Attorney-Client Privilege (23 page)

M
ankowski and Thomas reached the crash scene just as an ambulance whizzed by, rushing Phillip to UCLA Medical Center.

“Was he conscious?” Mankowski asked a uniformed officer as he reached into his breast pocket for his badge. “We’re homicide. The guy’s a person of interest in one of our cases.”

“He was pretty banged up, but conscious.”

Phillip’s new Benz was now a mangled piece of steel. The entire front end looked like an accordion, but the back half was mostly intact.

Mankowski scanned the area. “The pavement’s dry, the weather’s clear. What in the hell caused him to crash in broad daylight?”

Another officer standing nearby answered the question. “A witness said he was texting and drifted into another lane. He swerved to keep from hitting another car and ran off the road into that tree.”

Mankowski and Thomas approached the wreckage and looked inside the car.

“What a waste,” Thomas said, admiring the car.

Mankowski turned back to the first officer. “Did you find anything of interest inside the car?”

Even if Phillip had sold the documents to Girlie, the scumbag probably would have double-crossed her and kept an extra copy.

The cop gave him a blank look. “Interesting like what?”

“Like documents or a file folder.”

“We haven’t searched it yet. They usually do inventory at impound.

Mankowski couldn’t wait that long. “Can’t you do it here?”

The officer shrugged. “I guess we could.”

Mankowski felt a sense of anticipation as the officer searched the car’s interior. They found a throwaway cell phone, but the Big Buy papers weren’t there.

The tow truck driver grabbed a crowbar and wedged it into the back of the trunk near the key slot. This was it. Mankowski was sure of it. Those Big Buy documents were in there.

He felt like he was in the closing scene of some TV crime show, seconds before the discovery of the smoking gun.

The trunk finally sprang open and the two detectives stepped forward. When Mankowski saw a thick stack of loose papers, his pulse sped up three notches. He reached for them, but Thomas snatched his hand away.

“We’re doing this by the book,” Thomas declared. “We don’t have probable cause to touch those documents, but these guys do.”

They waited as the officer picked them up and began to peruse them.

“Is that it?” Thomas asked, peering over Mankowski’s shoulder.

They scanned the pages as the officer flipped through them.

“Damn!” Mankowski said, turning away. “It’s only his friggin’ lease papers.”

The officer searched the rest of the trunk, but found nothing.

“Let’s head over to the hospital,” Mankowski said, already walking in the direction of the car. “Maybe seeing his life flash before his eyes will make Actor Boy more willing to talk.”

The drive to UCLA Medical Center took less than twenty minutes, but it took close to an hour to track down someone who could provide information on Phillip’s condition. A nurse finally explained that Phillip was critical, but stable, but wasn’t well enough to undergo an interview.

“Can you get a doctor down here who can tell me when we can talk to him. It’s very important.”

Thirty minutes later, a young doctor in green scrubs approached the two detectives. Mankowski hopped to his feet.

“I understand that you’re here about Phillip Peterman,” the doctor said. “Are you family?”

 “No, we’re with LAPD.” He showed his badge. “When can we talk to him?”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to do that. We weren’t able to stop the internal bleeding. Mr. Peterman didn’t make it.”

I
spent the next three hours after leaving the courthouse huddled in my office alternately sulking and cursing Girlie Cortez.

I had no idea how I was going to break the news to Olivia about the dismissal of the class action. I didn’t even want to call Benjamin. I could file a writ asking the California Court of Appeal to reverse Judge Goldberg’s ruling, but that was a longshot.

Before facing my client, I needed to return my mother’s call and let her know that I had not abandoned my Christian upbringing. I’d planned to make sure Olivia knew that too.

“Hey, mama,” I said, when she picked up.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to call me back.”

“I had a court appearance this morning.”

“Did you read the newspaper today?”

I rubbed my forehead. “Yes, and that article isn’t true.”

“Pictures don’t lie. Since when did you start going to the mosque?”

“I only went that once with Special and her boyfriend, Clayton. He’s a Muslim.”

“Does Special’s mama know about this?”

“There’s nothing to know. Anyway, they recently broke up.”

“Everybody I know saw that article. I’ve been getting calls all day. Reverend Hamilton even left me a message, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him back.”

“Well, please tell Reverend Hamilton and everybody else at Community Baptist that I’m still a God-fearing Christian, okay?”

“I should hope so. We raised you right.”

“Yeah, I know, mama. I have to go, okay?”

“I’m not done yet. What about Jefferson? Is he mixed up with them Muslims?”

“Jefferson and Clayton are friends, mama.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“Mama, I really can’t talk about this right now. I’m late for a meeting. I’ll call you later.”

That witch Girlie even had me lying to my mama.

Rather than face Olivia, I headed home to sulk some more. I heated up some leftover Thai food and spent the afternoon plotting my revenge against Girlie Cortez. I wanted to call Jefferson to tell him about the article, but he had an important meeting about the problems with that shopping center project. I didn’t want to interrupt his day with my troubles.

He arrived home just after six, looking as perturbed as I felt.

“How did your meeting go?” I asked.

“Not good.” He untied his work boots and joined me on the couch in the den.

“I hate to add more gray clouds to your day, but I suspect you haven’t seen this yet.”

I tossed the
L.A. Times
onto the coffee table in front of him. He sat forward, glanced at the headline, then picked up the paper. I waited while he read the entire article. He set the newspaper back on the table, then picked up the remote and changed the channel to ESPN.

“So?” I said.

Jefferson looked over at me. His face had no inkling of the concern that I had expected. “What?”

“You don’t have anything to say about the article?”

“Oh,” he shrugged. “I thought it was a good story. I think I know that dentist they quoted. I didn’t know he was a Muslim. That’s some nice pub for the Community.”

My mouth fell open. “
Nice pub for the Community?
Are you crazy? Did you see that big-ass picture of us? What about the bad pub for you and me? People think we’re members of the Community of Islam.”

“So?”

“I just lost a very important motion because the judge assumed I was a member.”

“And if you were, what would that have to do with your motion?”

“Absolutely nothing but—”

“Okay, then tell the judge to kiss your ass.”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.”

“This is exactly what the Muslims are talking about. We’re always too busy bowin’ and scrapin’ and worrying about what white folks think. The Muslims are about teaching black people to think for themselves and take care of themselves. If that judge—or anybody else—has a problem with that, that’s on them. You don’t work for O’Reilly & Finney anymore. You have your own law practice. You’re off the plantation now. So stop acting like a slave.”

I was certain I felt the room sway. “I’m not a slave. I’m a realist. Because of that article, people are going to think I hate white people.”

“When we went to the mosque, did you hear anybody say one word about hatin’ white people?”

“No, but—”

“Whenever black folks try to come together, white folks get threatened and try to sabotage us. And as long as we’re walking around with our tails between our legs, they can. If people wanna think that building up black folks means hatin’ on white folks, then so be it.”

I was too stunned by my husband’s harsh words to form an appropriate retort. “I don’t know why I even tried to talk to you about this.” I stood up and marched out of the room.

“I don’t know either,” he called after me as I headed down the hallway. “I think that article is good for us.”

I screeched to a stop, then charged back into the den. “
Us?
So you’re a Muslim now?”

“Maybe. I like what they’re about.”

“If that’s the choice you’ve made, it impacts me as much as it does you. So it’s something
we
need to discuss.”

“
We
can’t discuss it because
you
go ape shit every time you hear me mention the Community. Like right now. I’ve never seen you be so closed-minded about anything.”

“I’m not closed-minded.”

“Yes, you are. You don’t see the Community for what it is. You see it for what the white media’s been telling you it is.”

“What’s going on with you, Jefferson? You were raised as a Christian. Are you saying those aren’t your beliefs anymore?”

“Right now, I’m not sure what my beliefs are. But the Community of Islam is a much better fit for me than trying to turn the other cheek and wait for my rewards in heaven. The Muslims are about improving the lives of black folks here on earth, now. And that just makes sense to me.”

“Well, that’s not what
I’m
about. So it sounds like you might have some choices to make.”

Jefferson snatched the remote from the end table and settled deeper into the couch.

“I like going to the mosque and I like hanging out with the brothers down there,” he said, staring at the TV screen and not me. “If anybody has a choice to make, it ain’t me. It’s you.”

I
’d made four calls to Benjamin over the last few days. It was   
unusual for him not to call me back. I immediately feared that he might be in danger again.

Rather than call his direct line or cell phone, I called the main office this time.

“Hey, Reesa,” I said when his Intake Administrator picked up. “I’ve been trying to reach Benjamin for a few days, but he hasn’t called me back. Is he there?”

“Yeah, he’s here,” Reesa said with a chuckle. “But I don’t think he wanna talk to you.”

Reesa was a bus driver who volunteered at the Center three days a week. She ran the place like she owned it.

“And why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?”

“Girl, how many degrees do you have? Benjamin is Jewish. You’re a black Muslim. I think it might have something to do with your religion.”

Then it hit me. That damn
L.A. Times
article.

“I’m not a Muslim,” I said curtly. “Can you please put Benjamin on the phone?”

“If you ask me, and I know you haven’t, you need to come down here and talk to your friend in person. You guys go way back. Come talk to him.”

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the lobby of the Center for Justice and approached Lisa Goldman, the law school intern who ran the front desk. “Could you tell Benjamin I’m here?”

She looked me up and down. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t need one,” I said, and walked right past her.

I stopped a second before entering the open door of Ben’s office. I didn’t need to barrel in there angry at him for being angry with me. I took a big breath, then stepped inside.

Benjamin was reading something on his computer screen, his back facing me.

“We need to talk.” I plunked down on one of the rickety chairs in front of his desk.

Benjamin didn’t turn around. “Uh, I’m a little busy right now.”

“I’m not a member of the Community of Islam.”

“Okay.”

“This is nuts. Benjamin, you know me. We need to talk.”

Benjamin turned around, finally giving me his full attention. He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and laced his fingers.

“Okay, you’re not a member,” he said. There was no anger on his face, just resignation. “But you just drop by for the weekly lectures?”

“C’mon, Benjamin, you know my friend Special. Her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend is a member. That’s why she joined. They asked me and Jefferson to attend a lecture. We just went to be nice.”

Benjamin knew Special pretty well. The three of us had even gone out for dinner together a few times.

“Special being a member doesn’t surprise me. But you…” His words trailed off.

“I’m not a member,” I repeated.

“I wonder how you’d feel if you’d seen a snapshot of me with some extremist group chatting it up with my racist buddies.”

“I’m not sure how I’d feel, but I would ask you some questions rather than make assumptions. Because I know you so well, I’d give you the benefit of the doubt. I wouldn’t presume you were a racist. I’d go on what I know about you. Not what I read in the newspaper. And the Community of Islam isn’t racist.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Really? Based on everything I’ve read it certainly appears to be.”

“Everything you’ve read was probably written by a non-Muslim with a bias against them.”

“Excuse me, but didn’t you just say you
weren’t
a member? You certainly sound like one by the way you’re defending them.”

“I’m not defending them. I’m defending their right to exist and their right to believe what they believe. Just like you have the right to believe what you believe. They’re not anti-white. Their focus is uplifting the lives of black people.”

“I recall one of their leaders making some pretty nasty statements about the Jewish faith. I think he called it a filthy religion. That doesn’t sound very uplifting of black people to me.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to defend the Community, but I did. “And what else do you know about them?”

He dropped his hands and rested them on the desk. “I don’t need to know anything else.”

“Like I said, I’m not a member and I don’t support statements like that. But they have a right to their beliefs.”

Splotches of red stung Benjamin’s cheeks. “You’re not talking to someone who doesn’t know about discrimination,” he said. “I just don’t think slavery and discrimination are a justification for promoting hate.”

“I agree. And from what I’ve learned about the Community, they don’t promote hate.”

“Whatever you say.” Benjamin abruptly turned back to his computer.

“Benjamin, this is nuts! Your friendship means a lot to me. Plus, we have work to do. I still want to do everything I can to help Olivia.”

He started typing on the keyboard and acted as if he hadn’t heard me.

“You’re the one who brought this case to me,” I said. “So basically, it’s yours. Are you telling me you want me off of it?”

He waited a long beat, then shook his head.

“Then we need to talk about our next steps,” I said. “Girlie has derailed our class action, but I’m determined to find a way to get some justice for Olivia if it kills me.”