Lousiana Hotshot

guy who always wanted to be a cop.”
    “Well? That makes sense. You were one.”
    “I never was. I was a deputy sheriff.”
    “I didn’t know there was that big a difference.”
    “To me there was— real cops wear blue. And I was too short to be one. You got any idea how that affected my work? You’re an amateur psychologist, aren’t ya? Everybody is these days.”
    “You don’t have to be too much of one to figure that one out. Especially since I’ve read a bunch of news stories on you. You overcompensated, I gather?”
    He laughed again, though this laughter lacked the purity, the unadorned enjoyment of their mutual belly laugh. It was a bittersweet laugh, a laugh contaminated by regret. “You bet I did, Ms. Wallis. I’m ‘on tell ya. I was the best damn Deputy Dog this state ever had.”
    “So I gathered from the clips.”
    “Give me a case, and I’d work it till it was raw. Somebody ended up behind bars or dead, always. Every damn time.”
    Talba hated this kind of talk. It was the kind of macho posturing that gave rednecks a bad name.
    “Quit wincin’, Ms. Wallis. Only one of ‘em ended up dead. Thirteen years on the job, and I only drew my gun once.”
    “What happened?”
    He held up his glass as if about to give a toast. “Ah, that’s for another day. Tell me about, you, Ms. Wallis. Tell me about you.”
    “Me?” She could hardly have been more taken aback. “Well, I haven’t lived very long, so there’s not a whole lot to talk about.”
    “In that case, where you get off writin’ poetry?”
    “Well, I… I don’t know. I think about things a lot.” She was deeply embarrassed, hadn’t dreamed he’d get personal with her.
    “Tell me about ya dad.”
    “My dad?” This was going from awkward to nightmarish.
    “Yeah, ya dad, remember? The one that took ya to the park and let ya ride the flyin’ horses. You know, the guy whose lap felt safer than a real horse— is that part real, by the way— about the horse? Come on, where would ya keep a horse in New Orleans?”
    It was a lifeline; something to grab on to. She conjured up a smile. “Poetic license. They fine you three thousand dollars without one.”
    “So ya didn’t have a horse?”
    “Pony ride at a fair once. Does that count?”
    “Well, ya dad musta been a pretty nice guy— sounds like ya loved him a lot. How’d you lose touch with him?”
    Talba was feeling a little sick.
    “I mean, ya said ya weren’t sure ya even have a dad. I’m a detective, ya know. In case ya’d like me to find him.”
    She nodded, not meeting his eyes, unable to speak.
    Evidently, he caught on that this wasn’t her favorite subject. “Sorry to intrude, Ms. Wallis. I’m ‘on tell ya somethin’— can I tell ya somethin’?”
    Talba was trying hard to swallow. She’d taken a bite to distract herself and now discovered that her throat was closed.
    She nodded and pointed at her cheek, as if she had way too much in her mouth, and had to chew for a while.
    “I been thinkin’ about Anthony ever since I heard ya poem.”
    He must have seen her jump.
    He patted the air. “No, now. I have. I gotta say I’m sorry for getting so mad at ya. I talked to my son today for the first time in ten years, it’s like a milestone or somethin’. But all I did was, I just called up and said was he all right and I was doin’ good and Angie graduated law school and his mama’s fine, ya know? And then I didn’t know what else to say so I got off the phone. I been drinkin’ ever since— that and trying to figure things out.”
    What things,
Talba wanted to ask, but she had enough sense to respect his privacy.
    “So I was wonderin’— what do you know about him?”
    “Me? What do I know about him?”
    “Well, I mean— you found him. How’d ya do that?”
    “Oh, I see. I did what I always do.” She spread her palms in the what-else gesture. “Went online. He’s got a website. He’s a musician, you know— or didn’t you?”
    Something happened on Eddie’s face, something complex and regretful. It took a long time; he didn’t bother hiding his emotions while he thought it through, but it wasn’t something you could follow like a play. All Talba could really tell was that this had resonance for Eddie. When he finally let something win on his features, it was a pleased smile, but he could have been acting. “Is he now?” he said.
    “He plays harmonica, and seems to do quite well for himself. Oh, and he’s known professionally