Louisiana Bigshot

Catherine. I called your buddy Langdon, but she wasn’t in, so I talked to someone else.” Her voice sounded shaky. “You all right?”
    “Fine. Which way did they go?”
    “Out Loyola. Towards the aiport.”
    “They still have Eddie?”
    “Yeah. Oh, God, I feel so helpless. I couldn’t even get the pictures.”
    “Well, don’t worry about that. Listen, Catherine, Eddie’s car has a tracking device.”
    “A what?”
    “I’ll explain later.”
If there is a later.
“What I’m saying is, I can track his car. I can tell where they’re taking him. And I’m following.”
    “Talba, don’t. The police’ll take care of it.”
    “I’m going. Can we stay in phone contact?”
    “Listen, Talba. Do you have a gun?”
    “No.”
    “Well, I do. Pick me up.”
    So much for Catherine not being armed. Talba swallowed hard and thought about crossing a bridge she thought she never would again. Once before, she’d fired a gun—twice, actually; and both times had been disastrous.
    She said, “I can’t, Catherine. Eddie told me about you. You’ve got kids.” Catherine had kids and a husband, and grandchildren as well, but it was the word
kids
that always struck a nerve.
    Catherine didn’t answer, evidently thinking it over.
    Talba shut her eyes and made herself speak, feeling she had no choice. “Let me have the gun.”
    “Okay.” The answer came fast—no way did Catherine Mathison want to get in a gunfight. “Where are you?”
    “I’m at LaSalle and Poydras—right by the Superdome. You?”
    “Three minutes away. You want me to come to you?”
    “Please.” That gave Talba time to boot up her computer and check out Eddie’s position. First, though, she put in her own emergency call to Langdon. Then she got out her trusty Toshiba; she went nowhere without it. Stan and Eddie had covered a lot of ground already. They were already on the Interstate, going toward New Orleans East. They could be headed anywhere.
    There were woods and swampland there, right in the city itself. She had to get on this—and fast. Her phone rang, making her jump.
    “Baroness? What’s going on?”
    “Skip. Thank God. Listen, this is complicated. But the short version is, Eddie’s life is in danger. Someone just kidnapped him and they’re headed towards New Orleans East. They’re in his car, which has a GPS in it—”
    “LoJack?”
    “What?”
    “We can track LoJack. Is that what it is?”
    “Uh… no.” She hadn’t gotten LoJack; she had no interest at all in a police-controlled system. The appeal of the GPS was that it was hands-on. “I have to track this one myself. I’ve got him on my computer—and I’m on my way. Tell me a few hundred officers are too.”
    “Talba, listen. Please stay where you are. Pull off the road and wait for an officer.”
    Like hell she would. But this was no time to mention it. “He’s at… almost at Esplanade. His car is a 1999 white Cadillac.” She gave them the plate number.
    “Okay. And where are you?”
    “I’m at LaSalle and Poydras.”
    “Stay there, would you? An officer will come and monitor the GPS.”
    “No, I’m going to keep going. Here’s my cell number.”
    “Talba, don’t be a fool.”
    “Look, I’m hanging up—just give my cell number to the first officer who answers the call—I’ll keep him or her up to date.”
    “Wait! Not all our officers have cell phones.”
    “Well, he can radio you and you can call me.”
    “That’s ridiculous, Talba. I want you to stay put.”
    “Hell, Skip, even Miz Clara doesn’t get to boss me any more.”
    Langdon’s gasp was the last thing she heard before she hung up. She was working on adrenaline and unable to stop. Adrenaline and anxiety. Damned if she was going to be passive when Eddie was in this kind of a fix—he wouldn’t if it were she.
    But she also knew her plan was better. It would save time, and it was simpler. The thing Langdon objected to was that Talba wasn’t a police officer, and the hell with that. Cop rules weren’t her rules.
    Catherine pulled up as Talba was checking out her tools and handed over the gun. Talba did two more things before starting her car again. She put her Tee-ball bat on the seat beside her, along with the gun; and she put Langdon on speed-dial. Then she took Loyola to I-10 and got on it, one eye on the computer on the seat beside her. Eddie’s car was almost at “the high rise,” the overpass above the Industrial Canal. Still heading east. She couldn’t shake