WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT WHEN CARMA'S INVOLVED?

DOCE

Alixxander barged into my office. “DON'T YOU EVER DO,” before Alixxander finished his sentence, loud clapping echoed behind him.

“Miss Sanchez, you sneaky she-devil. Those reporters were none the wiser as you walked through them.” Alixxander’s dumbfounded expression told me he didn’t know how hot his father was on his heels. “Alixx, today I saw a woman unafraid to grab the press by their balls, give them a tight squeeze and a twist before removing them then placing them in her purse. Young woman, you are fearless, and I like that. Anything you need, come see me.”

Román commended my honest performance. If I had to describe Alixxander at that moment using one word, it would have been SUCKER! Petty, I know. It wasn’t my fault he felt butthurt. I was issued a stern warning to never take matters into my own hands again. I promised to never upstage him again. My fingers were crossed behind my back, making the promise null and void.

I’m a chica with a learned temper. If you’re wondering what I mean by that, it means I had a lot happen to me that should’ve made me angry. At the time, I didn’t know who to be angry at. People around me inadvertently taught me having a temper was normal and using it on occasion can be necessary. I know how to use it. Thankfully, as an adult, I’ve never had to.

Having Alixxander speak to me the way he did irked me. Most of the day was spent engulfed in research surrounding the new client. I found it difficult to put his perplexifying nature out of my mind. One minute he's a great guy, the next he's an arrogant prick that thinks he's God's gift to women and looking for a piece of ass. The combination of Alixxander’s intelligence and dimwittedness helped him break down the science of the sad and lonely act to fool those who didn’t know any better. The indisputable facets about his fiancé convinced me Alixxander was at least eighty-five percent honest with me. No matter how you sliced and diced the situation, no one should fill the empty space Carma refused to. Especially me.

Sleep that night was hard to come by. Fed up with tossing and turning, I climbed out of bed around three in the morning. For some reason, meeting the prosecutor filled me with dread. Sure, I looked him up. One reporter compared him to a stale cookie that wouldn’t crack or crumble under mounting pressure. The funny thing is no one notices the tiny stress fractures. Everyone has them. Once they combine, it’s only a matter of time before catastrophe strikes.

While the tub filled with water hot enough to scorch the Devil, I made coffee. No sleep means extra time to work. With a giant mug of coffee in one hand and the case file in the other, I slowly submerged my body, enjoying the relaxing burn. Between sips of a smooth slow-roast blend, I went over the statements of two witnesses I was able to contact. They agreed to meet with me later and hopefully add more context to the event. As for the officers’ notes and reports.... it didn’t go well. They told me to go fck myself, as nicely as they professionally could. That convinced me there were not enough miracles in the world to prove the officers were being completely honest. With a few moments of relaxation left, I finished my coffee and pulled the drain stopper.

There was a lot to do and figure out with the case. Which was why I went to the office early when it was almost dead silent. Before I knew it, the alarm on my watch went off, signaling the five-minute warning to collect my things and head to the conference room. It surprised me to see Travis playfully conversing with my opponent. Confidently, I entered the room and introduced myself to Drake Washington and Lisa Hightower of the district attorney's office. Pleasantries were exchanged, and as I took a seat, Travis began the talks. Of course, I was fuming. No one informed me about the shake-up. But I sat back and listened as they discussed my case. A case that sounded unfamiliar no less. My ears perked up at the mention of a witness I conversed with yesterday.

James Row agreed to my request for an in-person meeting. It displeased Hightower to know the witness returned my call and not hers. Mr. Row refused to speak over the phone. Witnesses can and do become concerned about being overheard. Doing the right thing can get you hurt or killed. Sometimes, if the bad guy can’t get to a witness, they go after the family. Don’t believe everything you see in movies. It happens more with cartels and mobs than with the average Joe.

“You didn't bribe him, did you?” Yep, Travis asked me that in front of the enemy.

My temper remained in check as I nicely put him in his place. “Mr. Savage, my employment with the firm may be recent, but I can assure you, I am as far from an amateur as you are. I simply informed him that omitting details or giving a false statement could land his ass in jail faster than he could blink. Being the soul provider for his family, he didn't want to go to jail. He agreed to come in and answer a few questions. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Mr. Washington pushed for details on how I was going to defend my client. We were not off to a good start. I reluctantly gave him the benefit of assuming I wasn’t intimate with the trick he was trying to play. Asking to see my hand, refusing to show his, all the while hiding an ace up his sleeve when the stakes became too high to leave to chance. It didn’t matter anyway, because all the alleged facts were not in my possession. Talking strategy so soon was a waste of breath. Why Travis chose not to put a stop to the interrogation? I cannot say, but it was abundantly clear they were skirting around the violation of protocols.

From the second I read the complaint, I knew race played a factor. I will never apologize for believing officers received a ‘description’ and arrested the first black man they saw. In fact, I was overconfident that was how it happened. After mapping out the area online, my job was to search for the unnoticed truth tellers. One or more had to be out there corroborating or disproving the accusations. According to Mr. Washington, not a single camera caught anything. Convenient, don’t you think? Then he said the dumbest thing. “Police never lie. Mr. Carmichael is the liar here.” Everyone lies. Whether it’s a fib or an outrageous doozy. At some or multiple times in a person’s life they lie. Treating me as if I were naive made me gradually disrespect him.

Mr. Carmichael, my client, was submitted to a drug test. A test, mind you, that showed no traces of any illegal substances in his system. His wife told me he was on a low dose of aspirin for his heart. In the report, it stated Mr. Carmichael was well known to the police as a drug addict and dealer. Nothing in my possession supported anything of the sort. The man had never been arrested, not even a speeding ticket was attached to his name. It looked like a severe case of mistaken identity. For the first time in a long time, I felt self-conscious as three sets of eyes stared at me. Mr. Washington didn't like my attitude or the way I pointed out facts. I didn’t express regret for getting farther in twenty-four hours than the chump and his chumpette sidekick got since the arrest.

“Travis, it looks like we will be winning this one. Thanks hot-shot.” Mr. Washington winked at me, before getting up to leave.

As I gathered my notes, Travis bent down and spoke in my ear. “Are you trying to make everyone here look incompetent?” I turned my head, so we were nose to nose. I could smell the coffee and everything bagel he ingested before the meeting. It was disgusting and turned my stomach.

“I'm trying to do the job I was hired for. If that is not why I was hired, tell me now. I don't want to waste anyone's precious time.” Especially my own. Watching him explain to his father why I left the firm would be a match I’d buy front row tickets to.

“No. You're free to go.” Exactly what I thought he’d do.

Hastily returning to my office, the exchange fueled my determination to work my ass off even harder, not for the sole purpose of freeing my client, but to also knock Mr. Washington and the clown working with him down a peg. Six o'clock rolled up faster than Alixxander in his Ferrari, and I went out the door because Mr. Row called to reschedule. I wondered if a certain prosecutor got to him. With nothing else to do, I went home and did some online car shopping. The rental remained in the parking lot with a flat tire. I happened to come across a blue Ferrari for sale and Alixxander floated in and out of my thoughts. The more I saw him, the more I liked and disliked him at the same time, if that made any sense. A man that reached out to me, turned on me. I don't know what I did, but I would love to know.

The growing need to find the missing puzzle pieces before they vanished forever never left my thoughts. For weeks, I chased down leads, interviewed random people in the neighborhood, and spent hours asking the same questions a million different ways from Sunday to see if stories had changed. Memory is malleable. Therefore, you can’t always rely on it. The further away from the day you get, the more details could be lost or added because the witness claims they forgot to mention it. So much can go wrong in a short time. As Mr. Washington said there were cameras in the area but, none of them caught anything. Worst of all, I had been denied access to my client. The man hadn’t been in contact with his family, received no mail, and his court date had been rescheduled four times. It’s a commonly used stall tactic. Torturing Mr. Carmichael by refusing any and all contact with the outside world was going to come to a screeching halt. Mr. Washington had a problem. If the case was cut and dry like he claimed, we’d have been in court arguing in front of a judge and jury already. I let it go because it gave me more time to sleuth around for the truth.

Through all of this, Alixxander's absence didn’t go unnoticed. As much as I wanted to, I didn't dare call him to find out if he was all right. Asking around the office would have been an even bigger mistake. Deep down, it felt like I passed up an opportunity. I love women, but.... there was something about Alixxander Savage that made me want to go straight for one night. Did he leave? Did Román fire him? Maybe his hussy had driven him to the mad house. Curiosity was not going to kill this kitty, or even maim it, so I went against human nature and stopped wondering.

Then BOOM, guess who walked past my office looking fine and wearing a wedding ring. I averted my eyes just in time as he peered in. I sensed his eyes on me, but he said nothing. Using my expert detective skills, I deduced something about his relationship changed if he got married.