints on it.

  “And how would you know that?” I said. “Didn’t you buy all of your artwork on the corner of Crenshaw and Adams?”

  Special stuck out her tongue. “Excuse me, but I took a semester of Art Appreciation at USC. So I do know a little something.” She strolled over to the opposite side of the room and picked up a small sculpture sitting on a three-foot metal base. She held it high over her head so she could examine the bottom. “They paid some serious money for this, too.”

  “Special, please sit your butt down!” I begged. “And I’m serious. You better be nice to Melissa.”

  “If you ask me to be nice to that girl one more time, I’m gonna scream.” Special flopped down into the chair and crossed her legs. She leaned over to get a closer look at a framed photograph of James and Melissa sitting on an end table.

  “Girl, they look like Clarence Thomas and Marge Simpson,” Special exclaimed. “Thank God they haven’t reproduced yet. But they might get lucky. Some of the homeliest zebra couples make the prettiest babies. I think God feels guilty for making ugly people.”

  “Special, I’m not playing with you. You better—”

  “Hi, everybody!” Melissa bounced into the room right behind James and gave me a frail hug.

  She had short black hair that obviously had not seen the hands of a hair stylist in months. The age lines around her eyes made her look slightly older than James, even though she was three years his junior. She was wearing jeans, an oversized sweatshirt and the hardened look of a criminal prosecutor.

  “You remember Special,” I said.

  Melissa extended her hand. “Nice to see you again,” she said cheerfully.

  Special reached up to shake Melissa’s hand but did not bother to stand up.

  “James already filled me in,” Melissa said. “Let’s see the documents.”

  CHAPTER 57

  I expected to hear the low beeping of the burglar alarm when I opened my front door. But when I walked past the living room and into the den, I was surprised and a little perturbed to find Special sprawled across my Ethan Allen couch snoring like a foghorn.

  It had been four days since Special moved in and our roommate arrangement was getting old fast. I noisily dropped my purse on the coffee table, causing Special to jump to her feet.

  “Girl, you scared me!” Her hair was matted to the left side of her head and mascara was smeared underneath her right eye.

  My face tensed as I took in my normally immaculate den. The grease stain on the arm of the couch hadn’t been there when I’d left that morning. A Chinese take-out container sat in the center of the wrought-iron coffee table next to a coasterless wine cooler bottle. Two half-open shoeboxes and a Nordstrom bag were strewn across the floor nearby. Jaheim’s voice floated from the stereo, but could barely be heard over The Fresh Prince rerun on the flat-screen TV.

  Special yawned and sat up. “You’re gonna have to start calling me on my cell to let me know when you’re coming home. You know how jumpy I am lately.”

  I definitely could not put up with my friend’s paranoia—not to mention her sloppiness—much longer.

  Special propped up her feet on the coffee table. Her toes were still sporting that gaudy pink nail polish.

  “I see you weren’t too worried about somebody following you at the mall,” I said, staring down at her new purchases.

  “Girl, you know how much shopping relaxes me. The four hours I spent at the Beverly Center today was the first time I’ve been able to relax since they tore up my apartment.”

  “I thought you were trying to save money to buy some new furniture,” I reminded her.

  “I needed this spending spree to help me with my emotional equilibrium. Shopping can do that, you know.”

  I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the far end of the couch. I wanted to watch the local news but I knew Special would complain if I changed the channel. I did not enjoy feeling like a guest in my own home.

  After a few minutes of “The Fresh Prince,” I traipsed into the bathroom, doused a hand towel with hot water and pressed it against my face. When I removed the towel, I nearly leapt two feet off the ground, startled by Special’s presence in the doorway.

  “You’re almost as jumpy as me,” Special said, chomping on a half-eaten egg roll. My eyes followed the crumbs that fell from Special’s mouth to my newly shampooed Berber carpet.

  “Did Melissa get back to you about the documents?” Special took another sloppy bite of her egg roll.

  “Yeah, but she has no idea what they are,” I replied. “She wanted to show them to this engineer she knows, but I told her to hold off. We need to be careful who we drag into this.”

  “Isn’t there anyone else you trust who can look at them?”

  “Yep.” I blotted my face with the towel and reached for a bottle of moisturizer.

  “Who?” Special asked anxiously.

  “Bradley Davis.”

  “That fine-ass lawyer you used to call me up and brag about every time you had sex with him?”

  My face scrunched up all by itself. “I did not call you every time I had sex with him.”

  “Oh, yes the hell you did. And every single time you sounded like you’d just gotten off the Matterhorn at Disneyland. That brother was definitely rockin’ your world. I remember because I was jealous as hell. What does he know about engineering?”

  “He used to be a computer programmer and he handles a lot of engineering-related patent lawsuits.”

  “You better hope Jefferson doesn’t find out.”

  “Jefferson has nothing to worry about. I don’t want anything to do with Bradley.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Special said. “I know you love your husband and everything, but you ain’t never given me any indication that Jefferson was putting it down like Bradley.”

  “Maybe I don’t tell you everything. Anyway, let’s change the subject.”

  “Fine with me. You’re the one who brought him up.”

  I brushed past her and headed into the kitchen. Special stayed close on my heels like a hyperactive puppy.

  “So when is Bradley going to look at ’em?” Special asked.

  “I have a meeting at his house the day after tomorrow.”

  Special’s hands flew to her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me? I know you weren’t about to go over there without me.”

  Actually, that had been my plan. I stopped in my tracks when I got to the doorway of my kitchen. Dishes were piled up in the sink, the trash can lid was askew and there were three balled-up paper towels on the counter.

  “Special, we have a trash can and a dishwasher,” I complained.

  “I was going to clean up before I went to bed,” she said in a monotonous whine.

  I pulled open the refrigerator and reached for the bottle of cranberry
juice. The quart I had bought two days earlier barely had a drop left. I held up the empty bottle and eyed Special.

  “Girl, I’ve been really thirsty lately,” she said. “I’ll hook us up with some groceries when I get paid in two weeks. I just maxed out all my credit cards.”

  Two weeks? If Special was still here in two weeks, then I would be the one moving out.

  CHAPTER 58

  The following afternoon, Jefferson stepped across the threshold of his Baldwin Hills home and froze in place. His overnight bag fell to the floor and he stared at his living room in amazement, certain that he had somehow parked in the wrong driveway and entered the wrong front door.

  The place resembled the bedroom of a delinquent teenager. A big brown stain on the rug near the stereo caught his eye first. Clothes were strewn across the arm of the couch and an empty Starbucks cup and an open bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos occupied one of the end tables. He peered into the kitchen and could see a stack of dirty dishes on the countertop.

  Two days after Special had moved in, Vernetta had called him in a tirade, complaining about her best friend’s sloppiness. Jefferson figured she had been exaggerating. But now, seeing everything for himself, he realized that Vernetta had actually downplayed the situation.

  “C’mon in, man,” Jefferson said to Stan, who closed the door behind him. “You’ll have to excuse the mess.”

  They had driven to L.A. just for the night so Stan could surprise his wife for their wedding anniversary. It would be another couple of hours before she got off from work. Stan headed straight for the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

  “Man, doesn’t your wife eat?” Stan called out from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, but only if it’s from a take-out container,” Jefferson yelled back. “I’ll order some pizza.” He picked up a stack of mail from the sofa table near the front door and was going through it when he heard the doorknob turn.

  Special let out a frazzled yelp when she saw Jefferson standing in front of her. “You scared me to death!” She clutched her chest. “I was about to pull out my Mace.”