Southern Fried by Cathy Pickens Read Free Book Online Page B

heaved himself around. “Right this way.” With his shoulders churning, he plowed toward an exit and the rear loading dock.
    Jason, for all his fresh-faced shallowness, knew what he was looking for. And Harrison Garnet hobbled right along without even asking what it was. Or how much trouble he would be in if Jason found it.
    Was Garnet really that naive? Conceivable. As a lawyer, even I knew precious little about theenvironmental field. Except I did know that guys who wear suits could end up doing jail time alongside bruisers named Bubba. Either Garnet didn’t have anything to hide or he didn’t know it needed to be hidden.
    On the dock, Jason assumed his cocky stance, surveying the back parking lot as if he owned it.
    “How long has this plant been here, Mr. Garnet?”
    “This original building’s been here since the forties. Initially it housed a garment manufacturing plant. We took it over in the midfifties. Expanded quite a bit in the early years.”
    Again, Jason murmured politely, studying the parking lot. “I’m trying to picture your layout here. I believe a creek runs along that back part of your property?”
    “If you can call it a creek. Barely enough water in there to wet the rocks. We use city water and sewer here.”
    Jason nodded, staring past the sunlight glinting off the parked cars toward the tree line half a football field away. Then he turned back toward the door we’d exited from, not bothering to finish his tour of the loading area. “I’d like to take a look at some of your paperwork now, if you don’t mind.”
    Garnet registered only a tinge of surprise—or maybe disappointment—then turned toward the door. “Sure—”
    “Excuse me, Mr. Smith.” I’d played the strong, silent type long enough. “Before you go on a fishing expedition through the company records, I’m going to have to ask you again the purpose of your search.I’m sure you understand.” The syrupy drip of my voice did little to soften my insistence.
    Harrison Garnet looked over his shoulder at me but didn’t struggle to turn around.
    Jason Smith, sensing a break in the ranks, waited. When Garnet didn’t speak, Jason focused on me. “As I’ve indicated, I’m not required to reveal my source—”
    “And as I’ve indicated, I believe you are required to state the subject of the complaint.” I had no idea if that was true. But if he weren’t required to tell, he should be.
    I half expected him to put his hands on his hips and taunt me: Well, I’m not telling. Nyeh, nyeh, make me .
    How many guys like Jason had I known? Overconfident, ego-inflated white boys heading into a world where they couldn’t get by on a paucity of brains and plenty of family connections the way their frat brothers had in the past. Headed into a world where women and guys who weren’t white or well connected would flail the tar out of the likes of them. And they’d conveniently be able to blame affirmative action, reverse discrimination—anything but their own cockiness and lack of experience. And lack of humility.
    “Your attitude certainly isn’t in the spirit of cooperation as, together, we try to resolve this matter,” he said.
    Bullshit . “Maybe we could be more help in resolving this matter if we knew what this matter is.”
    We’d squared off, with Harrison Garnet closedout of our little tête-à-tête. Garnet maneuvered awkwardly around so he could watch us. Jason Smith appealed to him. “Mr. Garnet, if I could simply see your records for—”
    “Mr. Smith, I don’t know how to make this any clearer. Without more information about what you need to see, I can’t let you pillage about in my client’s files. Those files contain confidential customer information, trade secret process information—any number of things that are proprietary and valuable.”
    I had no idea if any of that was true, either. But I was on a roll. And I resented his continuing end-runs around me to Garnet.
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to