Playing Dirty (3 page)

I
started prepping myself for Sheldon’s case before I even called him back and before he officially hired me. I mean, there was no doubt he would hire me and I wanted shit to be in place for the case. For the price I was going to charge Sheldon, I had to guarantee him an acquittal, just like I did all of my clients. So, you know, the gears in my sinister little brain immediately started working after I spoke to Maria, thinking up my strategy for Sheldon’s acquittal. Once I found out that Brad Carlton was working the case, I knew everything was going to work together in my favor.

I called up Mr. Carlton—the federal United States Attorney himself. Brad and I had a mutual understanding and a long-running business relationship that included the occasional personal touch. I liked Brad a lot, but Yoshi Lomax was not settling down anytime soon—so having one man, no matter how much I liked his ass, was out of the question. The phone was ringing and my heart skipped a beat. I had to get my game face on.

“Hey, you,” I purred into the receiver of my cell phone.

“Ms. Lomax…I knew you’d be calling me sooner or later,” he answered, sounding amused. I could tell he had a big fucking smile plastered on his fine-ass face.

“I’m sure. So, when do you want to sit down and talk?” I asked, knowing that he knew just why I was calling.

“You’re calling me, so you tell me,” he continued.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me get back with you after I check my itinerary.”

“What time should I be expecting your call?”

“Give me a couple of hours.”

“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to our meeting.”

“I’m sure,” I said in a cute but sarcastic way. But the thing was, I needed to see Brad as soon as possible to get the details together for Sheldon’s acquittal.

“I’ll be waiting,” he assured me, and then we ended our call.

It didn’t take me long to go through my itinerary, stored inside my BlackBerry, and figure out I could squeeze Brad in right before I went into the office. I called him right back.

“Hey, are you busy right now?” I asked as soon as he answered his cell phone.

“No, I’m free for at least another hour.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home wrapping up this paperwork so I can head to the office.”

“Can I come by?”

“Sure. Come on.”

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly,” I replied, and then I busted a quick U-turn and headed over to his condo. Being a political appointee, Brad set his own rules, so him working at home was nothing strange. I whipped my shit down the road and I got to his house in record time. I checked my makeup in my visor mirror and noticed that nothing was out of place. I was the shit, if I did say so myself. I wore very little makeup and I was still stunning. Clear skin was what most women would die for, and I had it—so, you know, a lot of bitches hated me. I loved being hated! It kept me on my toes.

Brad opened the door before I could knock. He was a fucking trip. “You and those fucking cameras!” I said, and chuckled. “You’re more paranoid than a damn crackhead,” I joked, smiling and kissing him on his cheek.

“What was that?” he asked, referring to my peck on his cheek. He let me in, and as soon as I passed him, I could tell he was watching my ass.

“You can’t ever seem to keep your eyes off my ass!” I smiled wickedly.

“That’s because it’s so perfect and round.” He smiled.

I tapped him on his shoulder and said, “Come on, Brad. Let’s focus, please!”

I grabbed a hold of his arm and escorted him into his study, where we always had our meetings. And when we walked inside, I took a seat on one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. “Ready to talk business?” I sparked up the conversation.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked after he took a seat in the chair behind his desk.

“I need to know where we stand with the Chisholm case,” I replied directly.

He let out a sinister laugh. “I’m gonna let you make that call,” he said, blatantly rubbing his dick to let me know what he had in mind. He kind of pissed me off because right now I wasn’t in the mood for the “fuck for favor” program. Lately I’d been paying my own way, so the clothes stayed on, unless I was in one of my horny states of mind. And today was definitely not the day.

“Brad, I’ve decided not to lay on my back for favors anymore. I’ll pay for the shit I want,” I remarked, throwing a small stack of cash on top of his desk. I wanted him to know my new stance; it wasn’t all about me fucking and sucking him off, it was more about me taking control and getting my fucking way. Because on some real shit, no one was going to ever think Yoshi Lomax actually needed them. I didn’t need a motherfucker; in fact, it was more like they all needed me.

“I never said you didn’t pay,” he replied, looking at me slyly and picking up the money, pretending like he was weighing it.

“Don’t worry, it’s enough to pique your interest.”

“Yeah, it feels like the right amount,” he said, smiling. I could see the excitement in his eyes. He knew that the money I’d just laid on his ass was just a small portion of what was to come if he could guarantee me Sheldon’s acquittal.

“Don’t play me,” I said, and before I could fully finish my sentence, Brad was all over me like a bee to honey. He removed the Louis Vuitton hair clip that was holding my hair in a neat ponytail and shook my hair loose. I knew he loved my hair. He had told me once that for a Black man, to fuck an Asian woman was like a dream. He’d said that all Black men fantasize about it. What the fascination was, I had no idea, but I guess fantasizing about White girls had gotten boring, since they were so easy for Black men to get now.

Unlike Paul, Brad was packing a nine-inch dick, and had a chiseled body, beautiful teeth, hands, feet, and legs. I didn’t think he had any imperfections. His skin was smooth like a bitch’s. I think he got facials and manicures or something because there was no other way he could naturally be so fucking perfect.

“Look,” I said, moving his hands back. “I’d love to fuck you right now, but I’m really pressed for time.” I was lying. Truth be told, I wasn’t in the mood for his dick or anyone else’s. All I wanted to know was, would he be behind me on this case.

“You know I got your back,” he said, trying to pull me into his arms.

I allowed him to hold me in the embrace, but that was where it stopped. “Do we have a deal or what?” I pressed the issue.

Brad looked at me with uncertainty. He knew I was one slick-ass bitch, but I never let him know the depths I would go to to get what I want. “What’s in it for me?” he wanted to know.

“Just name your price.”

“You’re not wired, are you?” he asked, patting me down around my back and sides.

“Don’t insult my intelligence. Believe me, if I wanted to bury you, you would’ve been in your grave a long time ago,” I replied sarcastically.

“Well, then, tell me who else have you brought in with you?”

“No one. You are the only one I’ve contacted on this case.”

“I find that hard to believe when the DEA are the investigators and your friend Maria works with them.”

“What you’re saying makes perfect sense. However, if that be the case, don’t you think I would’ve just gone to her and canceled you out altogether? I mean, why try to go through you when I could’ve killed the evidence from the source who gathered it all?”

“Well, I guess you’re right. But I still believe that you’ve got Maria in on this somewhere.”

“Trust me, I don’t tell Maria everything,” I lied.

“Well, alright, you got this one. But the next case is mine.”

“Okay, deal!” I said with excitement, then I broke away from his arms.

“Hey, wait a minute—before you run out of here,” he said as he watched me grab my handbag and car keys.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You got to promise me one thing.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Don’t fucking embarrass my people,” he instructed, still sounding a little unsure about our newest deal.

“I thought you were taking the case yourself?” I asked, a little worried.

“I was, but I don’t want any part of your little ass in court. I will make sure it goes away, even if I assign it out to an assistant,” he assured.

“Don’t mess this up for me. I got a lot of shit riding on this acquittal.”

“Yoshi, it’s gonna be alright. Calm down.”

“I’m calm. I just don’t want any bullshit!”

“Everything is going to be taken care of.”

“It better!” After I gave him the “don’t fuck with me” look, I patted him on the shoulder and told him to have a wonderful day. He looked at me like I was crazy. And what’s so funny about that was, most men were starting to give me that same look. So, I asked myself, was I crazy? Maybe, maybe not. But I did know that I was crazy about money, and now that Brad had given me the green light, it was on.

I let the heat waves from the hot Miami air blow through my hair as I whipped my Mercedes down Collins Avenue. I pulled up at a red light, and as I looked out onto the crowded Miami streets, my cell phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I looked at the number that flashed on the screen. It was Luis Santana, one of my former clients.

After the Choo trial, Mr. Santana was the first of many crime bosses clamoring to hire me. I took his case because he was offering the most money. There was actually a sort of bidding war for my services. Santana had won when he showed up at the firm with his checkbook in hand. Paul walked his ass into my office VIP-style; it was an offer Shapiro and Witherspoon could not refuse. Mr. Santana was a relatively easy client to please; all he wanted was an acquittal. I delivered my part of the bargain with ease. I had gotten him off on all of the usual charges—conspiracy, racketeering, murder, and criminal enterprise, and he had paid me well. I’d taken a retainer of $75,000 from him, and for the victory, an additional $500,000. He had been cleared of every single charge, and, trust me, the prosecutors were trying to hang Santana’s ass out to dry. In Mr. Santana’s case, I was just the bitch he needed, or else his ass would’ve been up the fucking river without a paddle. Once the jury I’d bribed returned the “not guilty” verdict, Mr. Santana was overjoyed; he had grabbed me into a bear hug right in the courtroom and yelled that he was forever indebted to me. Those damn Cubans were so loyal. I wasn’t complaining because I loved the attention. He continued to tell me how great I was for days after the trial.

“Hello?” I picked up my cell.

“Ms. Lomax,
hola,
” Mr. Santana replied. His Cuban accent was so damn sexy. I wouldn’t lie to myself and say I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him. He was a good-looking man, well-kept, and rich as a motherfucker. If he wasn’t my client, I probably would’ve fucked his brains out right after the trial. But I had to draw the line somewhere…or did I?

“How are you, Mr. Santana?” I said, low and slightly seductive. It was a habit; whenever I spoke to men, I put on a seductive voice. I had learned to do that as a child.

“I’m fine, beautiful! Did you get my gift?” he asked.

“Which one?” I chuckled. He had sent me flowers, a David Yurman bracelet, and six bottles of champagne right after the trial ended.

“The one I sent today,” he said.

“Where did you send it?” I asked, puzzled. I hadn’t received anything new.

“To your office,” he replied.

“I’m on my way there,” I said, getting excited.

“Okay. Please call me when you receive it,” he said.

“Will do, and thank you so much,” I said.

“You are most certainly welcome,” Mr. Santana said, and disconnected the line. I raced through the streets like a bat out of hell. I loved receiving gifts; it was almost like having a good orgasm for me. Anything that was free was for me.

I pulled my car into the employee parking garage and headed for my spot. I slowed down and cursed to myself when I saw that someone had parked their car in my spot. “What the fuck,” I grumbled, rushing out of my car to get a good look at the car that was improperly parked in my spot. As I approached the front of the car, I saw a huge pink bow tied to the hood. My heart started racing. I grabbed a white card from the windshield and read it aloud, “For a job well done.” My heart was pounding through my chest now. I took a good look at the beautiful candy apple red Aston Martin. This car cost $200,000! I knew Mr. Santana was happy to be free, but damn! There was another card inside the envelope. It was an invitation to a “freedom celebration.” This would be the second celebration Mr. Santana had indulged himself with.

“He was really happy with me,” I whispered.

I parked my Benz in a visitor’s spot and raced upstairs. There was paperwork that needed to be filled out in order for me to make the luxury vehicle my own. Besides, I needed to hurry and get some paperwork for an upcoming trial I was preparing for; I also needed to get ready for the freedom celebration. Shit, I could definitely use a party right now, I thought to myself. Good things came to those who worked hard.

I rushed off the elevator and headed straight for my office. As I made my way down the hallway, I caught the stares of my coworkers.

“What now?” I mumbled to myself.

“Hey, Yoshi, I heard you bought a new car,” Eric Bretner called out. He was an overweight, bottom-of-the-barrel loser of a lawyer. Eric and I had started around the same time; on our first day he’d whispered in my ear, “You’ll never survive here.” Ha! I had to laugh at that shit now. I had surpassed his ass ten times over! Boy, was he such a fucking hater.

“Yeah, with all the bonuses I received from my ninety-eight percent acquittal rate this year,” I retorted. Eric turned red in the face and flipped me the bird; I did the same in return. I was amused by fucking with him. I knew if he could be alone with me for ten minutes, he’d like to torture and kill me. That’s how deep his hate ran for me. As I rushed past Donna, my assistant, she jumped up from her desk and stepped in front of me.

“Uh, Ms. Lomax, uh…,” she began. She looked all strange in the face.

“What, Donna? Move out of my way, I have no time today,” I huffed, trying to go into my office, annoyed with her crazy behavior.