Lousiana Hotshot

all-too-evident bosom.
    Talba saw an opportunity to inject humor: “She was mixed up with the preacher?”
    Millie barked her laugh again. “No, a different asshole. I’m going to tell you about it. I’m going to tell you all about it. I swear to God, I hope that asshole gets the chair.”
    Talba thought,
You just do that thing,
but Millie said abruptly, “You got any I.D.?”
    “Sure.” She brought out the letter that constituted her apprentice license, trying not to show how embarrassed she was at being not merely a novice but a newborn.
    But Millie didn’t seem to notice, just nodded, satisfied. “You ever heard of Baron Tujague?”
    “Well… sure. Everybody’s heard of Baron Tujague. I think he owns half the city by now.”
    “Yeah, and he’s got about ten Grammys.”
    Tujague was a rapper, and that wasn’t the half of it. He also had his own label, which employed a good number of people; he’d been responsible for discovering three other musicians who’d had gold records, and he had a new crop of protégés coming up. Plus, he was an extremely prominent speaker-at-schools and maker of public-service commercials.
    Millie sneered. “And big in the role-model business. Tell me something— does a rapper need hats? Does he need funky, floppy hats, and fancy pimp-style hats, and little bitty pillbox hats with sequin pictures on them? Think he might need a whole wardrobe of hats? Well, where would he come?”
    Talba smiled. “Pretty good customer to have.”
    “Oh, yeah. Great customer. I’ve got this designer named Danielle, who does these incredible sequin things—”
    “I’ve got one of her hats. You mean the Baron and I have something in common?”
    “He just loves Danielle. Commissions stuff from her.”
    “What’s the deal— is Tujague TNT?”
    “Half of it— T and T, I said. That’s what they call themselves, The other one’s a creep named Toes.”
    Talba almost gasped aloud.
    “Look, I haven’t got anything against Tujague, except maybe he’s a little arrogant, but, hell, if Tom Cruise came in here, would he be arrogant? He’s a
movie star.
Of course, Meryl Streep wasn’t arrogant— man, does she look good in hats. But mostly, stars believe their own press.” She shrugged, and it was a little like an earthquake. “It’s a fact of life. For one thing, they have these
entourages.”
The last word was delivered with such contempt you’d have thought she was a born-again with a thing against sinners.
    “Ah,” said Talba. “Toes.”
    “Oh, yeah, Toes. The motherfucker. Excuse my French.”
    What was it with white people and this French thing? Talba said, “Hey, it’s the French Quarter.”
    Millie looked at her, probably actually taking in her face for the first time. “You’re pretty funny. And you look… I don’t know, like a performer. I get ‘em in here, you know? Show me that license again?”
    “I am a performer— this is my day job, okay?” She pulled herself tall and declaimed. “By day, a simple private eye, and by night, the Baroness de Pontalba.” She bowed.
    “Cool. I knew it. You a rapper too?”
    “Talba’s my name; poetry’s my game. I don’t hang in TNT circles, believe me.” She handed over the license, but this time Millie didn’t even look at it.
    Millie sighed. “Well, the long and short of it is, poor little Rhonda didn’t have any better sense than to fall for him. You really didn’t know her?”
    She pointed to a picture taped to the cash register, of staff members clowning. “Well, this is what she looked like, not—” she shuddered “— nothing like whatever that was in the casket.”
    She wasn’t quite so thin in the picture; she was a beautiful, vital girl, wearing a vintage dress and a hat. “She looks like a princess.”
    “She was one of the prettiest girls I ever saw. And Toes— shit. Toad’s more like it. Skinny, ugly little creep. Kind of a monkey face. But it was like… I don’t know… I guess she thought he somehow
was
Tujague even though he’s probably some penny-ante little dealer or something. I don’t know what he is, and neither did Rhonda, even though she dated him off and on for three months.” She paused and got dreamy. “Three months. Is that all it takes to ruin a life? Hah! Dated. Did I say
dated?
She didn’t date him, she was his slave. He said rabbit, she hopped. She talked to a man, even a
customer,
he beat her up. He’d come by and get her, take her away for an hour, screw her,