Murder on the Down Low (24 page)

It was close to ten that night before Special walked out of the Inmate Reception Center. Sam called a friend in the D.A.’s office and managed to get her released from jail on her own recognizance.

J.C. escorted Special into a crowded room where Vernetta and Nichelle had been waiting for more than two hours. They all just stood there. Vernetta couldn’t ever remember being this mad at her best friend. But she would save her tirade for later.

Vernetta, Special and Nichelle made their way to Vernetta’s SUV which was parked in a lot across the street. As they pulled onto the street, Special finally broke the lethal silence. “I couldn’t help it,” she said.

“Is that what you’re going to tell the jury when they sentence you to prison for ten years?” Vernetta asked.

“Ten years?” Special replied in alarm. “You can’t get ten years just for spraying somebody with pepper spray, can you?”

“What you did constitutes a hate crime. You certainly aren’t getting out of this with a slap on the wrist. Attacking the man like that was just plain stupid.”

Special grunted. “I didn’t hurt his ass.”

“No, you didn’t,” Nichelle said. “The only person you hurt was yourself. But look at the bright side. At least J.C. can have some of the prison guards look out for you when you’re doing your time.”

“That ain’t funny,” Special grumbled, which made them all laugh. “I’m hungry. I was not about to eat that slop they served in jail.”

Vernetta wanted to tell her that she deserved to starve, but she was hungry, too. Other than Denny’s, the selection of late-night eateries in L.A. wasn’t nearly as plentiful as one would think. Then she remembered the perfect place.

Twenty minutes later, they lucked up on a prime parking spot in the main lot of Tommy’s on Rampart. The 24-hour burger stand was always packed, day or night, weekday or weekend. Its saucer-sized chiliburgers were Vernetta’s personal favorite.

“I’ll order.” Vernetta threw open the door of her Land Cruiser. There was no need to ask what anyone wanted. They always ordered the same thing: double-doubles—double meat, double cheese—with a Diet Coke for Vernetta and orange sodas for Special and Nichelle.

As she waited for their order, Vernetta wondered if anyone else remembered that Maya had been with them on their last trip here. It was long before her illness. A time when their lives seemed carefree.

She returned to the car carrying the food in two cardboard containers. They ate without a word, listening to Stevie Wonder’s
Ribbon in the Sky
on the radio.

Vernetta stole a glimpse at Special in the rearview mirror. Her pink blouse was dingy and wrinkled, and her hair was a complete mess. She looked haggard and defeated. Vernetta almost wanted to climb into the backseat and give her a hug. She would never admit it to Special, but she envied her friend’s ability to give in to her rage.

“I’m sorry,” Special said, setting her burger in her lap. “I just couldn’t stand looking at Eugene smiling like he’d won the lottery. If I have to spend some time in jail for what I did, then so be it.” She turned to look out the window. “He’ll probably end up getting the lawsuit dismissed, too.”

“Not if I can help it,” Nichelle said. “And even if that does happen, he’ll pay. Eventually. What goes around, comes around. I truly believe that.”

“Well, I want him to pay now! The way Maya paid!” Special’s jail stint had not diminished her anger. “And when he’s ready to die, I’m going to plant myself by his bedside as a reminder of what he did to her.”

Special’s level of rage was clearly over the top. Vernetta just prayed her anger would soon subside. She collected everyone’s trash and hopped out to dump it in a nearby bin. Just as she settled back into the driver’s seat, she heard the sultry voice of one of KJLH’s late-night DJs.

DJ: Our phone lines are open so call in and tell us what you think. Did our legal system do right by Maya Washington? We have a caller from Carson on the line. How are you doing tonight?

Caller: How am I doing? Not good at all. A man gets to deceive you by telling you he’s straight when he’s really gay and give you HIV and
just walk away? With no repercussions? That’s crazy.

D.J.: But brothers on the D-L claim they’re not gay.

Caller: That’s bull, they’re just—

Vernetta leaned forward and clicked off the radio. “I can’t take this tonight. Let’s go home.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Special said weakly. “This might sound weird, but I’d like to hang out at Maya’s place for a while. I need to feel her spirit tonight.”

Special still had the keys to Maya’s place. It would be a few more weeks before her affairs were settled.

“I don’t think that’s weird at all,” Vernetta said. “In fact, it’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

E
ugene was turning into a virtual recluse. The video of Special attacking him outside the courthouse had been played and replayed on television stations nationwide and had attracted more than a million hits on YouTube. No matter where he went, the gas station, the grocery store, the doctor’s office, people stared, pointed, and whispered.

He realized now that there was no way he could resume his legal career. He spent most of the day watching pay-per-view movies, going deeper and deeper into a state of depression. Belynda tried her best to cheer him up, but it wasn’t working. Four days after Special assaulted him, Belynda finally convinced him to visit Reverend Sims for another counseling session.

“I still need your prayers.” Eugene took a seat in front of the reverend’s desk. “I’ve been reading those verses you gave me, but I’m still feeling pretty low.”

Reverend Sims nodded. “Just stay prayerful, brother. Leave that lawsuit to your lawyers and to God. I’ve seen Him do some amazing things in my day.”

They prayed together, then Eugene shared his growing fears that Special might attack him again. “I don’t think she’s mentally stable. I’m going to ask my attorneys to file a restraining order against her.”

“Do what you have to do to protect yourself. But let’s put that situation in God’s hands, too.”

A couple of hours after their counseling session ended, Eugene and the reverend were battling each other on the racquetball court at the Spectrum Club in Manhattan Beach.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to let an old man whip you,” Reverend Sims taunted him.

The reverend breathed easily, while Eugene gasped for air. “You talk a lot of smack for a man of the cloth.”

Reverend Sims grinned. “I wasn’t born with a collar, you know.”

Eugene slammed the ball with his racquet, hurling it into the wall in front of them. The reverend quickly moved into position, hitting it a split second after it bounced off the floor. Their rally went on for a couple of minutes, then Eugene missed an easy shot.

“Uncle!” Eugene dropped his racquet. “I really gotta get back in shape.”

“So, dinner’s on you, right?”

Eugene was so winded, all he could do was nod.

They gathered their gym bags and made their way to the locker room. As Eugene stepped into the showers, another man coming out of a stall obviously recognized him and rushed off like he was afraid of catching something. Eugene hated the loss of his anonymity.

He dressed and found the reverend waiting for him in the lobby.

“So where are we eating?” the reverend asked as they approached their cars.

“How about a rain check?” Eugene said uneasily. He was tired of fending off scornful looks every place he went. “I know you have a wife and kids to get home to.”

“My family’s out of town visiting my in-laws. I hate going home to an empty house. I’m not about to let you become a hermit.”

Eugene thought about suggesting that they pick up some carry-out and go back to his place to eat.

But Reverend Sims insisted on going out. “Let’s head over to the Howard Hughes Promenade. We can get a table at Marie Callender’s Grill without much of a wait.”

A short time later, the men were seated at a table for two near the front of the restaurant. They had a full view of the street outside.

Eugene studied the menu. He didn’t have much of an appetite.

“I usually get the chili,” Reverend Sims said. “And I could eat a whole pan of their cornbread by myself.”

“I want to thank you again for all your support,” Eugene said, closing his menu. “You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. It’s been cool having you to talk to.”

“Frankly, it was good for me to get out tonight, too. I recently lost a friend. So this was a nice diversion for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“You probably read about it in the papers. He was shot to death at his home in Ladera. Nobody seems to know why.”

They spent the first few minutes talking about the late James Hill, then the conversation turned to politics. In the midst of a discussion about Barack Obama, Eugene’s head jerked to the left and he gazed down the street.

“What’s the matter?” Reverend Sims seemed to sense Eugene’s distress.

Eugene rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “I could’ve sworn I just saw the woman who attacked me. Special Moore.” He continued to stare out of the window. “I just hope I’m hallucinating, but I wouldn’t put it past her to start stalking me.”

The reverend chuckled. “You’ve been through a lot. The mind can sometimes play funny tricks on us.”

The waiter brought their food and Reverend Sims began talking about his wife and two daughters.

“Sounds like you have a wonderful family.”

“I do,” he said. “And you will, too, one day.”

Eugene half-listened as he struggled to fight his growing attraction to the man. He knew plenty of men who professed a deep commitment to their wives, but were sleeping with men on a regular basis. Eugene doubted the reverend spent this much time with other members of his congregation. So how should he interpret that? Eugene had also known his share of ministers who lived a Godly life by day and a very sinful one by night. Was Reverend Sims one of them?

He tried to think about something else. “I just finished remodeling my kitchen. It took forever, but it turned out pretty nice.”

“Redoing our kitchen is at the top of my list of honey do’s,” the reverend said. “Can you recommend a good granite guy?”

“I’ve got the best. When you get some time, you should drop by and check out his work.”

“Why don’t we run by there right now? I would love to surprise my wife by telling her I found a contractor.”

Eugene paused just long enough to shut out the inner voice cautioning him to retreat. “I’m game if you are.”

Y
ou guys are being too emotional,” Sam said testily.

Vernetta sat across from Sam in the main conference room at Barnes, Ayers, and Howard. It was after eight o’clock, and she was wiped out. Nichelle and Vernetta had been going to war with Sam over his recommendation to approach Eugene about settling the case.

“You guys can win this case at trial,” Vernetta insisted.

“That’s not a sure bet,” Sam replied. “Why rack up deposition fees and attorney time when Eugene might easily fork over several thousand dollars?” He pointed at them from across the table. “You guys aren’t acting like attorneys. You’re acting like scorned women.”

Vernetta resented the comment, but she couldn’t deny that this case was indeed personal for them.

“We didn’t file this case solely for the money,” Nichelle said. “This is about warning other women. Even with the ban on cameras in the courtroom, the media is still going to heavily cover the case. The longer it goes on, the more women we can reach.”

“This case has gotten so much publicity there can’t be a woman alive who doesn’t know about this down low stuff. And you’re still getting calls from the media despite that gag order. You guys have made your point.”

“Think about the publicity for your firm,” Vernetta said, hoping that an appeal to Sam’s wallet might make a difference. “The longer it goes on, the more clients you’ll attract.”

“We’ve got plenty clients already.” There was an air of arrogance in his delivery.

Vernetta continued to push. “This is an important issue. We need to use the case to make a statement.”

“
We
?” Sam snarled. “That’s certainly easy for you to say. You’re sitting over there in your big office in the hallowed halls of O’Reilly & Finney making the big bucks while all of our time and resources are being sunk into this case. You have nothing at stake here.”

“Nichelle and I are paying all of the costs,” Vernetta reminded him. “This case isn’t costing your firm a dime.”

“Oh, yes it is. Every second Nichelle and I spend on this case rather than other billable work reduces our firm’s income. So don’t try to tell me it’s not costing us.”

Vernetta couldn’t refute that, so she just frowned at him. Some people enjoyed being a grouch. Sam was one of them.

“I can’t believe you,” he bellowed at Vernetta. “You’ve tried enough cases to know that anything can happen in litigation. And even if we did win at trial, Eugene would appeal. It could be years before Maya’s mother sees a dime.” He tapped the table with his index finger. “We have an ethical obligation to raise the issue of settlement with Maya’s mother. I don’t know why I’m even sitting here talking to you. You have no say in this case.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” Nichelle said. “Vernetta’s here to help.”

“I’m not trying to be rude. I’m trying to get you two to look at reality.”

Vernetta was surprised that someone so unlikable outside the courtroom had been so successful with juries. She was glad Nichelle’s relationship with him had not gone anywhere. She was way too good for him.

Sam stood up and collected the papers in front of him. “Let’s continue this conversation after we talk to Maya’s mother.”

No one said a word as Sam tore out of the conference room. “I guess this case is over,” Vernetta conceded, “because I doubt Maya’s mother will want to keep reliving Maya’s death in the media. She hasn’t been happy about all the reporters bugging her for interviews. This has to be hard for her.”