PI On A Hot Tin Roof

true, though it had a great deal more to do with attitude than Angie’s own size—she was a perfect size eight, maybe even a six.
    “Woo. ’Tain’t it the truth.” Houlihan sighed. “Okay, let me go do the honors. Make yourself at home. I’ll find you when it’s done.”
    “Shouldn’t be hard.” Talba waved at the sea of white faces. “I kind of stick out in this crowd.”
    “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “Patsy’s in charge of the guest list.” He melted into the melee. If he and Angie had been an item once, he seemed nostalgic for old times.
    Making herself at home was a good trick, Talba thought, when your hostess hates you, but she set about making friends with the sour bartender. “Long night, huh?”
    The man sighed. “Long as a piece of balin’ wire.”
    “I heard that,” she said, rolling her eyes. Evidently she wasn’t the only one who had her differences with Patsy.
    “Sure you wouldn’t like a little something in that water?”
    Talba handed him her glass. “Little more ice, maybe. I’ve got to be alert—got to go bail someone out in a while.”
    “I’m sure sorry to hear that.”
    Talba raised her freshened glass. “Happy Mardi Gras,” she said.

Chapter 2
    She went outside to watch the parade, thinking maybe Patsy wouldn’t mind her presence so much if she wasn’t in the house proper, what with the silver and everything. She wished she’d changed, but the hostess had on jeans, too. Why should she feel underdressed?
    It seemed hours, but it was probably only about twenty-five minutes before Houlihan sought her out again. “Mission accomplished. Nearly had to throw Ken Friedland in the shower to get him sober enough to make the call, but it got done. Buddy’d sure have been a lot easier.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Listen—Ken was pissed that he had to work. Wouldn’t release Angie on her own recognizance. Sorry.”
    Talba was unsure what he meant. “You mean he wouldn’t set bond?”
    “That much he would do. Reluctantly. It’s five thousand dollars for Angie, but he doubled it for the chief. That’s fifteen hundred to a bail bondsman—can you swing it?”
    “The important thing’s to get Angie out. She can worry about Al.”
    “Listen, let me help you.”
    Talba thought nervously of Patsy. “Naah,” she said regretfully. “We’ll be fine.”
    “You sure?” But he looked relieved.
    “Really.”
    “Well, there’s one thing. Judges can set bond, but they don’t really have any clout with the sheriff. Every prisoner brings in so much revenue per day; so nobody gets out before midnight the day they’re arrested. That’s the rumor, anyhow.”
    “Damn!”
    “You ever done this before?”
    Talba shook her head.
    “Go to Harry Nicasio. He won’t cheat you.”
    “An honest bail bondsman. What a concept.”
    He laughed again. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
    “That’s what Eddie says. Angie’s dad.”
    His eyes took on a faraway look. “Never met Eddie.”
    “You’ve got to be the only one in New Orleans.” She figured Jimmy just didn’t remember him—everybody’d run into Eddie at one time or another.
    “Good luck to you,” he said, and touched her shoulder.
    She made her way out to the street, crossing the avenue between floats, retrieved her car, and drove, first to an ATM, then to the West Broad Street office of Harry Nicasio, whose male, skinny, black assistant took her cash and walked her over to Central Lockup, where she waited six hours for Angie to be processed, first into the system, then out of it.
    As usual, the lawyer wore black. Black T-shirt and black jeans, practically guaranteed to stand up to anything, even a night in jail. But for once, the elegant Angie managed to look disheveled.
    Without a word, she went for a hug and held on tight for a while. Finally, Talba ventured, “You okay?”
    Angie bit her lip. “Pride’s hurt, that’s all. Jesus! That’s an experience no one should have.”
    “You’ve got to be hungry.”
    The lawyer ignored her. “How about Al? Jimmy get him out?”
    “His bond’s been set, but I couldn’t get the cash. It’s a thousand dollars. Can you?”
    “Shit! Who keeps that kind of money around? What are we going to do? We can’t wait for the banks to open; he’ll have to spend the rest of the weekend in jail.”
    “ATM?”
    “Yeah. Maybe. I’ve got a gold card—I think I can get eight hundred dollars, and I’ve got about a hundred fifty in my purse. Do you have another