Lousiana Hotshot

friends who were— and who might need a little divorce work or something.
    If he could just do something about her mouth, the Baroness might work out.
    One thing about it bothered him a little— the coincidence of Scott making a scene at Talba’s boyfriend’s school at the very moment she was negotiating her salary. He decided to let it go. He knew it had to be a setup and a pretty transparent one— but if Scott’s money was good, what the hell did he care? Let the Baroness play games all day and all night if she wanted; if she thought she was fooling him, so much the better. Being underestimated was always an advantage.
    After the client left, he said, “Ya got a car, Ms. Wallis?”
    She came back with, “How about if we do ‘Talba’ and ‘Eddie’?”
    Damn, she could be irritating. It was his place to say that, right? Who the fuck did she think she was? But what the hell, it was going to come to that, anyway. So he just said, “Whatever Your Grace desires. Ya got a car or not?”
    “Yes sir. Nice little Camry.”
    “Well, get out to Delgado and sign up for the next investigators’ course. But first call up the state Board of P.I. Examiners and apply for your apprentice license.” He paused. “Oh, and by the way— nice of ya to include me in on the interview with the kid.”
    She gave him a smile he could only construe as mischievous. “I thought I had to.”
    “Ya damned right ya had to. Ya can’t do a damn thing on this case— or any case, ya got that?— till your apprentice license comes through.” He paused, his gaze boring right through her— this was something you couldn’t mess around with. “Ya know why?”
    “My mama always said, ‘because I told you not to’.”
    “Well, there’s three thousand better reasons— one for every dollar I’m gon’ get fined if ya do. Now get outta here.”
    While she was out, he and Eileen rearranged the copy room so she could use it for an office.
    Talba was touched to find the little office they’d carved out for her— Eileen had even put some flowers in there. Still, it wasn’t quite what she expected. The obvious space was the room down the hall, the one that appeared more or less empty.
    “What’s with that one?” she asked. “Is there another employee?”
    Eileen shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s the video room. It’s Eddie’s pride and joy.”
    “What do you need a video room for?”
    “We do these ‘Day in the Life’ things, see? Like if somebody gets mangled up in a car accident and they’re suing. We do a little movie showing how tough their life is when they can’t even move their little finger.”
    Talba winced. “Omigod. I hope I never have to do that.”
    “No fear. Uncle Eddie loves it— he’d do nothin’ but that if he could. That and divorce work— anything, so long as it doesn’t involve computers.”
    “Did you say
Uncle
Eddie?”
    “Oops, did I? ‘Scuse me, I’m not supposed to do that. Anyway, it’s on Aunt Audrey’s side.”
    That was good information— there’d be no antagonizing this one. Eileen said, “Make me a list of what you need, okay? There’s already a phone line in there. Oh, and I’ve ordered you a cell phone. Eddie thinks you should have one. You got a camera?”
    “Not a very good one.”
    “Okay, I’ll get you one.”
    “I’ll probably need another phone line for the Internet.”
    “Sure. He said to get you whatever you want.”
    “Great. How about a nice green Jaguar?” Talba slipped into her new office and started setting things up. There were a bunch of folders in her in-box with a note on them: “Not to be touched until you have your license.” They were mostly credit checks. Easy-peazy. She had them nearly all done by five-thirty, and the interview with Cassandra was at six. Eddie didn’t say a word when she laid them on his desk.
    “Pontchartrain Park,” he said as they piled into his Buick. “Birds of a feather still flock together.”
    Talba racked her brain, but in the end had to give up. “Eddie,” she said, finally, “what language was that?”
    “It’s where we’re going. Where the rich black folks live.”
    She almost said, “I don’t think so— or my brother’d be there,” but that sounded snotty even to her. She settled for, “Oh. Thought that was Eastover.”
    “Pontchartrain Park’s older— must not be fashionable anymore.”
    “Well, I sure wouldn’t know. I live in the Ninth Ward.” She said “de Night Wawad,” like a