Lousiana Hotshot

both rhymesmiths— some kind of thing in the schools or somethin’. Get kids interested in poetry.” He turned back to his brother. “Like we been talkin’ about. Hey, whatcha think, Darryl?”
    Darryl smiled and settled into an easy slouch, as comfortable and natural as this man was overbearing and false. “You’re welcome at Fortier any time.”
    “How ‘bout that, Your Highness? You up for it?”
    “‘Your Highness’ isn’t necessary. ‘Your Grace’ is sufficient, thank you.” Talba gave a little curtsy.
    He looked at her kind of quizzically, as if he’d only just really noticed her. This time, when he spoke, his voice had none of the street smarm that had crept in before. “You got a real nice voice, you know that?”
    “Why thank you, Your Grace.”
    “No, I mean it. I’d like to work with you. You up for it?”
    “Sure. I’d love to.”
    “Okay, then, we got a deal. Darryl…” He held up a hand for Darryl to slap. “Good to see you, my man.” And he moved out among his admirers.
    “Real sincere dude,” Darryl said.
    “You mean my new best friend that I’m going to do a gig with?”
    “You mean
my
new best friend.”
    “Well, he did know you. He’s the one called you over.”
    “I guess I was wrong when I said he wouldn’t remember me from Fortier. But I guarantee you that’s the only place he knows me from. He wouldn’t know the Boucree Brothers from the Crips.”
    “What do you mean? You can’t know who comes to your gigs.”
    “Well, if he had, and he really was a fan, he would have introduced himself. Now wouldn’t he?”
    She thought it over, imagined a shy young wannabe and how he’d behave, but she couldn’t make the Baron fit the image. “I don’t know. He sure knew you.”
    Darryl shrugged. “The principal gave him an album when he came to the school. It was kind of embarrassing at the time, but she meant well.” He looked uncomfortable. “You want to get out of here?”
    As they walked over to Chartres, where they’d parked Darryl’s car, he said, “By the way, did you get what you went for?”
    “Are you kidding? An introduction to my idol, who offered to do a gig with me? We’re practically engaged.”
    Darryl was silent.
    “What?” she said finally. It was unlike him.
    “I don’t know. He seemed like he was on speed— never a good sign. But not only that… these rappers, I just don’t know— a lot of them really do seem to be gangsters. You check his rap sheet, Ms. Dick?”
    She shook her head. “Even I can’t get in the police computer. But you’re cute, you know that? To be so concerned.”
    “I’m not kidding. It spooks me.”
    “Hey, you called it a minute ago.”
    “I called what?”
    “When you called me Ms. Dick. Trouble is my business, know what I mean? Besides, he’s got semi-good manners, except when he thinks he’s being sexy. I think there’s a mama in the woodpile.”
    “Interesting choice of words.”
    “Apt, I believe. If he’s from a good family, he wouldn’t want anyone to know it.”
    She thought about that. She hadn’t compiled a dossier on him, in fact had read only his own press about himself. She should do that first thing in the morning.
    Or maybe she should just call him up and say, “Hey, Baron, know anybody named Toes?” And he’d give her a name, and that would be the end of it.
    She needed to see him again. Well, hell— she checked his schedule, and to her surprise, he was doing something in the morning— first thing in the morning. And something weird, if you considered the lyrics of his songs, which were mostly about mayhem. He was on the program at a breakfast sponsored by the archdiocese.
I wonder,
she thought,
if he’s running for office.
    But it occurred to her the answer was probably much simpler. The man was currying favor. Baronial Records was big, and it was probably going to get bigger. It was going to want more land and plenty of tax breaks, and who knew what else. The archdiocese was one of the most powerful political forces in the city.
    She didn’t see crashing the breakfast after meeting the Baron the night before— he’d probably have her arrested for stalking.
    Or wait. Maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. She could pretend to be a groupie— hang out, get to know some of the female hangers-on, and chat them up. She’d have Toes’s name within a week. Come to think of it, the man had practically invited it— that stuff about her voice and how he’d love to work with