Louisiana Lament

restroom on Calhoun’s floor.When she saw it in view, she mumbled, “ ’Scuse me,” and started running.
    She ran into a stall, locked it, and started coughing and gagging violently, making a big show of throwing up. She heard Suzeraine come in behind her. “You okay in there, baby? Anything I can do to help?”
    Deftly, Talba transferred the disks from her pockets to her pantyhose, one in front and two in the back. For good measure, she hid her PI license in her bra.
    She came out wiping her face with a piece of toilet paper, went straight to a basin, and rinsed her mouth like anyone who’d just thrown up. Then she took her time splashing her face and drying it.
    Suzeraine smiled at her. “Better?”
    She did her weak-smile thing again. “A little bit.”
    They walked out together and when they came to the elevators, Talba pressed the button, and turned to her benefactress. “God bless you, sister,” she said, and gave Suzeraine a hug.
    The woman looked puzzled. “Where you going?”
    “Home. I’m real sorry this job didn’t work out. I sure did need it.”
    “Well, I’m sorry too, darlin’. You take care of yourself.” The elevator doors opened to reveal Margaret Neuschneider. “Hi, Claudia. Going to lunch?”
    Talba stepped in. “No, ma’am. I’m going home and I’m never coming back to this place ever again for any reason.”
    Only when the doors closed did she breathe a sigh of relief. But now came the hard part. In a way, she’d made it easier for Calhoun—removed herself from the spotlight; she wondered if she should have made one of those nice ladies take her back to CompuTemps.
    She pressed 3, took off her jacket, removed her wig, and wrapped it in the jacket. Her heavy, sexy extensions fell to the middle of her back. It was taking a chance; she might fool somebody looking for a short-haired woman, but if she were caught, she’d have a hell of a time explaining why she’d come to work in disguise.
    No one was waiting for her on three. So far so good. She stepped into the stairwell and clattered down. One floor; silence. Two floors. More silence—and then a second clattering. Someone was coming up from the first floor.
    She turned around and started climbing again. From behind, she’d look nothing like the woman Calhoun would have described to security; yet exactly like the woman Stan probably had a picture of. Speaking of Stan, what if it were he? She risked taking a peek.
    No. It was a uniformed guard.
    She fumbled for her cell phone, which she had programmed to speed-dial 911 if she pressed 1 and Eddie if she pressed 2. The man elbowed past her without so much as an “excuse me,” clearly in a hurry.
    Talba turned the other way and started running, going down again. She heard a confused noise behind her. And the next thing she knew, a rhino was after her.
    At any rate, she ran as if it were. It was probably only the one guard, but there might be reinforcements on the first floor. The basement too? Maybe not, but she was dead if they’d thought of it. They could probably murder her there in perfect privacy. Uh-uh, she’d take her chances with a crowd.
    There was another guard waiting when she stepped out of the stairs, and also two women waiting for the elevator. The guard said, “Claudia Snipes?”
    She shrank back, but spoke up big. “Don’t you come near me. See this phone?” She held it up. “I’m gon’ call the po-lice right now, you come anywhere near me. Ma’am? Ma’am? Help me. Could y’all help me, please? Some man tried to attack me up there and they’re tryin’ to cover it up—could one of y’all find me a po-liceman, please?”
    The guard was an old white guy, looked to be in his late sixties. He took a step backward, obviously cowed.
    Talba bolted.
    About that time the other guard, a young black guy, really buff, burst out of the stairwell. “What’s going on?”
    That was the last Talba heard of that conversation. She was outside now, streaking down Gravier Street, with people all around. Surely no one would bother her here, out in the beautiful sunshine.
    But she heard someone pounding after her.
    The question was this: were they going to try to kidnap her, work her over, find out what she knew, or turn her over to the police?
    It occurred to her that now, away from the building, they could make her disappear and those nice ladies who’d taken care of her would be none the wiser.
    She turned her head ever so slightly. The brother was chasing