In Firm Pursuit (19 page)

J
ust after seven on Monday morning, I walked into the lobby of the O'Reilly & Finney building and spotted Haley coming out of Starbucks. I looked directly at her, but she pretended not to see me and headed in the opposite direction. I just hoped running into her this early in the morning was not an omen about how the rest of my day would go.

When I got to my office, I had a zillion e-mail messages to read and several phone calls to return, but no major fires to put out. After responding to a few e-mails, I scanned the Internet to see if there were any new reports concerning Micronics's GAP-7 Program and the crash of that transport plane in Iraq. But the story seemed to have run its course.

I worked until almost eight, then headed over to 24 Hour Fitness for a late-night workout. After forty-five minutes on the treadmill and one hundred sit-ups, I retired to the dry sauna.

I had the tiny wooden room all to myself for about twenty minutes. Then somebody invaded my space.

“Wow, it's really hot in here tonight,” said an unfamiliar voice.

I was stretched out on an upper bench, lying on my stomach with my head facing the back wall. I did not appreciate the intrusion. I hoped my silence would communicate to my intruder that I was not in the mood for conversation.

“You're an attorney, aren't you?”

I did not bother to open my eyes or turn around to check out my sauna mate. I was too exhausted to care how this woman knew what I did for a living. I just wanted her to cut the small talk. I responded with a curt “Yes.”

“And don't you represent Micronics?”

At that question, I perked up. Resting my upper body on my forearms, I turned to face the woman. She was African-American, probably in her late fifties, with speckles of gray throughout her short, stylish haircut. Her face looked vaguely familiar, but I could not place it. She had on a bright orange, one-piece bathing suit and was holding a paperback book. I only hoped she would start reading it.

“Look, let me be honest,” the woman continued, apparently sensing my frustration. “I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time. My name is Norma. Norma Brown. I work in HR at Micronics. I'm an administrative assistant. I've seen you meeting with Rich Ferris. He's my boss. I've also seen you here a couple of times and I've been hoping to run into you again. I was too afraid to call your office. Tonight I finally got lucky.”

I turned over on my back and closed my eyes. I knew precisely what was coming next. The woman was having a problem at work and wanted me to do something about it.

“I need to talk to you about the Randle case,” she said, a little less timidly now. “There's some crazy stuff going on down there. The way they treated that man just wasn't right.”

My eyes popped opened. The Randle case was the last subject I wanted to talk about. The best thing about my trip to San Diego was that it allowed me some time to think about something other than Henry Randle and Karen Carruthers. “I'm not handling that case anymore,” I said.

“I just couldn't sit by and do nothing,” Norma continued as if she had not heard a word I said. “I thought about calling Randle's attorney, but I'm not trying to lose my job or nothing. I figured since you work for the company, if you really knew what was going on, you might be able to do something about it.”

The woman opened the center of the book and pulled out some papers that were folded into quarters. “I have something I want you to take a look at.” She unfolded the papers and extended them to me.

I did not reach for them. “What's that?”

“It's a report about the Randle case prepared by one of our former attorneys. I worked with Mr. Randle for close to ten years. Ain't no way he grabbed that woman. And this report proves that he didn't.”

“Where'd you get that?”

“Somebody left it on the copy machine and I made a copy of it.”

“I can't look at that,” I said. “And you could get into a lot of trouble for making a copy.”

Norma looked both shocked and hurt.

I knew something was not kosher with the Randle case. And after Carruthers's death and the news story about that plane crash, my doubts about the case had only grown. But for all I knew, this could be another setup. I didn't buy Porter's story that Micronics was only surveilling Randle and his attorneys. I wouldn't put it past them to hire somebody like Norma to put me to the test.

A sun-starved white woman strolled into the sauna and flopped down on the bench next to Norma and started slapping lemon-scented oil on her arms and legs. After about two minutes of heavy panting, she left.

Norma folded the papers and placed them back inside the book. As she got up to leave, I began to feel bad about brushing her off.

“Look, I'm not sure what's going on,” I said, just before Norma made it to the door. “But I agree with you. Something isn't right about that case.”

I knew I was taking a chance, but I was dying to know once and for all whether Randle was being framed. Maybe the papers in Norma's hand could tell me. I climbed down to the lower bench.

“Why don't you sit back down?” I said.

A hopeful smile spread across Norma's face and she eagerly took a seat next to me.

“It's not a good idea for me to look at that report,” I continued. “If anyone ever asks me if I've seen it, I want to be able to say I haven't.”

Disappointment resurfaced on Norma's face. Her shoulders fell and she started to rise from the bench.

“No, wait,” I said, gently touching her forearm. “I'm only saying I don't want to read it myself. Why don't you read it to me instead?”

T
hat same night, Special sat quietly in her hot-pink bedroom, perched on the edge of her king-size bed, contemplating a very important decision. Should she look at the nanny cam tape she had retrieved from Jefferson's office or toss it into the trash and forget the whole thing?

Special had debated that question for most of the day and hadn't gotten a lick of work done. While she didn't know whether she should look at the tape, there was one thing she was one-hundred-percent sure about. If she found out that Jefferson was screwing around with LaKeesha, she had no intention of telling Vernetta about it. She knew from experience that women did not like hearing from other women—even their closest friends—that their men were not all that.

After sitting there for a few more minutes, her curiosity won out. She said a quick prayer, then pressed the small tape into a special cartridge and slid it into the VCR machine underneath the TV at the foot of her bed. She positioned herself cross-legged on her Donna Karan bedspread and stared at the remote control for several seconds, giving herself one last chance to back out. She took a long, deep breath, then hit the Play button.

The first few seconds of the video were dark and grainy, then a much lighter static shot of the inside of the trailer came into view. The picture wasn't great, but Special could make out herself and Jefferson inside the trailer. Stan walked in a few seconds later. Special turned up her nose as she watched Stan kiss her on the cheek.

Once Special left the trailer, Stan started going on and on about what a good time he was going to have taking her out to dinner. A shiver went through her as she listened.

“Man, you think she'll let me hit it tonight?” Stan asked, slobbering with excitement.

“Forget it,” Jefferson warned. “Special's way out of your league.”

“You're underestimating me, my brother. If a man's willing to put enough cash on the table, he can get any woman he wants.”

“Stan, you could put the entire Bank of America on the table and Special still ain't giving you none,” Jefferson said.

Special smiled. “Whew! Thank you, brother-in-law!” she said out loud.

After a few more minutes of braggadocios talk by Stan, they both headed for the door. The tape went dark when Jefferson turned out the lights.

Special picked up the remote and fast-forwarded through several hours of video until the picture lightened up again. She shook her head at the sight of Stan walking into the trailer carrying three boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. She zipped past him making coffee and studying some blueprints, but stopped the tape when
LaKeesha entered the trailer. She was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt, which she had tied into a knot at the waist.

Special grimaced. “That girl's breasts are going to be dragging the ground by the time she's thirty if somebody don't teach her ass to wear a bra!”

She watched in disgust as Stan stared at LaKeesha's chest, which LaKeesha pretended not to notice. When the girl bent over to get something from the refrigerator, Stan gawked at her ass.

“Old dog!” Special shouted at the television screen.

Stan gave LaKeesha some actual work to do, then left. Jefferson walked in about five minutes later.

Special picked up the remote and turned up the volume. The first thing she noticed was that LaKeesha and Jefferson seemed to be ignoring each other. Special hit the Pause button. She was certain Jefferson had not said hello to the girl when he walked in, but maybe she had missed it. She rewound the tape, hit Play again and listened more closely. She was right. Jefferson had not said a word to LaKeesha and LaKeesha had not acknowledged him either.

“Dang!” Special said, slapping her hand against her thigh. “Something definitely went down between them two.”

As the tape continued to roll, Special noticed that every few seconds, LaKeesha looked over at Jefferson, as if she were trying to catch him watching her. Apparently irritated because he was not, LaKeesha walked over to Jefferson's desk. She stood in front of him, nothing but attitude on her face. Jefferson pulled a tablet from a side drawer and started writing, ignoring her.

“You know,” LaKeesha said, “your wife didn't look nothing like I thought she would. She's cute and all, but I expected you to be with somebody much hotter. You can do a lot better.”

Jefferson stopped writing. “I'm busy right now,” he said without looking up.

“And her bitchy little friend with the stupid ass name, she has some serious issues.”

Special hit the Pause button and hopped off the bed. “I should drive down there right now and whip that heffa's ass!” She closed her eyes, counted to five, then hit Play again.

“I was talking to one of my friends about you last night,” LaKeesha said, smiling down at Jefferson. “She told me I should sue you for sexual harassment.”

This time, Special hit the Pause button and fell back onto the bed. “No! No! No! No! No!” So Jefferson
had
screwed the girl.
How could he be so stupid?

Special did not think she could handle watching the rest of the tape without a drink. She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator. After removing the cork, she opened the cabinet to look for a wineglass, then changed her mind. She did not need a glass. She would probably have to drink the whole bottle after hearing what else LaKeesha had to say.

Back in the bedroom, Special sat down on the edge of the bed and hit the Rewind button. She listened a second time as LaKeesha told Jefferson that she should sue him for sexual harassment. Jefferson took a long time to
respond. He started writing again, while LaKeesha leered at him. After almost a full minute, Jefferson slowly pushed his chair back from his desk and looked up at her.

“You can't sue me for sexual harassment, LaKeesha, because I haven't harassed you,” he said calmly.

“I know you didn't harass me,” LaKeesha said, smiling deviously. “But in a court of law, it's my word against yours. And who do you think they're going to believe? The cute, young college student or the older, married man whose wife is out of town?”

Special's mouth fell open. She hit the Pause button again. So Jefferson
hadn't
been with LaKeesha!
Thank you, Jesus!
Special was so relieved she wanted to cry. She took a long, sloppy chug from the wine bottle, almost choking as wine doused her blouse. When she was done coughing, she hit Play again.

Jefferson could only stare at LaKeesha, his face a mixture of anger and shock.

“This is what we're going to do,” LaKeesha said, tossing a handful of braids over her shoulder. “I think I need a raise. Five hundred dollars a month ought to do it—for now. Otherwise, I'm going to call a lawyer and tell him I've been sexually harassed by my boss, who owns a successful electrical contracting company.”

“But you don't have a case,” Jefferson said, still playing it cool.

“I'll make one up,” LaKeesha fired back, both hands gripping her hips. “So pull out that checkbook and start writing.”

At first, Jefferson just sat there. Then he exhaled and
his whole body seemed to droop in defeat. He pulled some keys from the pocket of his jeans and unlocked the middle drawer of his desk. When Special saw what she recognized as a business-size checkbook, she jumped off the bed.

“You better not give that bitch a dime!” Special yelled at the television screen. She watched in horror as Jefferson scribbled across a check, tore it out of the checkbook and held it out to LaKeesha.

Jefferson got up. “Here's what we owe you, plus an extra week,” he said, his voice angry, but not raised. “Now get your shit and get the fuck out. You're fired.”

LaKeesha dropped her arms to her side, stunned. She snatched the check from him. “You think I won't sue you?” she screamed. “I will! I swear, I will!”

“Bring it on,” Jefferson said. “I'm married to a lawyer, remember? And if you think she'll believe anything you say over what I tell her, you've got it all wrong. Now get out.”

LaKeesha grabbed her book bag from behind Stan's desk. “My lawyer'll be calling you!”

Jefferson smiled at her. “Like I said, bring it on.”

LaKeesha stormed out, slamming the trailer door behind her.

Jefferson sat back down, planted his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands. He closed his eyes and his lips started moving, but the tape did not pick up his words. If Special didn't know better, she could have sworn the man was praying. Jefferson got up after a couple of minutes and poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed a long tube from the corner, then walked out of the trailer.

Special hit the Stop button on the remote control and took another long swig from the wine bottle.

“You did good, brother-in-law,” she said, her pulse still racing from all the excitement. “You did really, really good.”