Louisiana Hotshot

by Julie Smith

  “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know. Audrey’s with him. We’re waiting.”

  The emergency waiting room at Charity was grim and depressed; most people there were in pain of one kind or another. Those who weren’t worked there and lived with pain on a minute-to-minute basis. They knew far more than people should about life and death, and it had made them slightly brittle. What was worse, though, was that the room itself seemed alive, the air writhing with the spirits of people in pain or dying or grieving or half-worried to death. It sounds frightening in the telling, and could be, but in the end, it was oppressive instead. Entering, Talba felt as if someone had dropped a cement apron over her.

  There was no sign of any member of the Valentino family. Panicked, she approached one of the guards outside the accident room, noticing that another was in a near-comical encounter with a man holding a handkerchief over his bleeding hand, jerking his head periodically, swearing under his breath, and trying to explain that what he had was Tourette’s, not a rotten attitude.

  “I’m looking for Eddie Valentino. Accident victim, came in about half an hour ago?”

  “You’re a family member?”

  She shook her head. “Employee.”

  “Let me see what I can find out.”

  Figuring she was in for the usual interminable wait, she settled down to chew her nails, only to be interrupted almost immediately by a smart-looking woman in a burgundy smock announcing on the left chest that she was an “Emergency Department Patient liaison.” Once again, Talba explained who she wanted and was left to her own devices. And once again, she got action almost immediately.

  “He’s in surgery,” reported the patient liaison. “May I escort you to the family waiting room?”

  Dazed at the contrast in what she expected— good service versus bureaucratic attitude and sloth— she followed the woman to the elevator.

  She found Eileen and Angie and Audrey sitting in a triangle of grief and worry, Angie looking like a mourner in her usual black. Audrey had on a gray sweat suit, something Talba felt sure she’d never be seen in, given the choice. She looked at Talba with dull, shocked eyes.

  Talba said, “How is he?”

  Audrey merely shrugged. Angie said, “If they know, they won’t tell us. They’re operating. That’s all we know.”

  “Does anybody know what happened?”

  This time, Audrey answered. Her elaborate coiffeur was flat in the back, wild in the front. She must have been napping when she got the news. “Some bastard ran him down. One of those idiots who barrel through the Quarter, think they own the town.”

  Talba wouldn’t have believed she even knew the word “bastard,” half expected her to excuse her French. Audrey’s shocked eyes were suddenly snapping.

  “Some Texan.”

  Talba realized she’d been holding her breath. “A Texan. So they got the guy. It wasn’t a hit-and-run.”

  “It was a hit-and-run. People saw it— ran him down like a dog. Left him to die in the street.” She was shaking with anger.

  Talba said, “They got his plate number?”

  Angie came to the rescue. “Mom, we don’t really know it was a Texan.” She turned to Talba. “We don’t know anything.”

  “But we do know Eddie was on foot and somebody mowed him down?”

  Angie nodded. “Bastards,” said Audrey. Talba noticed how thin she was, and that she looked old, her skin gray and cracked.

  “They didn’t give you any idea what his injuries are?”

  “His face looked terrible. They broke his nose.” She turned to Angie and started crying. “They broke ya poor father’s nose.”

  That was probably all she knew right then. Talba sat down to wait for news, her mind working. “What about the car? Did the witnesses say what it looked like?”

  Angela shook her head. Audrey was already back in her own world. Eileen sat like a stone, withdrawn and miserable.

  Toes could have followed him from the office. He could have watched him park and waited for him to come out of the restaurant. If he already knew where he’d parked, he didn’t have to follow him from the restaurant. All he had to do was lurk near the parking lot.

  She fidgeted for a while and then she could stand it no longer. “Angie, can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure. Let’s go get some coffee.” She seemed glad of the chance to flee her mother’s fear.

  Talba hadn’t the patience to go for coffee and then drink it. As soon as she had Angie in the hall, she said, “Has he talked to you at all about the case we’re working on?”

  Angie looked shocked. “He never talks about cases.”

  “Well, I’m talking about it. I think there’s a very dangerous person involved. And there’s been another hit-and-run.”

  “Oh. So much for the Texas theory.” The words were brittle, but Angie’s voice wasn’t. It was tired, and her face was drained. Her usual slash of red lipstick was long gone.

  “Did the cops say anything at all about the car?”

  “There weren’t any cops here when I got here.”

  “The paramedics then.”

  “All that was over by the time they called us. He was already in some cubicle being felt up for fractures.”

  “Listen, I’m going to the police. Eddie and I should probably have already done it. I guess I’m kind of in the way here, anyway.”

  Shyly, Angela put a hand on her arm. “No. Thanks. Thanks for being here.”

  Talba only nodded, a little embarrassed.

  “Could you do us a really, really big favor? I mean really big. If you don’t want to, you can say no.”

  “Sure.”

  “Anthony’s coming in in a couple of hours. I can’t leave Mom. Could you possibly…”

  To save her embarrassment, Talba interrupted. “Could I meet him at the airport? It would be a pleasure. It would sure beat sitting around the hospital.”

  She was looking for a pay phone when she remembered she had a phone in her purse. Unselfconsciously she pulled it out and dialed, walking down the corridor with it pressed to her ear. If it had been anyone else, she would have thought them terribly self-important.

  Skip Langdon, her friend at the Third District, was just about to leave. Talba begged; she had to talk this out. “Listen, just stay till I get there. Please.”

  “You’re not confessing to anything, are you?”

  “Are you kidding? This is informational. That’s it. Except that I’m worried to death about my new boss.”

  “Eddie? You don’t have to worry about him— he’s honest as the day is long.”

  “Skip, it’s not what you think. Eddie’s in surgery at Charity— hit-and-run.”

  “Oh. That kind of worried.” She sighed. “How is he?”

  “Nobody knows yet.”

  “Come on over.”

  Langdon was a tall white woman, and Talba was no giant, but there was something about the cop that reminded her of herself. Or maybe that was wishful thinking— Talba admired Langdon for her quickness, her authority. Maybe when I’m seasoned, she thought. That was what it was— Langdon was seasoned. She’d seen enough strange things that they were familiar to her. She knew what was coming next most of the time. It was a stage of life Talba’d be happy to reach.

  She said, “You’re looking good, Baroness.”

  “I’m a wreck, but thanks. Look, you know that stuff I told you about Baron Tujague? It’s escalated. Remember that other hit-and-run— Rhonda Bergeron? Well, now Eddie.”

  “Could be coincidence.”

  “Skip, I know I’m supposed to observe confidentiality, but I’m too green to handle it. The client’s Aziza Scott— the woman who disappeared over the weekend.”

  “Whoa. Mind if I tape this? That way I can just ship the tape out to the relevant officers.”

  “No, of course not.” Talba filled her in a little more. When she’d stopped talking, Langdon turned off the tape and thought a moment. Finally, she said, “There’
s something I don’t get. How’d Toes know Eddie was working for Aziza?”

  Talba mulled it over, rocking slightly in her chair. She was a good deal more taken aback than she wanted to let on. “I don’t know. Maybe somebody saw something.” But she knew as soon as she spoke that it wasn’t Eddie they’d have seen.

  Skip said, “Or somebody ratted.”

  “Maybe Aziza.”

  “Could have been. Certainly could have been. But you do realize, don’t you, that if Toes knows about Eddie, he knows about you?”

  “Yeah. I think I do.” The possibility hadn’t occurred to her until thirty seconds ago, a circumstance that amazed her.

  “You watch your back, Baroness.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “And call me in the morning— if you’re still alive.”

  Cop humor, Talba thought as she left. She didn’t find it funny. Her hands slid on the wheel, slick with sweat.

  Chapter 23

  She called Darryl from the car. “Bad, bad, bad news. Somebody tried to kill Eddie— he’s in surgery now.”

  Silence filled the line.

  “Darryl? You there?”

  “Yeah. Bad news thing threw me— I thought it was Miz Clara.”

  “Listen, I don’t think I can see you tonight. I have to go get Tony at the airport.”

  “You wouldn’t want company, would you?”

  “Oh, I would. I really truly would. But I wouldn’t put you through all this— after I get him, I have to take him to the hospital.”

  “Talba. You know what we talked about yesterday? Did you think I meant it or not?”

  She sidestepped that one. “Nah, it wouldn’t make sense to come get you. I’m already out by Bayou St. John.”

  “When does his plane get in?”

  “In forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  It was crazily quixotic— then they’d have two cars at the airport. But she didn’t care; she gave him the particulars.

  She had no wish to be alone tonight, even alone with Tony. She wanted someone with her whose hand she could squeeze if they got bad news. And she wanted all the company she could get. Toes wouldn’t try anything in front of witnesses.

  She thought of the lonely walk from the airport parking lot and phoned Darryl again. “Hey, listen. I’m going to stop at Barnes & Noble and get some coffee at their cafe. Can you meet me there? We’ll leave my car and take yours to the airport.”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “Toes got Eddie— he might know about me too.” She wasn’t happy to sound like a wimpy female, but Darryl had a right to know what he was getting into.

  All he said was, “Pick me up a latte, will you?”

  When he’d arrived, gathered her up, and collected his latte, he said, “So. This guy’s a one-man crime wave. Don’t you think it’s time you went to the police?”

  “Skip, you mean.” She’d always suspected he had a crush on the cop. They’d met through her, in a sort of a way. No, actually, now that she thought of it, that wasn’t it, exactly. Skip and Darryl had both been part of a group that came to hear her read. The woman he was with that night was the police psychologist.

  “I saw Skip an hour ago; she said to watch my back.”

  He was having trouble driving and drinking his latte. Talba reached out to take the cup from him.

  His fingers feathered her thigh, barely touching. “How’s Eddie? I’ve been afraid to ask.”

  “Nobody knows. Maybe Audrey does, but she’s not talking. Everybody’s pretty glum, though.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Speaking of Eddie had caused a curtain of pain to descend, a reminder of death and of fate, and they dealt with it silently, each in his or her way. When Darryl had parked, they reached automatically for one another and walked to the gate hand in hand, Talba’s fingers squeezing Darryl’s. They waited nearly half an hour, barely speaking at all. But she was glad to have him there.

  Tony looked tousled and tired when he stepped off the plane. He was alone, and Talba was glad. The Valentinos had all they could handle right now, without a pregnant fiancée.

  Talba stepped forward. “Tony. Talba Wallis.”

  “Ah. The Baroness.” He managed a bow, but no smile. She introduced Darryl, and then spoke before Tony could. “Your father was still in surgery when I left. I’m sorry; I don’t have any more news than that.”

  He nodded that he understood, and she noticed that his cheek was working, as if he were biting it. He seemed jumpy and irritable, like someone who’d just quit smoking.

  They stopped at Barnes & Noble, where she and Tony transferred to her car. Being in it with him was like being locked up with a lion. She wished she had a cigarette to offer him.

  When she got him to the waiting room, Angie and Audrey melted onto him. They were all three crying and kissing when she left, unnoticed.

  She asked about Eddie at the desk. He was still in surgery.

  She followed Darryl home after that, tears streaming at last. Being caged with Tony’s grim self-containment was the thing that had finally gotten to her.

  * * *

  It was an odd night for Talba and Darryl. They ordered out for a pizza, and drank some wine, but neither one could seem to relax. Neither did they want to make love. The tension tugged at them, the strange dance of the last two days embarrassed them. They needed a break from each other, and yet they didn’t want to be apart.

  Talba didn’t want to present a target for Toes, and she sensed that Darryl wanted to watch her. One thing: they hadn’t been followed to Algiers Point. The neighborhood was too quiet, the streets too narrow for concealment.

  She phoned Miz Clara. “I’m at Darryl’s. You all right?”

  “’Course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her mama’s intuition at work.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m paranoid— Eddie got run over today.”

  Miz Clara tried for composure, but Talba heard her gasp. “He all right?”

  “I hope so, Mama. He’s in surgery.”

  “You say Darryl’s with you?”

  She was exhausted all of a sudden. “St. Darryl’s right here.”

  “What’s that, girl?”

  “I’m kind of tired, Mama.”

  “You watch yourself, Sandra.” Everybody seemed to be telling her that.

  Sometime in the night, she found peace. She woke up in full sunlight, tucked into Darryl’s armpit, leg flung over him. He was trying to extricate himself.

  “No,” she said. This was way too good to give up.

  “Got to go to school. You sleep some more.”

  She slept two more hours and woke up with the strength of ten women. Eddie! she thought, and called the hospital.

  He was in “guarded” condition. She didn’t like the sound of it but it beat “deceased.” She ordered him some flowers and made some oatmeal.

  When she had eaten it, she called Skip Langdon. “Hey, Skip. Talba. How’s it going? You got anything for me?”

  “I’m going to turn you over to Sergeant Aucoin on that.” The cop spoke in a clipped, distant voice. No, “hey, Baroness,” no ‘Your Grace,” no nothin’. Talba might as well be speaking to a stranger.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Sergeant Aucoin is coordinating that case. Would you like his phone number?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. Certainly.” She was so disoriented, trying so hard to recover her equilibrium she wasn’t sure she was getting the words right. Finally, she managed to break through it. “Can’t you tell me anything?” She knew she was whining.

  Skip’s voice was low, hardly more than a whisper. “Your man has alibis for every minute since the second he was born.”

  “I’m starting to get it. Alibis and connections.”

  Skip said, “Glad I could help,” as if someone was listening.

  “Wait. Listen. Hold it.”

  “I’ve got another call.”

  “What about the girls? Can’t you protec
t them?”

  “It’s not in the cards, Baroness. I’m as sorry as I can be.” Talba could almost see her swiping curls off her forehead, cupping her head in frustration. Something was going on here.

  She called Sergerant Aucoin, who made a big show out of using Ebonics and calling her “sister.” She had a mental picture of him: forty-fiveish, portly, and possibly bald; as dark as she was, conservative dresser; the kind of man who went to church, but tried too hard and sweated too much. Smarmy, she thought.

  “Sergeant Aucoin, I gave Officer Langdon some information.”

  “Yes ma’am. How can I help ya, Ms. Wallis?”

  “I’d like to come in and talk about it, maybe fill in some details for you.”

  “Sister, I don’t think that’s gon’ be necessary. We got everything under control. You don’t need to worry about nothin’. We the po-lice here.”

  She thought, Try scaring me with that po-lice shit.

  “I have reason to believe two teenage girls are in danger.”

  “From Mr. Toledano?” He came right out with it.

  “I think they could be.”

  “Well, you ain’ got nothin’ to fear from that quarter. Now, don’t you worry about a thing. We ‘bout to get this thing handled. Mighty nice of you to call, though.”

  “Anything new on Aziza Scott?”

  “Lots of things. We developin’ a case. But we can’t discuss it with the public, ya understand? We got it under control, Ms. Wallis. We got it under control.”

  She asked him if he knew Eddie, tried a few more ploys to try to get through, but every time came up against a blank wall. Or a closed door, she thought. Something is very wrong here.

  She could see what the thing was, too. She saw its reverse all the time. She saw rich white people get away with things. She saw them exercise power and get smug behind it. This was a city where black people could do it, if they were rich enough and powerful enough.

  And dishonest enough.

  Toes was all three, it would seem. Or his brother the Baron was. Power was happening here. Male, monied power. It was making her mad.

  But it was scaring her too. Someone had to look out for the girls.

  She closed her eyes and felt tears of anger squeeze out of them. Eddie, I swear to God I won’t let anything happen to those girls. And I will get that bastard. Single-handedly. I promise you I will.