Lousiana Hotshot

liked the sound of that.
    She dialed 911 again, and with appropriate histrionics, gave the dispatcher her location.
    Her cell phone rang as soon as she hung up. The Baron said, “I can’t get him. Where are you?”
    “Why?”
    “I’m coming. I’m in the car.”
    He could of course send a fleet of thugs to whack her. Better come clean, she thought. “Baron. The cops are on the way.”
    “The fuck! My brother’s crazy, you understand? I’m coming.”
    The fuck!
she thought. He had a point. She told him her location.
    And then she put a clip in the automatic and another in her pocket. She got out of the car, and started toward the SUV, wishing for a bulletproof vest, a motorcycle helmet, suit of armor, anything at all. “Toes?” she hollered. “Toes, I’ve got a message from your brother.”
    There was no answer. She had a bad feeling no one was in the car, and it proved out.
    That meant Toes was in the nasty, swampy woods with Cassandra and Tony. She’d have to be crazy to go in there. Nevertheless, she was going to. She took off her hat and her red cape and started walking, glad she had on boots.
    She moved timidly, taking very small steps in the hope they’d be quieter. She had no idea which direction to choose, and she paused frequently to listen. Finally, she thought she heard a male voice. And another noise, some kind of repetitive thumping. She headed toward it, ever so slowly and quietly.
    She saw them before she could figure out what was going on— all three of them, alive. One of the men was sitting on the ground, and so was Cassandra. The other was bending over and straightening up, the same action over and over again. At this distance, she couldn’t see color, and if the three had been strangers, sex might have been questionable.
    Moving closer, it was a nightmare tableau. The man on the ground was Toes, the action was digging— he was forcing Tony, probably at gunpoint, to dig his own grave.
    Yes, the gun was there. Talba felt for her own. She had no idea what its range was, but decided not to go any closer. If the situation changed, she could at least fire warning shots.
    The boots that were even now saving her from snake and mosquito bites were too noisy to try any kind of surprise attack. The only thing she could think to do was wait, and there was nothing she hated more.
    The change, when it came, surprised her as much as Toes. It was a shout, impossibly loud, right in her ear (or so it seemed). “Toes Toledano!”
    Goddammit, don’t!
she thought.
Shut the fuck up. He’s going to go crazy and shoot them both.
    Instead, he rose and broke into a big silly grin, ready to high-five the newcomer. “Hey, T!” he hollered, and Talba whirled to see the Baron behind her, megaphone in hand.
    He said, “Give it up, brother. It’s over.”
    “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout? What’s that shit you talkin’?”
    “It ain’t no good, Toes. Give it up. The bitch called the cops.”
    “I didn’t do nothin’. I was just gon’ give the bitch some tickets.” (Presumably not the same bitch who called the cops.) “Asshole comes along, says he’s a cop— what I’m s’posed to do? Huh? Answer me that?”
    “Hey, brother. The bitch called the cops. The Baroness.”
    “The poetry bitch?” There were probably plenty of bitches in Toes’s life. “Where she now?”
    “Her car’s here.”
    And Talba suddenly realized neither one of them had seen her. She heard sirens.
    It was over. It was as
good
as over.
    And yet… and yet…as long as they couldn’t see her…
    It occurred to her she could walk in a circle and come up behind Toes. It would be tricky— her purple outfit wasn’t exactly invisible. And it would be dangerous— if the cops started shooting, she’d be right in their line of fire. On the other hand, wasn’t this what backup was? Being there just in case?
    It was a terrible idea. A perfectly awful idea. But curiously, she didn’t feel the fear. She felt calm and detached. This was probably the other adrenaline response, the one that didn’t result in a turtle imitation.
It may never happen again,
she thought.
I may as well enjoy it.
She started moving.
    She was so intent on her own stealth she didn’t notice that the place was overrun almost before she had a chance to notice. Quietly, cops fanned out in a semicircle around Toes. And there weren’t only cops. Television crews were right behind them— dangerously close, she thought, cameras like great metal pets on their