Playing Dirty (16 page)

“Where were you on—” Agent Patterson started to ask.

“I’m sorry, but this little interrogation of yours is over. I will not answer another one of your questions until I have an attorney present,” I said, using my lawyer tactics to buy some time. I didn’t want them to know I had been in jail for the cocaine possession.

“I thought you were an attorney,” he spat out, a look of disgust on his face.

“Look, I know my rights, and I’m not answering any questions without my lawyer,” I said.

“A lawyer can’t help you, Ms. Lomax! You better hope God comes down from heaven and acts as your lawyer, as much evidence as we have against you,” Patterson said furiously.

Instead of commenting, I buried my entire face in the palm of my hands. I couldn’t stand being accused of something I had not done. Especially something that could destroy everything I’d worked so hard to achieve. And despite my request to have my attorney present while they questioned me about Maria’s murder, they continued to harass me.

“Maria was your best friend, huh? I guess that is why she wrote this,” Patterson continued, sliding a diary in front of me. I looked down at the page and read Maria’s handwriting:

Those were the last words that Maria had written. The words were staring back at me from the paper, like they were taunting me—each line cut deep. I sat with my mouth hanging open after I read Maria’s diary entry. She already knew I was getting high again and she had been visiting my mother, which I hadn’t done in over a year. Why didn’t she just tell me? I thought. Maybe it was because Maria knew me so well. She knew how fucking self-centered and selfish I was. Maria always chose her words carefully when it came to me; she was more of a friend than I could ever be. I realized then that I was the kind of bitch who was only out for herself; it was all about Yoshi Lomax and my climb to the top. It didn’t matter who I stepped on getting to the top, but now it looked like I would have to get through all of those people on my fall back down. What had I done? I finally let go of my tough-girl role and the tears began to stream.

Both Sinetti and Patterson just stared at me with contempt and hatred showing on their faces. I could hardly breathe, I was crying so hard. Maria had only been trying to help me; she was trying to warn me on all scales. So, who would kill her to get back at me and for what reason? I had to convince the DEA that they had the wrong person so that the real killer could be caught, but where would I start? I couldn’t call Paul, he had turned in all my contacts…and no wonder I couldn’t get Brad on the damn phone to discuss Sheldon Chisholm’s case. He was locked the fuck up.

Just thinking about Sheldon Chisholm suddenly gave me a chill. I was supposed to visit him today, as per the instructions of his henchmen. I guess if I was locked up for murder, there would be no way for him to get to me. Although if I ever got out of this bullshit mess I was in, I’d have an entirely different set of problems to deal with—trying to convince Sheldon that I was held against my will is something I’m sure he wouldn’t care to hear.

O
nce the DEA realized that I wasn’t stupid enough to answer any more of their questions, they allowed me to make a phone call, which in the federal world is not just one phone call. I knew that the Feds rule was they’d let you place as many calls as you needed to procure an attorney. When I was left alone with the telephone, I immediately dialed Donna, my former assistant. She was the only person I had left who I trusted enough to tell my situation. At first, Donna was apprehensive about helping me, but with the cash I offered her, she couldn’t refuse. Donna knew the kind of money I brought in with my clients. I quickly explained the situation to her and she agreed to help me. Donna had gone to work for a rival law firm—Tuttle, Watts, and Hoffman—after Paul fired her. The law firm Donna worked for now had tried several times to steal me from Shapiro and Witherspoon. When they had been trying to offer me everything under the sun, I already had everything I could dream of.

I didn’t get into great details with Donna, but I told her enough to let her know my situation was serious.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“Which attorney do you work side by side with?” I wondered aloud.

She told me that the defense attorney she worked for was a man named Scott Maxwell, and she believed that she could get him to help me. Hearing those words made me a very happy woman. I knew Scott Maxwell very well; in fact, we had been rivals in law school. Both Scott and I were at the top of our law school graduating class, which was no easy feat for a half-Asian woman and a Black man. Throughout my years in school, I was glad to have Scott around; he made me step up my game as a lawyer. And to look at me now—with all my skills, I’d taken the easy way out, bribing and paying off judges and police officers. Now that I look back on it, it just wasn’t fucking worth it.

After Donna told me that she was working for Scott, I became a little apprehensive about getting him to represent me. To have him look me dead in my face because of everything I’ve gotten myself into would make me feel so ashamed. But then I figured to hell with all of that! I needed someone good to rip this case apart and Scott would definitely be the man to do it. Where I used bribes and blackmail to get my clients off, Scott used pure courtroom skills.

I remember thinking that if I ever were to settle down and get married in the very distant future, I would’ve wanted a man like Scott. He was handsome as hell. His skin complexion was perfect. He had a little facial hair, which comprised his mustache and goatee. Aside from that, his face was clean and free of blemishes. He was tall and his physique was medium build. He put me in mind of P. Diddy. I’m speaking of his dress style and his swagger.

I recalled a couple of years back when he asked me to go out with him. But, of course, I turned him down. I felt like I needed to be around men who could further my career, and he was definitely not on that list. It had been at least a couple of months since I last ran into him, so it would be really good to see an old face. I just hoped he didn’t get cold feet on me and run like the rest of them. We would see, though. Shit, I could use any help right about now.

When Scott arrived at the federal lockup, where I was being held, I don’t think I’d ever been that happy to see anyone in my entire life. He flashed his perfect smile when he saw me; as usual, he was dressed nice. He wore a classic tailored navy blue Brooks Brothers suit, with a beautiful Gucci tie and Gucci loafers. I knew designer clothes so well, I didn’t even have to look twice at his stuff to know the designer. His hair was cut low and lined up perfectly. His almond skin was smooth and clean-cut, as always. And his eyes were just as I remembered them—sleepy, but not shut, dreamy, and filled with spunk.

“Hey, Yoshi.” Scott beamed as he gave me a quick hug.

“Hey, Scott. Thank you for coming,” I said somberly. At this point I couldn’t smile if I wanted.

He took a seat at the table in front of me and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. I sat firmly with my back against the chair, handcuffed to the table before us. I looked like a criminal for real, but I didn’t let that deter me from getting down to business. “So, what did Donna tell you?”

He sighed. “Well, first off, she told me that you were in some pretty heavy shit! But what I need to know from you is, did you do what they are charging you with?”

“No, I didn’t, Scott. I was locked up on other charges when the murder took place. I was set up, plain and simple.”

“What other charges were you locked up for?”

“I was stopped by one of the local cops on a traffic violation. One thing led to another and I was given a Breathalyzer. When my alcohol level exceeded the limit, they searched my car and found about thirty bucks’ worth of cocaine in my car. So they arrested me and charged me with cocaine possession—end of story.”

Scott’s eyeballs nearly jumped out of his head. He was obviously surprised that I admitted to having cocaine. But, hey, I had to tell him because he was going to find out anyway.

“Was the cocaine they found, yours?” he asked, even though I’m sure he already knew the answer. But in our legal profession, you could never assume, so it was always best to ask.

“I’m ashamed to say it, but, yes, it was.”

He shook his head like he was disappointed, but he didn’t make any comments about it. “How long were you detained on those charges?” he continued.

“At least twenty-four hours or more. They still have my car down at the pound.”

“Well, if all that checks out, then all we have to do is put you at the jail during the time Maria was allegedly murdered.”

“You know, all that sounds good, but Maria was killed in my house. So, how do we explain that?” I questioned him.

“That’s a good question, and I’m sure that after we put our heads together, we’ll come up with something,” he said, and then he looked down at his pad and scribbled something.

Our entire conversation lasted for about a good hour. I sat there and told him about my relationship with Maria and how long we’d know each other. I even spilled my guts about my cocaine addiction, my trysts with the Santanas, and the affair I had with Paul. I wanted to be perfectly honest with Scott. So I did something that I had not done in years—told the truth. Scott took copious notes, which he kept reviewing, and he’d put his pen up to his mouth while he pondered over the notes, just like he had done in law school. His brain was working hard to process the information I had loaded on him, and then he had a thought.

“Did all of this start happening to you after you took on Sheldon Chisholm’s case?” He looked at me, puzzled.

“Well, kind of, sort of…,” I said; then I paused to gather my thoughts. “Okay, things started happening to me right after I told Paul I wasn’t sleeping with him anymore, and then shit started getting really crazy after I took the Chisholm case. And these two events happened in a two-day span,” I explained.

Scott shook his head in disbelief. “What were you thinking?” he asked.

Puzzled by his question, I said, “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t see it?”

“See what?” I asked, looking at him strangely.

“Well, first you represented Luis Santana, and then you turned around and took on Mr. Chisholm.”

“And…,” I said, waiting for Scott to lay his theory out.

“And…Santana and Chisholm are rival drug kingpins, and have been for years.”

“Oh, my God! I didn’t know that.”

“How could you not know this?”

“I never asked any of my clients who they had beefs with. All I do is express interest in representing them, they show me the cash, and the deal is made. Anything other than that, I don’t get into it.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but this is a very critical situation you’re in. And I am not one hundred percent sure, but if my theory is right, I would bet you that Santana wants to eliminate Sheldon once and for all. And this incident with you would be a perfect way of doing it without getting his hands dirty and bringing the heat on himself,” Scott explained.

All of a sudden it seemed like lightbulbs started going off in my head. I just stared into space.

“Yoshi, you okay?” Scott asked.

“Oh, my God, Scott! Do you think Santana had something to do with Maria’s murder? I mean, it would all make sense to have me set up so that I wouldn’t be able to represent Chisholm. Right before she got murdered, Maria tried to convince me to drop his case, but I flat out told her I couldn’t. Damn! I should’ve listened to her!” I screamed, banging my fists on the hard plastic table, the handcuffs scratching up the surface.

“Yoshi, I am going to need you to calm down. And you know if you don’t, the agents are going to come in here and take you back into lockup.”

Listening to Scott reason with me calmed me down, but my tears began to run down my face like an endless waterfall. He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me his handkerchief. I wiped my eyes and said, “I am fucked all the way around the board, Scott. The cocaine charge is going to ruin my career, and this shit with Santana and Chisholm is going to have me sinking in sand. I can’t tell you how I am going to get my way out of this one.”

Scott grabbed both of my hands and held them very firm. “We are going to get you out of this. Don’t you worry.”

“I can’t help it, Scott. I trusted Mr. Santana, and all the time he was setting me up while he was baiting me in with the drugs, the sex, and all the expensive-ass gifts!” I cried out.

“Hey, wait a minute. Do you think Paul may be in on this?” Scott asked. That was a damn good question and I couldn’t say for sure.

“The Santana referral did come from Paul. So he does know Mr. Santana,” I told Scott. It seemed like the more we spoke, the more pieces to the puzzle came together.

“Well, your preliminary hearing is in a few days. So now we just have to figure out how to undo this mess,” Scott said seriously, looking like he was thinking hard.

“What about Chisholm? If I get out, he is surely going to be looking for me,” I explained. My heart started racing as I thought about how dangerous Sheldon was.

“We have to get you out of here first,” Scott said. I knew he meant what he said, too.

“Please don’t worry about money. That’s the one thing I did manage to do right. I have money put aside, enough to pay you and live comfortably for a while,” I assured him.

“Money is not an issue, Yoshi. Like you, I have plenty. This thing right here is going to take a little bit more than money,” he said. And he was right. I’ve always had the mentality that money can get you out of a lot of things. That is exactly what I had been taught all my life—to use what you got to get what you want! But, now, reality had kicked in my back door and I was gonna have to face it. Thankfully enough, I had Scott on my team to go through this whole ordeal with. Regardless of the outcome, he and I were going to fight this thing to the very end. So, believe me, somebody was going down with me.

Right before Scott left, he told me that I’d have to give him some information in exchange for his help. I was in no position to ask questions, so I told him I’d give him whatever information he needed. Scott assured me that he was going to be on top of my case and urged me not to worry about a thing. He knew that would be very hard for me to do, but I said okay anyway. On his way out, he kissed me on the cheek and told me that I owed him a dinner date after all of this was over. I gave him a half smile and said, “You got it!”

I sat in the holding cell for about six hours until these bastards figured out that they needed to process me and send my ass off to federal lockup. I believed they took their sweet time because they wanted to piss me off. But it was too late—I was already pissed off when they charged me with that bullshit-ass charge. It was okay, though, because whether they believed it or not, my time was coming. And I was going to shine on all of them.