Louisiana Bigshot

was being dismantled. Sealed cardboard boxes were everywhere, and a stack of flat ones leaned against a wall, waiting to be made up. Other moving tools—magic markers and tape—were scattered around a dark, gloomy living room with an old sofa, chair, and television set still in it.
    “Let’s go to the back,” the woman said. “I’m keeping the front closed up.” She gave an involuntary shiver and glanced at the dog. Talba realized she was afraid of the neighborhood. “There’s a cute little backyard where we can sit.”
    She led Talba through a deserted-looking bedroom, into a kitchen in the process of being torn apart, and finally outside, into a pleasant space furnished with a metal table, chairs, and a nice stand of banana trees.
    “Can I offer you anything?”
    Talba declined, wondering what was going on here.
    “Sit down, will you?” She waited for Talba to obey, but didn’t sit herself. “I’m sorry to tell you my son passed away earlier this week.”
    “Umph.” Talba faked surprise, but in fact, she’d had a bad feeling ever since she entered the house. It had a forlorn look to it, like Babalu’s. And a feeling; a very oppressive feeling.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said.
Who am I?
she was thinking.
Definitely not a PI working for the girl he scalped.
    The woman sniffed into a Kleenex. “Just as he was getting his life together.”
    It occurred to Talba that death was like pregnancy; in one, everyone patted your stomach; in the other, you also got your privacy invaded. “But what happened?” she blurted. “Donny was so… I mean, he was getting his life together….”
    Finally, the woman sat. “He was mugged coming home from work. They beat him, took his wallet, and shot him.”
    Talba gasped, and this time the shock was real. “Coming home from work? But what time…?” She thought she was doing a poor job of fishing, but nothing solid had occurred to her yet; she sure wished she could get the lying thing down better.
    “He still worked at the Wild Side—ironic under the circumstances, but it was so hard for him to find anything else. It happened about four a.m. just after his shift.” She stopped in midsentence, looking quizzical.
    “I know about the prison sentence, Mrs. Troxell.”
    She nodded knowingly. “Oh, yes, I suppose he shared about that.”
    And suddenly Talba had it; he “shared,” he was getting his life together, and it was ironic that he worked at a bar. She took a chance that he was in AA. “I see you’ve figured out how I knew Donny.”
    For the first time his mother smiled. “These days, most of his friends are in the program. What was it you needed, by the way?”
    “Oh, uh—Donny lent me a little money. I wanted to pay it back.” Talba bit her lip hard enough to get tears to come to her eyes.
    “Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry at all.”
    “Oh, no. Please.” She produced a ten-dollar bill. “I just feel so bad.”
    “My son had the hardest life of anyone I know—and now this! It’s just so unfair.”
    “It sure is. It sure is, Miz Troxell.”
    “It was like a second chance. The first time was like this too—just plain unfair.”
    “You mean—uh, that thing in his hometown?”
    The woman nodded, the sadness in her face giving way to anger. “He was such a smart boy—and it was obvious from a very early age. His dad was just a plumber and I’m a waitress. We had four children and none of them had any more brains than we did—except one. We gave him everything, uh, Miss…?”
    “I’m Sandra,” Talba said, “and I’m an alcoholic.”
    The other woman smiled. “Sandra,” she said. “We didn’t have much, but there was a really good guidance counselor at the high school, and she helped him get a scholarship to Vanderbilt. He was dating the daughter of the richest man in town. He had the world by the tail. And then one day she broke up with him… and they accused him of
scalping
her…and…” She started to cry again.
    Talba touched her hand. “I know the story. But one thing I never understood—why did the girl break up with him?”
    Troxell’s face was stony. “He never knew. Poor thing never even knew. He was so hurt… and then when he got arrested…”
    Clearly Donny’s mother thought he hadn’t attacked Clayton. Best not to go down that road, Talba thought. She kept her mouth shut.
    “He came out of prison a broken man. He never could hold a decent job or even hold his head up after that. His father was so