PI On A Hot Tin Roof

tomorrow we’ll meet and talk. If you think I’ve got nothing, Farley’s still got an exclusive. I’m pretty sure nobody else knows about this.”
    “But you’re not positive.”
    “I’m not, but why not ask Farley? If he’s got it exclusively, he’ll know.”
    “Let me get back to you.”
    “Two things—whatever you do, don’t tell David who your source is.”
    “Goes without saying. Number two?”
    “Can you bring me Farley’s story on the marina?”
    “Consider it done.” The reporter hung up.
    It was half an hour before she called back. “David won’t do it. He says no big deal—we run the story and we still get yours when it breaks.”
    “Jane, I love you, but there’s nothing in that for me. Doesn’t the word ‘exclusive’ mean anything to ol’ David? Because I swear to God, if you run Farley’s, I’ll take mine right to your favorite TV reporter and leave you eating her dust.”
    “Fay Warren. You wouldn’t.”
    “Would.”
    “That’s what I told him you’d say.” Jane sighed. “Okay, I’ll try again.”
    This time she called back in ten minutes. “Okay, it’s done. He just had to try. You know men. Want to meet for lunch?”
    “Sure. How about Elizabeth’s? Noon tomorrow.”
    “TBK, as we say in the news biz.” To be continued—Jane had taught her the phrase. Talba hung up, wondering where on earth Venetian Isles was. She would have asked Angie if Eddie hadn’t been there, but she wasn’t about to let him know she didn’t know.
    Later that evening, she tried to find it on a map, and couldn’t. The Internet wasn’t much help, either, but she did glean that it was somewhere in Orleans Parish, and obviously it was on the water. But where?
    Talba scoured the paper first thing in the morning, and to her relief, there was no mention of either Angie or Alabama. Their initial hearings were set for that morning, and she waited tensely till Angie called to say that no reporters except Farley had shown up in court. He hadn’t tried to talk to her. Following up, Talba gathered.
    “The good news is, I got Jimmy Houlihan down there for us, and he got the DA to dismiss the charge against Al.”
    “Angie, that’s fantastic.”
    “It was a bad arrest; no way they were going to make it stick.” She paused and added glumly, “’Cause it was my car.”
    Talba barely knew what to say. Angie down was a new Angie. She settled for, “Hang in there, Ange. I’m seeing Jane for lunch. To plot strategy.”
    Elizabeth’s, tucked away in the Bywater, had the feel of an airy, informal Caribbean cafe. The menu tended toward soul food (though a white family ran it) and it drew a savvy salt-and-pepper crowd—an altogether appropriate venue, and far from Jane’s office, which meant they had little chance of being overheard. The reporter was already waiting when Talba arrived.
    “Everything cool?” she asked anxiously.
    “Farley went to Angie’s arraignment.”
    Jane shrugged. “Par for the course. We’ll be okay if we can interest David.”
    Talba ran the story by her, Jane listening silently till Talba got to the part about the drugs being planted on Ben Izaguirre.
    “Farley never had that.”
    “It was never public.”
    “Would Izaguirre tell me the story—I mean, not for the record, just to confirm there’s something there? That might do it for David.”
    Talba nodded. “Did it for me. This catfish is unbelievable. I’ll get Angie to talk to him.”
    “Umm.” Jane was having a salad. “So, okay, the story’s about the drug plants, right? Anything else?”
    Talba raised an eyebrow. “One can only hope.” She outlined what she proposed to do.
    “Girl! You’ve got guts—wish I’d thought of it.” She wrestled lettuce. “It’s a great idea, but how in hell do you plan to get the job?”
    Talba smiled. “I’ve got a connection.”
    “Oh, really.”
    “Uh-huh.” She was lying through her teeth. “Can I have two weeks? That’s how long Eddie’s giving me.”
    “I think David’ll go for it.”
    “By the way, why do you think Farley’s giving Champagne so much good ink?”
    “No idea.”
    “Well, here’s something I’m wondering: Did anybody else cover that press conference?”
    Jane thought about it. “I think so—but you know how that is; thirty seconds on television, people forget. Then along came Farley’s story and changed the spin. Pretty clever what he did.”
    And before they parted, she handed a copy of the story over to Talba.
    It