Murder on the Down Low

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “His boy? How do you know someone was waiting for him?”

  “Because I checked the other guy in. He was the one who always registered and ordered lunch. Two turkey sandwiches, two root beers and one Caesar salad. Every single time.”

  “How do you know what they ordered?”

  “My friend Miguel told me. He works in room service and delivered the food to their room. Every time he rolled his cart in there, the other guy was dressed in nothing but a robe.” She arched an eyebrow.

  J.C. pointed to the photograph of Dr. Banks. “Did this man ever check in at the desk?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how do you know he went to the same room as the other guy?”

  She leaned in even further, her head nearly touching J.C.’s. “The third time he came through, I followed him onto the elevator and he got off on the same floor as the President’s Suite and headed in that direction.” She raised both eyebrows this time as if to say, case closed.

  “So when they came back the following month, I knew what was up. I remembered the time they’d finished before, so I timed my break so I could walk past the room around the same time this guy,” she jabbed a finger at the photograph of Dr. Banks, “should have been coming out. And guess what? He did.”

  J.C. was finally beginning to believe that Patricia may have been right about her brother-in-law.

  “This guy was nice looking for an older guy,” the girl said, referring to Dr. Banks, “but the man he was meeting? Straight up fine. I checked him in, so I got to see him up close and personal. He gave me some story about being a songwriter and coming to the hotel because it helped with his creativity. He had a laptop under his arm, but I doubt he ever turned it on. It’s a shame.” Her lips puckered in disgust. “Men just aren’t men anymore.”

  J.C. eyed the name on the girl’s badge. “Hey, Tisha, can you check your records and tell me the name the man checked in under.”

  Tisha straightened up real quick. “Excuse me, but I need this job. If you want that information, you better come back with a subpoena.”

  Chapter 21

  I hope you know how lucky you are to be married to a secure brother like me.”

  Vernetta leaned back in her office chair and smiled at the sound of her husband’s voice on the telephone.

  “If you had some sexist, insecure dude,” Jefferson said, “he’d be down there banging on the law firm door, telling you to get your ass home and cook him some food.”

  It was almost nine and Vernetta still had another hour’s worth of editing on a discovery motion. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued typing. “I know how good I’ve got it. I’m the luckiest woman in L.A.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just called to tell you I picked up some Thai food.”

  “Great. I’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Well, hurry up. I’m horny.”

  “Why can’t you say something romantic, like I really miss you or I can’t wait for you to get home so I can make mad, passionate love to you.”

  Vernetta heard him chuckle and could imagine the grin on his face. “You know I ain’t with all that mushy stuff. That’s why you love me. ’Cuz I keep it real.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Vernetta had finished putting the final touches on the motion. She had almost made it to the elevators, but took a detour to the ladies’ room. As much as she wanted to get home, she couldn’t ignore the call of nature.

  Making a right off the hallway, she pushed in the door of the ladies’ room. Haley was standing in front of the mirror applying lipstick. The color was a shocking red, which provided way too much contrast against her white skin.

  “Working late, too?” Vernetta asked, walking up behind her. She figured she should at least attempt to have a civil conversation with the girl. “What case is keeping you so busy?”

  “Oh, uh . . . I uh . . .”

  She waited for Haley to respond. Her nervous reaction made Vernetta wonder if there might be reason for concern. Had Haley been busy undermining her again? As far as she knew, nothing big was cooking with the Vista Electronics case yet.

  “Nothing important,” Haley finally said. “I just decided to spend some time catching up on some new case law.”

  That’s bull. “Really? That’s quite a luxury. I’m usually too busy to spend time on work I can’t bill. We need to get you some new assignments,” she said playfully.

  Haley smiled, then tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Oh, I have plenty of work. But it pays to keep up with the latest cases. O’Reilly said my explanation of that new Ninth Circuit decision was one of the reasons we won that Vista Electronics case.”

  “We probably would’ve gotten it anyway,” Vernetta retorted. “We already do work for the company and the Assistant General Counsel loves O’Reilly.” Why was she letting this girl get to her?

  “And now, thank God, he loves me, too.” Haley dropped her lipstick into her purse. “Turns out he belongs to the same country club as my father.”

  Whoop-dee-doo. She had given it a try and Haley had only confirmed that it wasn’t worth it to even pretend to be her friend.

  Vernetta found an empty stall and was glad to find Haley gone when she came out. The girl was always throwing around her family connections. Vernetta was not going to concern herself with Haley’s antics tonight.

  O’Reilly approached as she was waiting for an elevator. He rarely worked this late. When their eyes met, she saw the same guilt-ridden look that had glazed Haley’s face.

  “Working late?” Vernetta asked for the second time that night.

  “A lawyer’s work is never done.” He half grinned, then transferred his black briefcase from one hand to the other.

  They waited in silence for the next elevator car. O’Reilly was Mr. Personality. Day or night. Vernetta had rarely seen him this tight-lipped. The elevator opened and they rode to the lobby without conversation. When they entered the parking garage, O’Reilly didn’t bother to say good-bye.

  Vernetta found it strange that both O’Reilly and Haley were working late. Her mind went back to the possibility that the two of them had been working on something pertaining to the Vista Electronics case. Were they excluding her again?

  As she started up her SUV, she dismissed the thought and scolded herself for being so paranoid.

  Chapter 22

  Eugene woke up Wednesday morning just before seven with the hangover of all hangovers. He had hoped that the last twenty-four hours had simply been a bad dream. But the shock and embarrassment of the email and the wrongful death lawsuit rushed back to him the second he opened his eyes.

  When he arrived home the night before, he had indulged in the one activity guaranteed to ease his pain. Getting blasted. Eugene wasn’t much of a drinker, so it didn’t take much. After a half pint of Cognac, he could barely stand up. So much for his health kick.

  He’d stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night to take a leak and thought about calling Belynda, but decided that he had already burdened her enough with his problems.

  An explosion of sound coming from the alarm clock startled him. Eugene reached out to shut it off, but couldn’t seem to find the right button. Each shrill buzz felt like a gong pounding inside his head. He finally hurled the clock across the room, denting the wall and shattering it into several pieces.

  Eugene stared at the ceiling as he relived the previous day’s events. Once Liam left his office, Eugene pulled himself together and decided to face things like a man. He made an appointment with the managing partner of the Corporate Law Department and marched into his office with his head held high. He could handle the lawsuit, but Special’s vicious email was another story. Computer hacking was a federal crime. He wanted the firm to deal with that.

  Eugene tapped on the office door of Charles W. Benton.

  A ruddy-faced man in his mid-sixties, Benton was an introvert who enjoyed drafting contracts more than talking to people. “Have a seat,” Benton said.

&
nbsp; “No, thanks.” Eugene closed the door. “I won’t be here that long.” He felt an odd sense of power standing over the rich, balding white man. He was actually surprised at how calm he felt. As he peered down at his superior, he was glad he’d worn his Hugo Boss.

  “I have a couple of requests.” Eugene was careful not to stand so close that Benton might deem him a physical threat. “First, I’d like to take a three-month leave of absence. There are some personal matters that I need to attend to.” He would leave it at that. He wasn’t about to try to explain away the vile email, and he was glad Benton knew nothing about the lawsuit. Yet.

  Benton nodded, seemingly relieved. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He steepled his chubby fingers.

  Eugene figured they would eventually ask him to leave the firm. Especially if the lawsuit was widely covered by the media. Ramsey & King valued its reputation more than anything else. His preemptive strike let them off the hook. He had no intention of returning, but he wanted to keep his options open. Just in case.

  Benton picked up a silver pen and gently tapped it on the desk, a sign that he was just as uncomfortable with this conversation as Eugene. He was a straight-laced Mormon with eight kids. No telling what he’d thought after reading Special’s email.

  “I’m not asking for a paid leave, but I’d like my medical benefits to continue.”

  Benton adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “That shouldn’t be a problem either.”

  “My next request—” Eugene stopped to clear his throat. He hated even acknowledging the damn email. “I want to make sure the firm plans to pursue charges against the individual who sent that email. I have an idea of who may be responsible.”

  Benton nodded. “We’ve already retained an investigator who’s a specialist in computer forensics. You should pass any information you have over to Todd in IT. We’re obviously concerned about the vulnerability of our communications system.”

  Eugene was glad to hear that. Special probably had no idea how much trouble she was in. At the height of his rage, Eugene had wanted to call her, but Liam had talked him out of it. The legal system would deal with her.

  Back in his office, Eugene prepared a status memo regarding each of his cases, which took him about two hours to complete. He packed a few personal items and walked out, ignoring everyone he passed. Even his long-time secretary had given him the cold shoulder. That had hurt more than anything else.

  Now, as he lay in bed, Eugene realized that his job was the least of his worries. Leaving the firm had been on his mind lately because of the impact of stress on his disease. He could easily afford to take several months off before looking for another job. He had an MBA from Wharton, a Stanford law degree, and was in great shape financially, with a year’s salary sitting in a money market account and four times that in stocks and bonds. The home he purchased in foreclosure was practically paid for and he owned a four-unit apartment complex.

  Eugene sat up, lifted his laptop from the nightstand and logged onto the Internet. Liam had given him the name of a friend who worked at the Gay and Lesbian Center in L.A. Eugene was hoping the organization might be able to refer him to a good lawyer who would be as outraged by the lawsuit as he was.

  He pulled up the organization’s website, jotted down the address, then hopped out of bed. After a bowl of instant oatmeal with chopped bananas and a quick shower, he noticed that his hangover had all but disappeared. His spirits had lifted considerably by the time he hopped into his BMW. He popped in a Angie Stone CD, hit the garage door opener, and backed down the driveway.

  It was not until he had almost reached the street that he saw the mass of black dots scattered about his driveway. He threw the car into park and jumped out without turning off the engine.

  “Goddamn it!” Dozens of tiny nails were embedded in his tires.

  He circled the car in an angry rage, gingerly dodging the nails. All four of his tires were ruined.

  Eugene pulled the car out into the street and parked it along the curb. He took his BlackBerry from his briefcase and fumbled through his electronic phonebook until he found Special’s name and number. Maya had insisted that he have the numbers of the people closest to her in case of an emergency.

  He was trying to get right with God, but he wasn’t about to turn the other cheek. If Special wanted a war, he would give her one. He dialed the first three digits of her number, then stopped. There was no way he would be able to have a civil conversation with her, so why even try? He thought about calling Vernetta, then dialed Nichelle’s law office instead.

  She picked up on the second ring. “You need to tell your buddy Special to lay off.” Eugene tried to sound calm.

  “What are you talking about?” Nichelle asked.

  “She hacked into my law firm’s computer system and sent a vicious, defamatory email to everybody in the firm. I’ll send you a copy. And she also tossed nails in my driveway, ruining my tires.”

  Nichelle gasped. “How do you know Special had anything to do with any of that?”

  “The same way you know she did,” Eugene snarled. “I’m not going to call the cops this time only out of respect for Maya. But if she keeps fucking with me, I won’t be the only one defending a lawsuit.”

  Nichelle didn’t say anything.

  “And your lawsuit is bullshit,” Eugene said. “I loved Maya. I wouldn’t have purposely—”

  “You made the decision not to tell Maya about your other life and you infected her. That’s negligence any way you look at it.”

  Nichelle’s haughty tone surprised him. She was usually pretty non-confrontational. Of all Maya’s friends, he liked her the best.

  “We’ll let a judge decide that,” he replied, then hung up.

  Eugene pulled his Auto Club card from his wallet, dialed the 800 number and requested a tow truck to take him to the nearest tire store.

  Chapter 23

  Later that evening, Special and Nichelle sat at the bar of Magic Johnson’s T.G.I. Friday’s restaurant in the Ladera Center, staring up at the television screen.

  “How much longer before they run your interview?” Special asked anxiously.

  Nichelle spread her hands. “I have no idea.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, girlfriend, but what did you wear?”

  Nichelle rolled her eyes. “I know how to dress, okay?”

  Special only hoped so.  At the moment, Nichelle was wearing leopard-skin jeans and a black chiffon blouse with way too many ruffles.

  J.C. slid onto the stool next to Nichelle. “Where’s Vernetta?”

  Special yawned. “Couldn’t make it. Billable hours.”

  “How’s everything going with you and Clayton?” Nichelle asked.

  “Okay, I guess. But it’s not easy dating a man who lives way across the country.”

  “I thought Vernetta was fixing you up with Jefferson’s cousin,” J.C. said.

  Special flicked the air with her hand. “That man wasn’t even out here a week before some hoochie secretary at his office snagged his ass. It’s Vernetta’s fault. She took too long to set it up.”

  Nichelle laughed. “Girl, you—”

  “Shhhhh! This is it!” Special seemed more excited about the story than Nichelle. “Hey, Keith,” Special called out to the bartender, “can you turn up the volume for just a sec?”

  The bartender hit a button on the counter and the anchorman’s voice drowned out the soft jazz from the restaurant’s speaker system.

  In one of the first such cases filed in L.A. county, a local attorney is being sued for wrongful death for allegedly infecting his fiancée with the AIDS virus.

  The anchorman tossed to a reporter in the field who gave a brief summary of the lawsuit. A photograph of Eugene filled the screen.

  “How’d they get that picture?” Special asked.

  Nichelle smiled. “Eugene’s law firm website.”

  The three friends watched in rapt attention as the scene switched to Nichelle’s office.

/>   Special squeezed Nichelle’s arm. “You look good, girl!”

  Nichelle sat behind her desk dressed in a conservative, dark blue pinstriped suit. The camera moved in for her sound bite.

  African-American women are being stricken with the AIDS virus at a faster rate than any other group. And the majority of these women are being infected through heterosexual sex. They are innocent victims who know nothing about their men’s secret homosexual lives. One of my closest friends, Maya Washington, died because of her fiancé’s deceit. The purpose of this lawsuit is twofold. First, to obtain financial compensation for Maya’s family, and second, to let Eugene Nelson and other men like him know that they can’t endanger women’s lives and get away with it.

  “You go, girl!” Special cheered when the report was over. She gave Nichelle a high five, followed by a big hug.

  “Nice publicity,” J.C. said. “How’d you swing that?”

  “A friend of mine runs the assignment desk at Channel 2. I have interviews with two radio stations tomorrow.”

  “Cool!” Special beamed. “I hope this case gets so much publicity Eugene can’t even find a closet to hide in.”

  “I heard you’ve been pretty busy lately.” J.C. leaned forward over the bar to make eye contact with Special. “I got a call from Eugene earlier today.”

  “He called me, too,” Nichelle said. “I already read her the riot act.”

  Special picked up her Long Island iced tea and took a noisy sip. “I have no idea what y’all are talking about.”

  “Special, you better back off,” J.C. warned. “And you better hope nobody saw you toss those nails in Eugene’s driveway and that his firm isn’t able to trace that email back to you. I promised him that you weren’t going to bother him again.”