Louisiana Lament

doing?”
    “Ya had a chance to background Calhoun yet?”
    “Sure. He was born in Clayton, of fairly poor parents, and put himself through law school with that deputy sheriff’s gig. After that, he came to New Orleans, where he worked for the DA’s office, and now he’s a bigtime lawyer who wants to be governor. Wife and kids, the whole thing.”
    “Uh-huh. So he’s got two offices in New Orleans—a law office and campaign headquarters, most probably. Now campaign headquarters—that might be promising. How would ya feel about volunteering?”
    “Ah.” All of a sudden she saw the plan and thoroughly approved. “My name’s Claudia Snipes.”
    “Huh?”
    “That’s the new person I’m waking up as.”
    “Where’d ya get that name?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.” It was funny how clearly she was thinking. “But not campaign headquarters. How big is the law office?”
    “Huge. But ya can’t just volunteer to work in a law office.”
    “Uh-huh. You can if it’s big enough—and you’ve got computer skills.”
    “Whatever ya say, Ms. Wallis. I don’t know what ya talking about, but there ain’t no news there.”
    The next morning, with the phone bugs still in place, she called the office and was greeted by Eileen Fisher’s cheery, “E. V. Anthony Investigations.”
    “Eileen, it’s Talba.” She made her voice labored and slow.
    “Talba, you okay? You don’t sound right.”
    “I’ve got the worst cramps I’ve had since I was fifteen.”
    “Oh, Gawd, I feel for ya. I get ’em every month.”
    “Listen, can I talk to Eddie? I don’t think I can come in today.”
    “Sure. You take care of yourself now.”
    Eddie answered particularly gruffly. “Yeah?”
    “Eddie. You know that prejudice you’ve got against female employees?”
    “Miz Wallis? That you?”
    “You know how you’re afraid they’ll get their periods and—”
    “Miz Wallis, what the hell ya talkin’ about? Ya sound like ya voice is comin’ up from a tunnel.”
    “I’m sorry. I just feel crummy is all. I’ve got these horrible cramps and, you know, like, really, really heavy flow. I’m scared I’m hemorrhaging. I even think maybe—”
    “Ya need the day off, Miz Wallis? Is that what ya sayin’? Could ya spare me the fuckin’ details? Excuse my French.” He sounded so genuinely horrified she almost laughed. She’d picked this particular form of infirmity for the express purpose of getting a reaction so genuine whoever was listening couldn’t mistake it. “Eddie, I wouldn’t do this if I absolutely didn’t have to.”
    “Just cut to the chase, okay? How about the Patterson case?”
    “What about it?”
    “It’s our most important case of the moment. What kind of progress ya makin?”
    “Eddie, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve got a real bad feeling it’s a dead end. Richard’s not going to tell us anything. Talking to him’s like talking to a dead fish.”
    “I don’t care if he stinks like a fish. This guy Jason’s got money and he’s willing to spend it. You
will
pursue this case. Ya understand me?”
    “Okay, okay. I swear to God I’ll hit it with both barrels tomorrow. Just let me have a day off and—”
    “Miz Wallis, you can have two days off if ya need ’em. Just get up a head of steam on this one. I can’t work it for ya or I would. I gotta go out of town today.”
    “You do? What for?”
    “Ya know the Fusco case? Billy Bob Bubba-type guy out in Plaquemines?”
    “Oh, yeah. Divorce case. Made a lot of money in something or other, and the wife wants it. She’s trying to prove he’s having an affair.”
    “No, ya got it wrong, Ms. Wallis. He didn’t actually make his money—took care of a fishing camp for some old boys from New Orleans; one of ’em took a shine to him and remembered him in his will. Well, anyway, Mrs. Billy Bob just wouldn’t take no for an answer about Sweet Thing. But I did hours and hours and hours of surveillance and got nothing. Remember that?”
    “I remember how pissed off you were.” And because she was feeling kindly toward him, she said, “Excuse my French.”
    “Well, ya know what I did, Ms. Wallis?”
    “I know I’m about to find out.”
    “I brought Muhammed to the mountain, that’s what. That is, I invited him to the mountain. Sent him a prepaid coupon for two nights at the Beau Rivage. Champagne breakfast, the whole thing. Ya think he’s taking his wife to that?”
    “Let me guess. He