“That heffa messed up real bad tonight,” Special muttered. “The only thing I had against her was what she did to you. Now it’s personal.”
CHAPTER 71
I had managed to get Special calmed down by the time we made it to the parking garage. Then she spotted Girlie’s Jag with the HotGirl license plates and revved up all over again.
“That’s just trashy.” Special walked up to Girlie’s car like she wanted to punch it. “And did you see the way that heffa was grinding all up against that man on the dance floor? I think she—”
“Good night, Special.” I gave her a hug and tugged her toward her car a few feet away. I waited as she climbed inside, still fussing about Girlie.
I knew my buddy better than I knew myself. I wouldn’t put it past her to actually come back to key Girlie’s car. So I waited for her to pull out and I drove behind her to make sure she actually left the parking garage.
As I entered the on-ramp for the southbound Harbor Freeway, I started to grapple with my own emotions. Having to hear about my husband’s money problems from Special and not from him, left me both hurt and angry. I had no idea that it had gotten serious enough for him to consider getting a loan from the Community of Islam.
I was about to transition from the Harbor to the Santa Monica Freeway when I changed destinations. I continued south on the Harbor Freeway, toward Jefferson’s worksite in Inglewood. He’d been putting in some long days, so I knew he’d still be there.
When I stepped inside the trailer, I found Jefferson and his business partner, Stan, sitting around a scarred, metal table that was too large for the small space. The dingy, makeshift office smelled of leftover Mexican food.
“Hey,” Jefferson said, his face bunched up in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”
“We need to talk.” Both of my hands zoomed to my hips.
“Hey, bruh,” Stan teased, “looks like you’re in some serious trouble.”
“I’m in the middle of something right now, babe. Can this wait?”
“Nope.”
Stan picked up a blueprint from the desk and started rolling it up. “I think I better give you some time to talk to your woman.”
“If I hear you in here gettin’ an ass whippin’,” Stan said, “I’ll be sure to call nine-one-one.” He backed out of the trailer on his tiptoes as if he was afraid of me.
Jefferson’s jaw tightened. He waited until Stan was gone before speaking. “What was that about?”
“I need to know why you didn’t tell me you were having financial problems?”
It took him a long time to respond. Jefferson had a habit of measuring his words when he was upset. It was probably a trait I needed to learn.
“What you just did was way out of line. I didn’t tell you what was going on because I know how to handle my business.”
“We’re married. This is something you should’ve talked to me about. Particularly if you’re getting a loan from the Community of Islam.”
“Oh, now I get it. That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Like I said before, whenever you hear the words Community of Islam, you go ape shit.”
“I need to know what’s going on.”
“Nothin’s going on. I’m handling my business. And right now I gotta get back to work. Stan and I need to finish going over those blueprints.”
He tried to move past me, but I took a step sideways, blocking his path. “We need to talk, Jefferson.”
“Babe, this is not a good time. If you wanna talk, we’ll do it when I get home.”
He blew out a long breath and I could tell he was exhausted. But I didn’t want to talk at home. I wanted to talk now.
Jefferson finally stepped around me and grabbed his baseball cap from the top of the file cabinet.
“This is some bullshit. A Muslim woman would never pull no crap like this. She would respect her man.”
My body’s thermostat lurched ten degrees higher. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me. That’s the problem with black women. Y’all don’t know when to back the hell up.”
“Maybe you need to take your ass down to the mosque and find yourself a nice, obedient Muslim woman.”
Jefferson slapped on his cap, then snatched the doorknob so hard the entire trailer shook. “Right now I wish I could.”
It was well past midnight when I finally returned home. After leaving Jefferson’s worksite, I stopped by my parents’ place in Compton for a long visit, then went to Special’s house in Leimert Park. I wanted to spend the night, but Special insisted that I go home and make up with my husband. To his credit, Jefferson had called my iPhone three times, but I didn’t pick up.
When I walked in, Jefferson was in the den watching television and nursing a beer. I walked right past him toward the bedroom.
I had just unzipped my skirt when I noticed him standing in the doorway.
“We need to talk.”
“Oh, so now you want to talk?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ll be in the den.”
I had no intention of talking to him tonight. I finished undressing, slipped into my nightgown and climbed into bed. But after only a few minutes of sulking, I changed my mind. I entered the den and took a seat in the armchair adjacent to the couch where Jefferson was sitting.
“So, you ready to tell me what’s going on?” I began.
“One of my subcontractors on the project in Inglewood took some shortcuts. I need about seventy-five grand to make everything right.”
“If you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because it’s my problem, not yours.”
“We’re married. Your problem is my problem.”
He raised the beer can to his lips and took a sip.
“You know what I like most about going to the mosque?”
I didn’t like the fact that he was changing the subject, but decided not to point that out.
“Hanging out with those brothers makes me feel like a man.” His voice was almost wistful. “I ain’t saying I didn’t feel like a man before I walked in there, but it’s just cool to connect with some brothers who are all about lifting each other up.”
“You trying to tell me that I don’t make you feel like a man?”
He ignored my question. “You were wrong for coming at me like that tonight.”
“And you were wrong for telling me I need to act like a Muslim woman.”
The sound of nothingness filled the room.
Jefferson reached for the remote control. “I want you to watch something.”
“I don’t want to see a Community of Islam video. It’s late and I have to—”
“Just hold on a minute and do this for me, okay? Come sit over here.”
I took my time joining him on the couch. I waited while he browsed the list of shows he’d TiVo’d. When he finally found what he was looking for, it surprised me. It was a segment of Oprah.
“This is what you wanted me to watch?”
“Yep. I recorded it the other night. And can you do me a favor and watch it without offering any legal analysis?”
I huffed and clasped my hands.
The show was about a young black man convicted of robbing a check-cashing store. Surveillance cameras caught the entire robbery on tape. What made the show Oprah worthy was that in the midst of the robbery the female clerk asked the robber to pray with her. The man actually dropped to his knees and they tearfully prayed together.
Now I was really confused. Was my husband trying to tell me he was ready to go out and rob somebody to get the money he needed?
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Just hold on.” Jefferson fast-forwarded through the first commercial break. “You need to see the rest of it.”
In the next segment, the robber was Skyped in live from jail, while his mother, his wife and the store clerk were on set with Oprah. The young man talked about losing his job and being at wit’s end. His tearful mother and wife expressed regret about constantly riding h
im for not being able to support his family. When the show ended, Jefferson muted the television.
“When I was watching that show the other night,” he said, “I could imagine that brother coming home day after day listening to his wife and his mama constantly telling him he wasn’t shit because he didn’t have a job and couldn’t support his family.” He turned and smiled at me. “And you know you sistahs have tongues sharp enough to slice steel.”
I was not pleased that he was putting me in that category. “That’s not me. I’ve always supported you.”
“I know that. But sometimes a man doesn’t want to lean on anybody else. That dude had never even been arrested before. If he’d gotten just an ounce of support at home, he might’ve made some different choices.”
Jefferson paused to take a sip of his beer.
“So my point in saying all this is that I need your support right now. I don’t need you demanding answers or offering me your help or even your money. This is my problem and it’s a problem I have to fix.”
“But why can’t I help you? I’m a lawyer. There might be legal grounds to—”
“I understand all that. And it if gets that serious, I’ll come to you. But right now, I need you to back up off me and let me handle my business my way.”
He embraced me with both arms and rested his chin on top of my head. “Okay?”
No, it was not okay.
I wanted to know whether he’d borrowed money from the Community of Islam, but I was bright enough to realize that now was not the time to demand an answer to that question. So I backed off and said exactly what my husband needed me to say.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER 72
Mankowski wasn’t happy about his immediate predicament, but it was a little late for regrets now.
He was sitting on Girlie’s living room couch, waiting for her to return from the kitchen with their drinks. Mankowski had accepted Girlie’s invitation in hopes of getting information. He just had to remember that. He was here for official business. Nothing else.
Mankowski stared down at his groin. “This is business,” he mumbled. “Don’t forget that.”
The place, like Girlie, was pretty snazzy. Shiny, high-tech furniture, oddly shaped couches and chairs, lots of greenery.
“Two rum and Cokes,” she said cheerily, gliding back into the room and setting the glasses on the bamboo coffee table in front of them. To his dismay she had slipped out of her business suit and into a long, red silk robe. Knowing Girlie, she had nothing on underneath it.
It was going to be damn hard to keep it inside his pants tonight. But he would. Screwing her now would be far more trouble than it was worth.
She eased closer to him on the couch. “So tell me why I shouldn’t take it personally that you’ve been avoiding me?”
“Work,” Mankowski replied.
Girlie brought the glass to her lips. “Not buying it. Even now, you’re acting like you’re afraid I’m going to bite you.” She winked. “But if you’re into that kind of thing, I can definitely accommodate.”
Mankowski smiled and pretended to take a sip from the glass. Drinking on the job was also a definite no-no.
“I really don’t like your quiet side, detective. And I have to tell you, I usually don’t get this kind of frigid reaction from men who’ve experienced me in bed.”
I’ll bet.
Mankowski smiled as Girlie extended her arm along the back of the couch, allowing her robe to fall open, giving him a peek at her shapely headlights. He had to summon all of his mental powers to fight off an approaching boner. Thinking back to seeing Girlie walking out of the Four Seasons right behind Phillip helped quite a bit. The thought of Girlie doing what she’d done to him to that sleazebag disgusted him.
They were still waiting to get the results of Robby Irving’s DNA test. Despite his declarations of innocence, Mankowski figured there was a 50/50 possibility that his DNA would match. If it did, they’d still need more evidence to conclusively determine whether Phillip or Robby was the killer. Neither had an alibi and both had a motive.
Regardless, it didn’t mean that Phillip and Girlie hadn’t cooked up some scheme involving those Big Buy documents. Maybe he should just follow Thomas’ advice and tell Girlie that he knew she was screwing Phillip and see how she reacted.
“I have something I need to ask you,” Mankowski struggled to keep his eyes off her breasts. Then he noticed that her nipples had hardened and were protruding against the silk fabric. He could still remember how they tasted.
“Okay. Ask me anything you want.” She stirred her drink with her index finger, then stuck it into her mouth and sucked on it.
Mankowski looked away. What he really wanted was to have those lips suck him off again. But he had to keep his mind on business.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were screwing Phillip Peterman?”
“What?” Girlie flinched, spilling her drink on the couch. “What are you talking about? Wait. Let me go get a towel first.”
Damn, she’s good. He figured she was in the kitchen getting her story together.
Girlie returned, dabbed at the wet spot on the couch, then sat back down.
Mankowski noticed that she had loosened the belt of her robe, exposing a wider view of her breasts. She was trying to knock him off track with those gorgeous tits.
“Why would you ask me that? I already told you I didn’t know the guy.”
“Then what were you doing with him at a hotel last week?”
This time a subtle twitch of her right eye gave her away. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, detective, but it’s wrong. I wasn’t with him at a hotel last week.”
“Are you saying you weren’t at the Four Seasons on Doheny a week ago Monday?”
This was the real test. Mankowski knew what he’d seen with his own eyes.
Girlie stomped over to a sofa table, picked up her purse and pulled out her smartphone. He assumed she was checking her calendar.
“Yeah, I was there last week.” She turned to face him, her face as red as her robe now. “I had a meeting with a client, an in-house attorney for Paramount. He suggested that we meet for lunch at the hotel.”
Everybody said she was smart. Of course, she would have a legitimate reason to be there in case she got caught.
“So you weren’t there to meet Phillip Peterman?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t see him at all while you were there?”
“Absolutely not.” She held up her palm.
“And you’ve never seen those Big Buy documents Judi Irving supposedly had?”
“Nope.”
He was pretty good with lying criminals. But he was at a loss with Girlie. He had no clue from her demeanor whether she was lying or telling the truth.
“Next question.”
“My partner thinks either you screwed Phillip for those Big Buy documents or paid him for them. Maybe both.”
“I don’t care what your partner thinks. But I do care what you think.”
He shrugged. “I think either scenario is possible.”
Anger tightened her lips. “Why in the world would I do that?”
“I understand that those documents could’ve damaged your client’s case. I hear you like to win.”
“I do like to win. But I didn’t need any help doing that, as demonstrated by the way the case was resolved. I got Vernetta Henderson’s class action dismissed. You need to check your facts before you go falsely accusing people. Especially people you’re sleeping with.”
Was that a threat?
Maybe getting him in bed was all part of her plan from the beginning? He remembered seeing cameras outside the front of her house, which meant she now had videotape of him coming to her place. She could get a lot of mileage out of that. If charges were ever filed against her, she would of course argue that their relationship tainted his investigation.
“What do you want me to do? Take a lie detector test?”
“Those tests aren’t reliable.”
“I disagree.”
“And they’re also inadmissible in court. Anyway, I’d never advise a client to take a polygraph and I’d be a pretty stupid lawyer if I did it myself.”
Mankowski stood up. “That wouldn’t matter if you didn’t have anything to hide.”
Girlie laughed. It was the kind of nervous laughter he’d heard from criminals who thought they were too smart to get caught. “I can’t believe this. You really don’t believe me.”
“No, I don’t.”
He headed for the door and had pulled it open when Girlie placed her hands on top of his.
“I’m telling the truth.”
Mankowski wanted to shake her hand away, but he also wanted to ram it down his pants. Her eyes pleaded with him and he almost gave in.
“I gotta go,” he said. “And for the record, I really do think you’re lying.”
Girlie’s hand squeezed his forearm.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She spoke hesitantly, as if she was uncertain of her next words. “I’ll take the damn polygraph,” she said. “Set it up.”
CHAPTER 73
The most important lesson that Special had learned from her buddy Eli was that a good investigator always started at the beginning, meticulously turning over every stone from the past to the present. No matter how insignificant a piece of evidence might seem, there was always the chance that it might lead to something that could break a case wide open.
With that approach in mind, Special had spent hours scouring the Internet, reading anything she could find about Girlie Cortez. But so far, nothing. Special refused to become discouraged. If she gave up this easily, she might as well forget about being a private investigator. Patience, Eli had said, was just as important as perseverance.
Her job in collections at Verizon gave Special the freedom to sneak in time on the Internet when she should have been working. She hit a few keys on her desktop computer and called up Girlie’s Facebook page. Everything there was related to her law practice. Girlie wasn’t stupid enough to put all her business on the web, so she didn’t find out anything helpful. She did learn that Girlie graduated from Cerritos High School.
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