Louisiana Hotshot Page 5
For some reason, Eddie was kicking at her, gently. She had no experience with kids, no knowledge of them, and absolutely no idea what to do now. All she knew was, she was pissed off at the kid, Eddie, and herself, in that order. “Aren’t we getting a little off the subject?” she said, and felt ashamed when she heard the testiness in her voice. She was being childish, and she knew it.
And yet, Eddie stopped kicking her. Even spoke kindly, sounding a little abashed that he wasn’t acting properly. “Yeah, I guess we are. Listen, Cassandra, I know it’s hard for you, but we’ve been hired to find the guy who— uh— you know—” He actually started to blush.
“The asshole,” Talba said, suddenly seeing her role and warming to it: she was the bad cop.
“He is not an asshole,” Cassandra flashed. “He’s just somebody I met.”
Eddie said, “My grandson’s a— you know— a young male. People could say things. I know how you feel, baby.”
Drunk with power, Talba said, “How’d you happen to meet him, Cassandra?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Aziza spoke sharply. “Cassandra!”
Cassandra telegraphed her a couple of hate-rays, and spoke to Eddie: “We were just at somebody’s house and somebody knew him, so we called him to come over.”
“Whose house, baby?”
Before the girl could speak, Aziza Scott said, “Shaneel’s. Shaneel Johnson, the girl who goes to Fortier.” Darryl’s school.
“And how do you know Shaneel?”
She was quiet for a while, but Eddie waited her out. “Choir,” she said at last.
“Was Shaneel the one who knew him?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, who else was there?” Talba gave her voice an edge.
“I don’t remember.”
Eddie said, “Was he somebody’s brother or boyfriend? I mean, why’d you call him?”
She looked down, obviously hating the question, but not wanting to be rude to Eddie. “He knows cool people. He said he could introduce us.”
“To cool people?”
“I guess so.”
“So did he bring them over?”
“No.”
Aziza Scott apparently could stand it no more, the way they were tweezing information, hair by hair. “He took them over to his house.”
Eddie looked at the girls from over his eye pouches. “That so, baby?”
Cassandra nodded.
“How many girls?”
She shrugged.
“And were the cool people over there?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“You must have been together quite a while, right?” He waited for her to nod. “Ya mama says you don’t know his name.”
“I do know his name. His name’s Toes.”
Talba said, half-kidding, “Oh, no. Now Eddie’s gonna think all black people have weird names.”
“Toes what, baby?”
“I don’t know.”
Eddie considered. “Well, honey, you’re a beautiful girl, you know that? Why would a beautiful girl like you…”
“He said he could really love me!” The words came at them like a punch in the mouth. She screamed them, eyes flashing fury at all three of them.
“But he did tell you you’re beautiful, didn’t he?” Eddie spoke infinitely gently. “Because you are, honey, you are. Don’t ya ever sell yaself short again.” He touched her gently on the shoulder, in a way that managed somehow not to be patronizing.
He got up to leave, and Talba took her cue from him, standing as well.
On the way out, he said to Aziza: “Did he hit on Shaneel? Or anyone else who was there?”
“Cassandra says not. And you saw what the diary said— about how flattered she was to be singled out.”
“Ms. Scott,” Talba said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Scott’s face broke out in smiles; she all but wriggled. “Why, yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“I think your daughter needs you worse than he does right now.” She figured since she was already pegged as the bad cop, she could say anything she wanted.
They were silent for the first part of the drive home, and Talba was grateful for it. He wasn’t saying a word about either her ineptitude or bad manners. Finally, deciding he wasn’t going to, she got up the courage to speak. “Eccch. Can you imagine? Taking a bunch of fourteen-year-olds over to his house?”
“We got a real piece o’ toe jam here. He’s got the right name.”
“Think she knows the real one?”
“Yep. They all do— all the kids who were there. Ya want to go with me to see Shaneel?”
“Sure.” Is the pope a bear! she thought. She said, “Eddie, I gotta ask you something. I thought Angela was your only kid.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Got a son.” He stared off into space for a moment, and said, as if he wasn’t used to the word, “Anthony.”
“He must be a lot older than Angie.”
“Younger. Why?”
“‘Cause I don’t get it. How could you have a grandson old enough to volunteer at the zoo?”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“Ms. Wallis, ya got a lot to learn. Lemme tell ya somethin’ll be the best thing I ever taught ya: all women like babies. Even if they think they don’t, they do. Ya want to get to a woman, ya talk about babies. And if she’s under fifteen, ya make it baby animals— furry ones. Ya can’t go wrong.”
She stared at him in shock. “No grandson and no baby tiger?”
“Could be a baby tiger. Cats are randy as goats, ya know that?”
Feeling slightly breathless, she changed the subject on him. “Where’s your son live?”
“Who knows? Haven’t heard from him in ten years.”
She knew she should back away from the subject, but she was in too deep to just let it hang there. She tried to sound casual. “Your choice or his?”
“Both, I guess. Neither one of us has a bit of use for the other.”
Talba suddenly felt exhausted, too tired even to go out with Darryl, and that meant breaking a date. She never did that.
Chapter 5
“It’s your fault,” she said when he phoned. “You got me the client.”
“Whooo. Some piece of work, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that much noise coming out of that poor counselor’s office.”
“She strikes me as somebody who expected the kid to raise herself, and then when Cassandra got in trouble she had to point the finger somewhere else. I mean, that’s the only reason I can think of for pursuing this through a detective.”
“Ah. Beautiful, poetic, and perceptive. She’s a type— every teacher’s seen her a million times. The kid’s grades are bad, so it’s the school’s fault— usually, that’s what you hear them yelling about. They always want you to tell them what a good kid they’ve got, because if the kid’s not so great, it reflects badly on them. They’re embarrassed. I mean, embarrassment’s their reaction to their kid having problems. So it’s somebody else’s fault— if not the school’s, then the other kids’.”
“Wait a minute,” Talba said. “I don’t know if I buy this embarrassment thing. It seems like more than that. I mean, if it’s somebody else’s fault, then it’s not only not their fault, but they don’t have to do anything about it.”
“Oh, man, you wouldn’t believe! I had a woman last fall at parents’ night— the kid’s grades were falling, he was acting up in class, the whole thing. And this woman asks, quite naturally, what she can do. So I say, ‘Easy. Take away the TV, the phone, and the computer, and have the kid do his homework in a central area, somewhere near you, like in the dining room if you’re working in the kitchen, so you can answer questions if he has them.’ Now tell me, Your Grace— does that sound unreasonable?”
“Sounds a hundred percent right to me.”
“You know what the woman said? She said she couldn’t do that, the kid would get mad at h
er.”
“And then she’d have to deal with it.”
“You got it.”
“And she couldn’t be bothered because she’s busy getting her presentation ready for work. Or going out with her boyfriend.”
“You got her down cold. Her and Aziza Scott both.”
“Aziza’s a type, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. A pretty far cry from Miz Clara.”
Talba sighed, but Darryl continued. “And woe betide the younger generation. I swear I think it all fell apart when families stopped having dinner together.”
“Well, hell. I may not think Aziza’s the greatest mother in the world, but I can handle her. At least I got the job. I’ll make it up to you— canceling like this.”
“I don’t get it. That job can’t pay much. I mean, you’ve had much better ones in terms of compensation. And if you just wanted to be a detective, why didn’t you go out and do it on your own? Why wait to answer an ad?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“There’s something about this guy Eddie. I can’t explain it— I feel like he might have something to teach me.”
“Oh, please. Don’t go mystical on me.”
“I don’t know. It’s sweet the way he is with his family. And he came to my reading— how many potential bosses would do that?”
“You poets really live on crumbs.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got a day job now. Can we come interview Shaneel?”
“At school? You’ve got to be kidding— we got a bureaucracy going here.”
“Oh.” For a moment, Talba felt deflated. “Wait a minute— I’ve got an idea. Maybe I could get someone from child protective services to come with me.”
He laughed, and it sounded like a bark. “Lots of luck with that one. But sure— if you could get somebody from there, it would probably work. It’s a mighty big ‘if,’ that’s all.”
Later, she reported what he had said to Eddie, who made no effort to control his contempt. “Bull-bleep. We don’t need no stinkin’ badges.”
“How do we get around it?”
“You might work out real well, Ms. Wallis. Maybe I should of hired you a long time ago. Ya got the right demographics, all right. Gene Allred was right about that one.”
“I’m not sure I see what you’re getting at.”
“Well, let me spell it out for ya. Call the counselor, say ya from Child Protection, and ya’ll be right over to interview Shaneel.”
Talba had a brief moment of hope, but in the end it came as no surprise to her that the lady from Child Protection had to be accompanied by her older, male colleague. Eddie trailed her like a duenna. The counselor, a Mrs. Terrell, looked a little perplexed but not enough to ask for stinkin’ badges. She was a middle-aged woman, African-American, and a church lady if Talba ever saw one, but not the overbearing kind, the nice kind.
“I’m so sorry about the Scott girl. Her mother seems so…” She stopped, evidently remembering her manners, and left to get Shaneel.
The girl was pudgy and cute as a kitten, much darker than Cassandra, her cheeks little black apples, the light glinting off them so they sparkled like a second pair of eyes. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as Cassandra, but she had a sensuality about her, and a sense of fun that probably made her a more popular kid. She was a hell of a lot friendlier. “How ya’ll?” she said by way of greeting, as if she’d been properly raised, this public-school girl, as opposed to Cassandra, the zombie from Pontchartrain Park. Once again, Talba pondered Aziza Scott’s mothering style.
When Eddie smiled back, Talba saw the look in his eyes a dad gets watching his kid at Little League, or maybe a recital. I wonder how I know that? she thought. She’d never known her own father. “Baby, we need to ax ya about a man named Toes.”
“I’d tell Miz Scott if I knew. I don’t know the rest of his name.”
“Ya know what happened to Cassandra?”
She looked at her lap. “I know.”
“Ya think that’s right?”
When she raised her head, she had a great big smile pasted on the bottom part of it, plenty of teeth and no joy, little tense lines around her mouth. “I’d tell ya if I knew. You know I would.”
Eddie said. “I know ya would, honey. Ya don’t have to worry about that. Just tell us who else was with ya that day.”
The girl wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Nobody.”
Talba thought, I can’t make it any worse, and took her shot. “Look, this man hurt your friend Cassandra. Maybe it comes down to who’s the better friend, Toes or Cassandra. You really think he’s worth protecting?”
Shaneel’s eyes had started to glint. “He ain’ my friend. I don’t want nothin’ to do with him.”
“Then who called him, honey? Cassandra didn’t know him— if it wasn’t you, who was it?”
Shaneel only stared at her lap.
“You sing in a choir, don’t you?” Talba wasn’t much on church, but her mama was, and she knew the drill. “I know you believe in God. And in having the courage to do the right thing. Only good can come out of it if you tell us. You know that, don’t you?”
The girl shook her head, not lifting her eyes, clearly torn between her conscience and something else. Whatever that was was the key.
“What could happen if you told us?”
“Cassandra my best friend. She’d never speak to me again. Pammie either, prob’ly.”
There it was. The three adults looked at each other. Eddie said quietly, “Where does Pammie go to school?”
The girl raised her head, and her face, though tear-streaked, was profoundly relieved. “She go to Ben Franklin.”
“And she’s the one who called Toes.”
“He a friend of Pammie sister. Rhonda.”
“Rhonda was there too?”
“No. Rhonda wasn’t there.”
Mrs. Terrell cut in curtly. “Pammie who, Shaneel?”
But the girl merely sat there, tears welling and overflowing. She’d tell, Talba thought, she’d certainly tell. She just had to believe she hadn’t really told.
“How do you girls know each other?” she asked.
“Choir. We all in choir— and all our mamas work. We all we got. We go to a different person’s house every day after school. If Cassandra and Pammie cut me off, I ain’ got nobody.”
Eddie patted her. “Where’s that choir you sing in?”
Shaneel was silent, but Mrs. Terrell said, “Gethsemane Baptist Church. That’s right, isn’t it, Shaneel?”
The girl nodded.
Mrs. Terrell got up. “I’ll call the church. Shaneel, you can go back to class.”
Eddie said, “Baby, ya did just fine. Nobody’s gonna be mad at ya.” To Talba’s surprise, he got a smile out of her.
The Pammie in the choir was Pamela Bergeron.
***
Once in the car, Talba called Ben Franklin and was told Pamela wasn’t in school right then. Something seemed funny about that, she thought. Why not? “She’s not in school today?”
She asked for the girl’s address.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist purred. “We don’t usually give out addresses.”
“It’s really very important— it is a police case and…”
To her surprise, she didn’t even get to finish her sentence. “Of course. We’re all terribly sorry about what happened. But it is our policy not to give out addresses over the phone.”
Talba had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t above exploiting it. “Ma’am, we’re really wasting time. Isn’t there some way…”
The woman’s voice softened. “Well, under the circumstances, I think there might be. Her dad owns that little card store over at The Rink— why don’t you check with them?”
“Thanks.” To Eddie, she said, “Got a phone book?”
“Backseat.”
In five minutes, she had lied her way into the address and given it to Eddie, unable to keep the triumph off her face. “How’m I doing?”
“Ya doin’ okay.”
“That’s all you can say?”
“Ya got a lot of mouth on ya.”
Oh, well, she thought. I should have known better.
He wasn’t done. “Ya know it’s a crime to impersonate a police officer?”
“I didn’t impersonate anyone. I just mentioned it was a police case.”
“Which it isn’t. Watch ya mouth, missy. Just watch ya mouth.”
An odd thing, though. When they arrived at the girl’s house, a police car was parked in front. Other cars were there as well, and people milling.
“Something’s going on here,” she said, but Eddie ignored her.
He hollered at a cop who was walking back to the district car. “Billeee.”
The cop smiled. He was white and middle-aged. “Eddie Valentino. How you been doin’?”
“We’re just here on a routine case. What’s goin’ on?”
The cop shook his head, and Talba thought she saw real sadness in his face. She wouldn’t have expected it. “Oh, man. This is a heartbreaker. Hit-and-run. Young girl killed— just like that.” He snapped his fingers, perhaps, Talba thought, thinking how easy it would be to lose his own kid.
Eddie’s face went gray. “Jesus God. Rhonda or Pamela?”
“Rhonda. Ya know her? Ya know the Bergeron girls? Damn shame, Eddie. It’s a damn shame.”
* * *
They rode back to the office in silence, Talba trying all the way to get Eddie in a conversation, Eddie not, as he mentioned to her, in the fuckin’ mood. The minute he said it he was sorry, too. He hated the word. He thought it showed a great lack of imagination, not to mention class, and yet, at the moment he was so completely not in the fuckin’ mood it popped out of his mouth.
He rubbed his head, then realized he was doing it. Damn! One of his headaches. No way, he thought. I can’t get a headache now. Can’t. The damn computer causes them, and now I have a computer jockey. No reason in hell I should get a headache.
He willed it away.
This thing had him all messed up. It involved a whole lot more women than he was used to dealing with in the course of a day. Girls, really. Even Talba; for the life of him, he couldn’t shake off the sense of a resemblance to Angie. She was just a kid, and she was way too big for her britches, but he had let her get away with stuff and wasn’t sure how he felt about it. A little voice inside of him said it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t be his responsibility once she got an apprentice license and he didn’t have to witness the crap she pulled. But he also felt an uncontrollable urge to straighten her out, the way he did with Angie half the time, even though she was a grown woman.