Louisiana Hotshot

by Julie Smith

  “Great.” She stood and held out her hand. “That’s all I can ask.”

  “You got a card?”

  “The best way to get me’s on my cell phone. Let me give you the number.” For good measure, she threw in her pager number as well.

  She mentally congratulated herself— it really was a good idea. She’d damn near convinced herself. Her only regret was that she hadn’t had a minute to photograph the client report. Still, maybe there was a way to get back in; she looked at her watch. Not now. She just had time to grab a quick bite and get to Fortier before Shaneel got out of school.

  But on the way out, there was one little thing she could do. She noticed most of the cars had been driven away by the card players. When she was near enough to the Navigator, she surreptitiously opened her purse and upended it. With a little squeal, she squatted to pick up the mess, taking a moment first (very carefully, so as not to set off the alarm) to place one of her magnetized homing devices on the underside of the car— it might not be his, but she’d bet a hundred dollars it was.

  She was in her own car, thinking about the Shoney’s where she’d seen the Baron’s gang, when her phone rang. Her stomach shimmied— with Eddie in the hospital, any call could be bad news. “Hello?”

  “Your Grace, it’s the Baron.”

  “Why, Your Grace. Wha’s up?”

  “I hear ya been to see my brother.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “I got my feelings hurt. Why didn’t you come see me?”

  “You’re kind of an important man. I didn’t think I could get an audience.”

  “Pretty lady can always get an audience. You got one now. How soon can you get here?”

  She thought about it; this was going to make things tricky, but the opportunity to bug the big man’s office was too good to pass up. She could do it if she forgot about food. “Where are you? I’ve got a three o’clock.”

  “Come on. Give me five minutes. You got to be in the ‘hood— you just saw Toes.”

  Toes. There it was, crouching on the line like a spider made out of words. “I saw who?”

  He laughed. “Tha’s what we call my brother. T-h-o-s, Toes. It’s from Thomas.”

  “Oh. Gotcha.” She made him give her directions, though due to her recent foray, she really didn’t need them. Seven minutes later she was standing in his office.

  Today he was dressed in the universal baggy rap uniform. She gave a little bow. “Your Grace.”

  He nodded, not standing to receive her. “Welcome.” He leaned back. “I know you’re in a hurry, so listen up. That’s a dynamite idea you got.”

  “It wasn’t mine— it’s the organization’s.”

  He waved at her. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Seeing her chance, she said, “I got the impression your brother didn’t think much of the idea.”

  “Oh, yeah? That’s not what he told me. He sounded real excited.”

  “Oh. Well. I guess I got the wrong idea. I got the feeling he thinks you don’t like to do pro bono work.” The Baron made no attempt to conceal his annoyance. “And that he thinks my project’s kind of smalltime.”

  “Goddammit, if I’ve told him once, I’ve told the sucker… ” He caught himself and let the sentence trail off.

  Talba was drunk with power. “I mean, I didn’t really appreciate it when he called the kids freaks.”

  “What kids?”

  “You know— the ones we’d like to benefit, the kids with birth defects. He called them ‘deaf-and-dumb freaks with flippers’— it’s… you know… kind of an expression that sticks in your mind.”

  “Goddammit! I’m gonna…”

  “Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean to get him in trouble. It’s okay— he did tell you about the project and I think, after we’d talked a little bit, he was genuinely convinced of its value— at least from what you tell me. Funny, though, when I left the office I still thought he was hostile to it.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Your Grace.” He rose and started pacing, eventually turning to look out the window in the direction of his brother’s office. Hardly believing her good luck, she slipped a transmitter under the lip of his desk.

  This was working out a lot better than she thought. The idea of turning brother against brother had strictly been an impulse. She was astonished by her own strength, and trying hard not to get too carried away, pull back before he caught on. But for the moment he seemed lost in his own private anger. “He’s gon’ be the death of me, you know that? You got relatives, Your Grace?”

  “I’m an only child— but I’ve got a mama, and watch out for her.”

  “Whooo, I know what you mean.” He turned to face her again, and it occurred to Talba that the whole thing might have been a performance for her, a ploy to show off his famous rear. But surely he wasn’t so vain he thought it looked attractive in baggy jeans— it must have been real, especially given what she knew about Toes. He was going to be a big embarrassment, and soon. The Baron had to suspect that.

  She glanced at her watch. “Well, look, let me describe the project…”

  “No need. No need at all. You just go ahead and count me in. That’s all I wanted to tell you.” He took out a checkbook. “And I wanted to give you a little something toward publication.”

  “Oh, no, really.” She was horrified. But what the hell, she could just tear it up.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Yes, indeed.” He seemed determined to undo whatever damage his brother had done.

  “Well, we’re grateful. Could you make it to NOAPP?”

  “Oh, that takes too long— tell you what, you just endorse it to them, why don’t you?” And he made it to her, for five thousand dollars.

  When she saw the size of it, she wondered if it was intended as a bribe. Walking back to her car, she felt her legs go rubbery. All that self-congratulation must have been premature. It looked like the Toledanos were onto her.

  She walked fast. Surely the Baron would call his brother after her visit. The whole damn thing could be over by the time she got to her car.

  Fumbling, she tuned the radio to the frequency she’d set up for the Baron, and was immediately reassured. Her luck was even better than she’d hoped— the Baron was on the speakerphone. Quickly, she retrieved a tape recorder from the glove compartment and let it roll.

  She’d just tuned in to the Baron in high dudgeon, an event not nearly so aristocratic as the Baron granting an audience. The “motherfuckers” were flying thick and fast. Talba was having a ball, taking it all in and laughing to herself till she got to this part:

  “Goddammit, motherfucker, goddammit! Every time I turn around you’re fuckin’ up again. And after I sent Bingo and Pig to take care of that goddam woman for you. Did I do that for ya? Huh? Didn’t I do that? I’m goddam sick and tired of doing your goddam dirty work, cleanin’ up your mother-fuckin’ messes. I swear to God I’m cuttin’ you loose if you don’t start gettin’ somethin’ right for a change.”

  Talba heard Toes answer, “I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got to hang up; I’m almost at the school.”

  Chapter 25

  She’d cut it way too close. Kids were swarming out the door by the time she got to Fortier. Heart thumping, she stopped in the middle of Freret, willing someone to pull out of a parking place. She swiveled her head, panicked, looking for anything at all to focus on, and there it was— Shaneel, talking to two adult men. Horns blatted behind her; the men looked up. They were two of the no-accounts she’d seen earlier that day, hanging out at Toes’s office. Whether or not they saw her, they were evidently moved by the horns. They melted into the crowd, crossed Joseph street, disappeared. Shaneel fell in with a group of girls, walking toward Talba— and then past her.

  Talba was moving now, having no choice unless she wanted to be the latest victim of road rage. She circled the block and saw no sign of Shaneel’s group. Finally, she thought she recognized a purple top on one of the kids. She gave that kid’s gro
up a pass. Yes! There was Shaneel. She needed to park and follow on foot. Damn! Toes had said he was on the way to the school. She could kick herself for her detour. And yet, she might have gotten some evidence. To her, the tape sounded like a confession of murder, though she figured a defense attorney would make mincemeat of it. Still, it might be enough to get someone’s attention— if not that of the cops, maybe the media’s. She loved that idea. The media. By all means. If she could just keep the kid alive in the meantime.

  The hell with the car. She parked in someone’s driveway, praying they weren’t home and wouldn’t be till she could get back.

  Ah, that was better— like getting rid of a couple of tons of excess weight. This way she could slither unobserved. A car shadowing at five miles an hour was about as unobtrusive as a spaceship.

  There was no sign either of Toes or his two thugs. She was doing fine until the group split in half, some kids continuing their happy, giggling journey, the others settling at a bus stop. Shaneel was among the latter.

  Talba cursed. The kid would see her if she got on the bus, and she wasn’t ready for that. She’d have to get the car. She took off running, hoping Shaneel wouldn’t glance in her direction.

  She arrived back at the bus stop, once more behind the wheel, just as a bus was closing its doors. It peeled out, and Talba didn’t see Shaneel in either direction; she could only hope the girl was on it. She followed its stop-start progress, inspiring hatred in her fellow drivers as she halted at each stop, inspecting the exiting passengers. Just as she was about to decide she’d been tricked, that Shaneel wasn’t on the bus at all, the kid alighted. And once more the trick was to follow her home.

  She lived in the Magnolia Project, or at least she was going there. The idea of entering alone made Talba shiver. Miz Clara’d kill her if she knew. And yet, this kid apparently did it every day— unless she wasn’t going home, but was paying a visit to one of the thugs Talba’d seen at the school. Her blood ran cold. Goddess help her if that was the case.

  Shaneel pulled something from around her neck and inserted it in the lock— latchkey kid, true to stereotype. Talba hollered, “Shaneel!”

  The girl turned and, to her surprise, broke out in a grin. “James Bond.”

  Sometime she really did have to enlighten this kid about the difference between a spy and a detective— if they both lived long enough. Right now she said, “How’re you doing?”

  “What you doin’ in the projects?”

  “I came to talk to you. This where you live?”

  Shaneel nodded, once, hand still on her key, still half-turned toward the door, half toward Talba. A perfect metaphor for ambivalence.

  “I’ve been worried about you. Who were those two guys you were talking to?”

  Talba almost answered with her: “What two guys?”

  She said, “I saw you with them at school. Adults. Looked like gangsters— I don’t know what your mama would say.”

  “Oh, you mean Bingo and Pork? They’re real nice guys.”

  Talba’s gut jigged. “Pork? Is he ever called Pig?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know ‘em. They were waiting for me when I got out of school, said they were friends of Baron Tujague’s and they had to talk to me. Man, you should have seen my friends when they said that. I was a hero. You ‘magine that?”

  “What did they want?”

  Evidently whatever it was was important enough to distract her attention. She released her grip on the key, turned toward Talba, and reached in her pocket. She pulled out a handful of cardboard strips. “They gave me free concert tickets. A whole lot of ‘em— for me and all my friends.”

  “Did they ask you to do something in return?” Like keep your mouth shut about half a dozen serious crimes!

  She looked bewildered. “Do something? No. Why would they do that?”

  Either she was so slow on the uptake the bribe hadn’t worked, or it worked so seamlessly she’d forgotten what she knew. Talba wasn’t sure which, but at any rate it beat the hell out of kidnapping. If Shaneel had been followed home— that is, by anyone else— Talba was reasonably sure she’d have spotted him. She decided to find Tony now and catch Shaneel’s parents later that night. “This where you live?” she repeated.

  “I told you I did. Why you care?” The girl was almost pouting, an unusual attitude for this kid.

  “Maybe I want to bring you a present too.” Perhaps some candy— she’d have to remember to pick something up. “When do your parents get home?”

  Shaneel shrugged. “It’s just me and my mama.” She barely spoke above a whisper.

  “Well, when does your mama get home?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned the key and disappeared.

  Talba fast-walked to her car and dialed Tony. She’d snagged Eddie’s cell phone for him, and they’d agreed to leave both phones on, but for some reason he didn’t answer. Take it easy, she told herself. If Shaneel’s okay, Cassandra’s okay— it follows, right?

  But it didn’t. Cassandra was the one who’d had sex with Toes; the one with the missing mother. Damn! Why the hell didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I take Cassandra? Toes must have been going to her school.

  She could think of a million reasons why Tony wouldn’t answer his phone, why everything was probably just fine and dandy, but that did nothing to keep her heart at a normal pace. Should she check out Cassandra’s school? She looked at her watch. Pointless. School had been out for an hour. Tony should have reported in.

  She turned toward Pontchartrain Park. Maybe he was out of his car. But, no, that wasn’t their deal— they’d agreed to keep their phones with them.

  Traffic was nasty. It took a century to get to the lake.

  But she breathed deeply when she saw Tony’s car in front of the Scott house. Okay. Everything was fine.

  Half-smiling, she went to the door, rang the bell, and waited. She’d been there a long time when she remembered how far it was to the front of the house, how long she’d waited before. She rang the bell again, went through the whole thing one more time, and in frustration finally tried the door. It opened.

  Shocked, she poked her head in, trying to decide whether to call out or creep around. Oh, hell. If they were there, they already knew she was too. It hardly made a damn.

  She found that was a good thing because she was suddenly aware of her panic. Creeping was no longer an option. Her mouth opened and her feet stomped. “Tony? Tony, you here?” The answering silence was more frightening than a scream. “Cassandra?” She was racing, raging against that deathly quiet, willing it broken. She kept yelling as she ran through the house, so loud she started to get hoarse. “Tony, where the hell are you? How the hell could you do this?” Exactly what he had done she couldn’t have said, other than fail to answer. “Cassandra, come out of there!” No one answered.

  And when she reached the dining room, she knew no one would. Two chairs had been overturned on their sides, a pile of books knocked off the table, as if someone had come in, gotten this far, and met with resistance.

  Even after that, she couldn’t stop screaming their names, though she knew perfectly well that if they were there, she was about to find them dead.

  She found nothing. No sign they’d ever been here. They must have been taken out the front door and forced into a car.

  She righted one of the dining-room chairs and sat down, shaking, sweating, trying to get her thoughts together. But there was no choice. There was one thing to do and one thing only. She had to call the cops. And yet… and yet, there was something wrong with that plan, something that niggled at her. She did deep breathing and tried to get at it.

  Ah, there it was: They’d ask her her name and make her wait there.

  Still. It had to be done. She called Langdon.

  Not in, and she had no voicemail.

  Not having her pager number, Talba left a message with some anonymous detective: “Tell her to call the Baroness right away. It’s extremely important— can you
page her?” The detective snorted. Too late, she realized the word “Baroness” had probably identified her as a nutcase. He might or might not page Langdon.

  And then she remembered something— the bird-dog homing device she’d attached to the car parked in front of Toledano’s office. She just might be able to pick up a signal. If she could, and it was Toes’s car, she could find him.

  But the thing had a very short range. No time to wait for the cops. She had to get going. And there was one other thing. She was unarmed. What the hell was she thinking of?

  Without a second thought, she ransacked Aziza’s house, turning up what appeared to be an automatic handgun on a shelf of the woman’s closet, along with several clips of ammunition. She’d never shot a gun in her life, but how hard could it be? She knew damn well she was smarter than the humanoids who had Cassandra. If they could do it, she could.

  She rushed to her car, did a makeshift hookup on the receiver and…against all odds, started to get something.

  The beep was coming from the east. On the road, she used her cell phone to dial 911, and ran the whole thing down to a dispatcher who kept interrupting with pleas for her name. Finally, she exploded, “Jesus, lady, I’ll be in touch!”

  The signal was getting strong.

  It took her to the river, and then she lost it. What had he done, driven into the river? The closest thing to doing that was driving onto a ferry, and she ought to know. She did it often enough. She did it now. And sure enough, picked up the beep on the other side. The car was headed north.

  Algiers Point wasn’t only delightful, colorful streets. Uh-uh. There were woods and swampland to the north, with mosquitoes the size of bats. It was a favorite place for dumping bodies and dealing drugs.

  It was where Aziza probably was.

  Maybe Cassandra and Tony were dead already; maybe Toes was taking them out there to dump them.

  But surely not. There’d been no blood in the house. Where would he have killed them, and how? She was feeling desperate. She tried calling Langdon again. No go.