Murder on the Down Low (14 page)

“Yes, but this—”

She cut Vernetta off and appealed to O’Reilly. “It would really be a good opportunity for me. Pretty, please.” Haley clasped her hands in a prayer pose.

Vernetta knew the minute O’Reilly looked over at her that Haley’s request would be granted.

“This
is
a pretty straightforward motion,” he said. “And Haley knows the facts. On top of that, you just said Miller’s the nicest judge on the bench. It would be good for Haley to argue her first motion before him. Just like you did, Vernetta.”

She knew any further protests would be a waste of time. “Alright.”

“You’ll be there for back up, of course,” O’Reilly said to her.

Haley hopped up from the couch and squeezed O’Reilly’s arm. “Thanks!”

Vernetta wondered what body part she’d be squeezing later on tonight.

“I’m doing you a big favor, Vernetta.” Haley actually winked at her. “Considering everything you’ve been going through lately, you should be glad to have the oral argument off your plate. The death of your friend Maya must’ve been difficult for you.”

Vernetta did not trust Haley’s feigned empathy. “I’m doing just fine. Thank you.”

“That wrongful death lawsuit her family filed against that attorney at Ramsey & King has been getting a lot of media coverage.”

“I read about that case,” O’Reilly said. “What’s your connection to it?”

Vernetta’s eyes locked on Haley’s. She did not want to discuss the lawsuit against Eugene with her or O’Reilly.

“You’re helping litigate the case, aren’t you?” Haley asked.

O’Reilly’s face signaled disapproval. “I certainly hope not. You’d have to get the firm’s permission to do that. And I’ll tell you right now, I’m not in favor of it. When the Vista Electronics case heats up, none of us will have a spare moment.”

“I’m not litigating that case,” Vernetta said tightly. “Barnes, Ayers, and Howard is handling it.”

“Oh,” Haley said. “I saw one of the firm’s partners here last night meeting with you about the case. That’s why I thought you were involved.”

How in the hell would you know what we were meeting about?

Haley seemed to read her mind. “Oh,” she said again, looking flustered. “I recognized your friend Nichelle Ayers from a news report. I found a copy of a wrongful death case dealing with AIDS on the copier last night. You must’ve forgotten to take the original.”

You little bitch.
“Nichelle’s a good friend. I’m only lending my moral support. She wanted to discuss her litigation strategy with me. I’m not involved in the litigation.”

“Good,” O’Reilly said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Haley smirked at her, but Vernetta took the high road and looked away. As long as Haley was screwing the managing partner, Vernetta’s high road would need to surpass Mt. Everest.

N
ichelle knew she would regret going along with Special’s outlandish plan, but her friend had pleaded for so long, she finally gave in. It wasn’t exactly the craziest thing Special had ever talked her into. But it was pretty darn close.

She picked up the telephone and dialed Special’s cell phone. “You sure you still want to go through with this?”

“I don’t
want
to do anything,” Special said. “I
have
to do this.”

“No, you don’t. You can have faith that Clayton is exactly who he appears to be. A wonderful
heterosexual
man who loves you.”

“Are you forgetting something? Maya wasn’t the only one who never suspected that Eugene was gay. We didn’t either.”

Nichelle pursed her lips. Just hearing Maya’s name still created a lump in her throat. “I don’t understand why you can’t ask your cousin Thomas to do it.”

“He’s my boy and he’d definitely do it if I asked him, but he’s way too flamboyant. Clayton would peg him as gay the minute he switched into the room. I need Jamal to do it because no one would ever know he’s gay. He’s still on board, right?”

“As far as I know.”

“Just make sure you guys get here by eight,” Special said.

Nichelle hung up the telephone and took the elevator to the third floor of her office building. She made a right off the elevator and entered the lobby of Russana & Rowles. She waited as the law firm’s receptionist informed Jamal that Nichelle was on her way back to his office.

Jamal greeted her in the hallway with a hug. He leaned back to take in her outfit. “I see you’re still stopping traffic.”

“Doing my best.” Nichelle’s skirt suit was a red and black St. John Knit with gold accents.

Jamal, as always, was conservatively dressed in a dark suit and tie. He was clean shaven, with skin the color of melted caramel. He’d been a year ahead of her and Maya at Loyola Law School.

“I dropped by to make sure we’re still on for tonight,” Nichelle said, as Jamal showed her into his office.

“I guess so,” he said, “but I’m only doing this for you.” Jamal had never dated women, and had been out since high school. He was one of three openly gay associates in his firm.

“This down low stuff has really got you sisters on edge.”

“Not me. This is all about Special. She’s taking Maya’s death so hard it’s making her ultra paranoid. None of us suspected Eugene. So now she thinks every man she meets is perpetrating. Including her boyfriend.”

“Well, some brothers are,” Jamal said. “In my younger days, I had my share of married men.” Jamal and his partner had been together for five years. They were one of the happiest couples Nichelle knew, gay or straight.

“I don’t understand how they can get away with it. Aren’t they afraid of getting caught?”

“Some women are way too accepting,” Jamal said. “I could tell you some pretty wild stories, but I won’t. The first married man I had sex with—my college professor—had been with his wife for fifteen years. He spent so much time at my place I had no reason to even suspect that he was married. His wife eventually found out about us, but last I heard, they’re still married. And I doubt he’s changed his ways.”

“You’re going to make me as paranoid as Special.” Nichelle stood up. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Now tell me one more time, exactly what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, just check Clayton out. Do whatever it is you guys do to figure out if another man is gay.”

“I’ll do my best. But I hope Special gets the answer she wants.”

“Me, too,” Nichelle said. “Because if she doesn’t, I can only pray for Clayton.”

L
ieutenant Wilson was just finishing up an email when J.C. appeared in his open doorway. He waved her inside.

“What’s so urgent?” He pushed the keyboard tray underneath his desk. “And why wouldn’t you tell me over the phone? You’re not transferring are you?”

J.C. beamed as she closed the door behind her. “No, Lieutenant, I’m not transferring.”

“I know your partner’s a real asshole. You won’t have to put up with him much longer. I’ll be making some reassignments in a few weeks. I wish I could ship him off to Siberia.”

“After you hear what I have to say, you’re going to love me.” J.C. plopped down in the chair in front of his desk.

“I already love you. I offer you a Snickers every time I see you, don’t I? You think I do that with everybody? That’s the ultimate gesture of love in my book.” He lifted the lid of a dark green candy dish shaped like a hand grenade. It was stuffed with the bite-size candy bars. “Have one?”

“No, thanks, Lieutenant.”

“You look a little tense. So what’s this all about?”

“This isn’t tension on my face. It’s excitement. I’ve discovered a link between the shootings of Marcus Patterson, Dr. Banks, and Nathaniel Allen that I think will lead us to their killer.”

Lieutenant Wilson rolled his chair closer to his desk and planted his hairy forearms on his desk pad. “Lay it on me.”

J.C. began with the information about Patterson, the Raycom engineer, explaining his secretary’s confirmation of his affairs with men. She then shared the details of Dr. Banks’ lunchtime romps, as confirmed by his sister-in-law and the Marriott desk clerk. By the time she passed on what Special had told her about the junior college running back, J.C.’s heart was pumping like an oil rig gone haywire.

“I think there’s a serial killer out there who’s gunning for men on the down low,” J.C. said. “We need to meet with Media Affairs as soon as possible. Information about these guys’ lives is going to hit the press sooner or later, and it’s going to create a public relations nightmare for us.”

Lieutenant Wilson’s lips formed a stiff smile. J.C. had expected a much more enthusiastic response to her news.

“So you think this down low crap is for real?” The lieutenant rocked back in his chair. He laced his fingers, then rested his hands across his chest. “You think there are a lot of supposedly straight black men out there screwing other men?”

“I don’t know if it’s a lot, but I do think it’s certainly happening.”

“Wanna know what I think?” The lieutenant sat forward and gripped the edge of his desk. “I think it’s all a bunch of bull. It’s just another way to degrade African-American men. I wouldn’t be surprised if that guy who wrote that book and started this whole down low mess is being funded by some right-wing religious group.”

“Lieutenant, that’s ridiculous. Why would—”

“Let me get this straight,” he said, cutting her off. “Based on a bunch of rumors and hearsay, you want me to tell the whole world that three prominent, successful, African-American men—one of them a star athlete—are dead because they were out screwing other men. You want me to do this without a single piece of confirming evidence. Not a single eyewitness to any such activity and a bunch of witnesses who don’t want you to disclose their names. Is that what you’re telling me, Detective?”

The lieutenant’s eyes blazed with fury. J.C. was about to respond, but he didn’t let her.

“And after we hold the press conference calling these guys fags, who’s going to defend the Department when their families sue us for defamation?”

J.C. felt like somebody had knocked her feet out from under her. She knew that a lot of cops were homophobic, but she had not anticipated this reaction from her mentor. “Using the word
fag
is like using the
N
word.”

He guffawed, then rolled his eyes skyward. “Please forgive me. Can I call ’em homos then? Is that better? Or sissies? How about that?”

J.C. figured it would be useless to spend time trying to educate him. “I understand what you’re saying regarding the impact of what I’ve discovered. I agree that the situation has to be handled delicately.”

He chuckled. “That’s certainly an understatement.”

“It won’t be easy for a lot of people to accept this, but we have a responsibility to warn the public. If these murders are the work of a serial killer, other men are in danger.”

“I don’t think you’ve gathered sufficient evidence yet.” He snatched a Snickers from his candy dish and ripped it open. “In fact, I don’t buy your theory at all.”

J.C. sprang to her feet. “You can’t be serious! You’re blatantly discriminating against these victims because they’re gay. You of all people know what it feels like to be discriminated against. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Don’t you dare compare this to what black people have gone through. You and I can’t change the color of our skin. Gays have a choice. We’re talking apples and oranges here, Detective. Or perhaps I should say apples and fruitcakes.”

“You can’t just ignore this evidence because you think it’ll make black men look bad.”

“I can and I am. And if I were you, I wouldn’t be mentioning this to anybody else. You got it? Not
anybody
.”

“But we’ve got three dead men in a two-week period.”

“People get shot in L.A. every day.”

“But, Lieutenant!” J.C. was nearly shouting now. “What if I’m right? What if somebody
is
out there targeting men on the down low?”

Lieutenant Wilson took a bite from his Snickers. “If you’re right, and there
is
a killer out there gunning down black fa—” He stopped chewing and raised his hand in the air. “Excuse me. If somebody is shooting black—he slowly enunciated every syllable—
ho-mo-sex-u-als
, then as far as I’m concerned, they’re doing society one great big favor.”

W
e really have to start doing this more often.”

Jefferson leaned over and kissed Vernetta on the lips. They were snuggled up in a spacious corner booth at Chaya Venice restaurant, their first night out in weeks.

“Except I get to pick the movie next time,” Jefferson said. “I’m sick of chick flicks.”

“I saw you wiping away a tear at the end,” Vernetta teased. “That movie was good, and you know it.”

“I had something in my eye. The next movie we see, somebody’s gotta throw some punches or blow up some stuff.”

“I’ll never understand why men get off on all that violent crap.” She reached for one of the blackened shrimp on Jefferson’s plate.

He put a hand over his plate, but wasn’t fast enough. “If you wanted shrimp, that’s what you should’ve ordered.”

“I wanted what you ordered
and
what I ordered.” She popped the shrimp into her mouth. “I think we should plan a date night at least once a week.”

Jefferson gave her a look that said
get real.
“Don’t even try it. Your ass would be standing me up every time.”

“Okay, then. How about once a month?”

The skepticism on her husband’s face deepened.

“Okay, let’s not set a schedule. Let’s just plan a date night when we can.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Vernetta was just about to take in a forkful of halibut when a woman breezed past her and into the ladies’ room.

“What’s the matter?” Jefferson’s eyes followed hers.

“I think I just saw Haley.”

“Damn!” Jefferson dropped his fork. “I wanted to see her ass again.”

Vernetta crumpled her napkin and threw it at him. “That’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is. You should see the look on your face.”