Lousiana Hotshot

a lot better than she thought. The idea of turning brother against brother had strictly been an impulse. She was astonished by her own strength, and trying hard not to get too carried away, pull back before he caught on. But for the moment he seemed lost in his own private anger. “He’s gon’ be the death of me, you know that? You got relatives, Your Grace?”
    “I’m an only child— but I’ve got a mama, and watch out for
her.”
    “Whooo, I know what you mean.” He turned to face her again, and it occurred to Talba that the whole thing might have been a performance for her, a ploy to show off his famous rear. But surely he wasn’t so vain he thought it looked attractive in baggy jeans— it must have been real, especially given what she knew about Toes. He was going to be a big embarrassment, and soon. The Baron had to suspect that.
    She glanced at her watch. “Well, look, let me describe the project…”
    “No need. No need at all. You just go ahead and count me in. That’s all I wanted to tell you.” He took out a checkbook. “And I wanted to give you a little something toward publication.”
    “Oh, no, really.” She was horrified. But what the hell, she could just tear it up.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Yes, indeed.” He seemed determined to undo whatever damage his brother had done.
    “Well, we’re grateful. Could you make it to NOAPP?”
    “Oh, that takes too long— tell you what, you just endorse it to them, why don’t you?” And he made it to her, for five thousand dollars.
    When she saw the size of it, she wondered if it was intended as a bribe. Walking back to her car, she felt her legs go rubbery. All that self-congratulation must have been premature. It looked like the Toledanos were onto her.
    She walked fast. Surely the Baron would call his brother after her visit. The whole damn thing could be over by the time she got to her car.
    Fumbling, she tuned the radio to the frequency she’d set up for the Baron, and was immediately reassured. Her luck was even better than she’d hoped— the Baron was on the speakerphone. Quickly, she retrieved a tape recorder from the glove compartment and let it roll.
    She’d just tuned in to the Baron in high dudgeon, an event not nearly so aristocratic as the Baron granting an audience. The “motherfuckers” were flying thick and fast. Talba was having a ball, taking it all in and laughing to herself till she got to this part:
    “Goddammit, motherfucker,
goddammit!
Every time I turn around you’re fuckin’ up again. And after I sent Bingo and Pig to take care of that goddam woman for you. Did I do that for ya? Huh? Didn’t I do that? I’m goddam sick and
tired
of doing your goddam dirty work, cleanin’ up your mother-fuckin’ messes. I swear to God I’m cuttin’ you loose if you don’t start gettin’ somethin’ right for a change.”
    Talba heard Toes answer, “I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got to hang up; I’m almost at the school.”

Chapter 25
    She’d cut it way too close. Kids were swarming out the door by the time she got to Fortier. Heart thumping, she stopped in the middle of Freret, willing someone to pull out of a parking place. She swiveled her head, panicked, looking for anything at all to focus on, and there it was— Shaneel, talking to two adult men. Horns blatted behind her; the men looked up. They were two of the no-accounts she’d seen earlier that day, hanging out at Toes’s office. Whether or not they saw her, they were evidently moved by the horns. They melted into the crowd, crossed Joseph street, disappeared. Shaneel fell in with a group of girls, walking toward Talba— and then past her.
    Talba was moving now, having no choice unless she wanted to be the latest victim of road rage. She circled the block and saw no sign of Shaneel’s group. Finally, she thought she recognized a purple top on one of the kids. She gave that kid’s group a pass. Yes! There was Shaneel. She needed to park and follow on foot. Damn! Toes had said he was on the way to the school. She could kick herself for her detour. And yet, she might have gotten some evidence. To her, the tape sounded like a confession of murder, though she figured a defense attorney would make mincemeat of it. Still, it might be enough to get someone’s attention— if not that of the cops, maybe the media’s. She loved that idea.
The media.
By all means. If she could just keep the kid alive in the meantime.
    The hell with the