82 Desire

men. They looked as if they’d be kind.
    She had enough sense to know that Allred, in his job, was no saint, but her intuition told her he wasn’t all bad either—that he’d probably treat her honestly—and that was all she needed.
    She started at the beginning. “Mr. Allred, you a racist?”
    “A racist? You sound like you’re one. You want a black PI, I’ll give you some names.”
    “Hold your horses now; just hold on. This is relevant. I need you to find somebody for me—and he’s a racist, whether he knows it or not. If you’re a racist, you’re just not gonna relate.”
    Allred rested his chin on one fist and tapped the table with the other. “I’m no racist, Ms. Wallis.”
    She told him her problem.
    When she had finished he said, “Sure, I’ve heard that story. I’ve heard about the names. Everybody in New Orleans has.”
    “Every white person in New Orleans.”
    “What are you gonna do if you find the guy?”
    “Does that matter?”
    “I’m curious. That’s all.”
    “I’m gonna make him pay. Some way. Every way I possibly can. I’m gonna hold him up to public ridicule. An eye for an eye, Mr. Allred.”
    “And just how do you plan to do that?”
    “Through my writing.”
    “Tell more.”
    “I’m a poet.”
    “Well, then.” He leaned over, his face so close she could see the twin webs of wrinkles around his eyes. “How do you plan to pay me?”
    “I’m also a computer nerd. A really good one.”
    “And who do you work for?”
    “Right now, I’m kind of freelance.”
    “Oh, really? Well, how would you like to work for me?”
    “You got to be kidding.”
    “Can you search a computer—I mean, just kind of go through its files to find what you want?”
    “Sure. Anybody could do that.”
    “Well, first they’d have to get access to the right computer. And therein lies the rub. See, I could probably find this Pill Man for you—at least I might be able to, but it would take me longer than it would take you, because you’ve got the right demographics.”
    “You kidding me? I don’t have the right demographics for shit. Young, black, and female. Wait a minute; young, black, female, and fat—maybe I should run for president.”
    “Who do you think your typical office worker is in this town?”
    Talba got it. She cocked her head and grinned. “A brilliant poet in disguise?”
    “Disguise. Now that’s the key word, darlin’. That’s the key word. Here’s my proposition—you work for me on a case I got, and I’ll turn you into a private investigator.”
    “Oh, great.” Talba swept open an arm, indicating her humble surroundings. “Then I can be rich like you.”
    “Then you can find the Pill Man yourself.”
    She came alert, sitting up straight, as the implications of it hit her. She realized how much she’d love it--tracking down the slimy bastard all by herself. Oh, yes! She’d adore it.
    She said, “Who do I have to kill? And more to the point, how much do I get paid?”
    “You’re not an assassin, you’re a spy. And you don’t get paid anything—by me.”
    “Oh, great, this is like one of those internships where you’re supposed to be grateful for the privilege of working for free.”
    “It’s not a bit like those. You got a chip on your shoulder—anybody ever tell you that? Is it because you’re black or because you’re female?”
    She ignored him—she’d often been told she had a chip on her shoulder. “How’s this different?”
    “Because you do get paid—while undergoin’ a veritable graduate seminar in investigative techniques. It’s more like those scholarships where they pay you for goin’ to school. You know—the ones black people get.”
    “Thought you weren’t a racist, Mr. Allred.”
    “Just seein’ if you’re awake.”
    It occurred to her that he had the rudiments of a sense of humor, however crude.
    “See, what happens,” he continued, “is you get a job over at United Oil and they pay you. You think anybody’d believe me as an office worker? No way. But you’ve not only got the right demographics, you’re real bright and real attractive. No way you’re not gonna get the job.”
    “What job?”
    “Well, any job they’ve got, to tell you the truth. All you have to do is get in the building, figure out how to get to a particular person’s computer, and rifle it.”
    “That’s all?”
    “That’s all.”
    “How’s that going to help me find the Pill Man?”
    “While you’re doing that, I’m going