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to make any decisions on his own. They worked on him all the way home from the damn reading— both of them seemed to think she was Sherlock Holmes and Robert Frost rolled up in one— and in the end he ran out of excuses.
    Yes, she could probably make his life easier. And yes, she was about ten times more qualified than anyone else he’d probably be able to get. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to make the mere facts that she was black, female, pushy, and had an uncanny ability to get around him outweigh the rest of it. Matter of fact, not a single one of the four facts could even be mentioned outside a poker club in Arabi.
    Plus, that poem about her father had really gotten to him. He hated it when she read it because it made him so goddam sad— like maybe he was missing something. He didn’t see why it was anybody’s business to go and make him feel like that. But the girl really loved her father. You couldn’t fake a thing like that. That had to count for something.
    “Okay, okay, okay. I know when I’m licked,” he had said, slamming the door of his Buick, and Angie had given him a big sloppy kiss. That part was okay, but he hated it when she followed it up with crap like, “Dad, I’ve been so worried about you.”
    Worried about him, hell. He could damn well run his business by himself.
    Anyway, he thought he could until the damn
Baroness
stuck a gun to his head and walked away with everything he’d ever worked for. That was what he was going to tell Audrey, but actually, once he realized how much she was going to save him on the financial reports, he didn’t mind that much— might even come out ahead.
    That was an interesting thought. He had business— had plenty of business— but to his recollection, he’d never had an African-American client who wasn’t referred by a lawyer. What if there was a nice little market there, and Ms. Talba Wallis could tap into it for him? Blacks did business with blacks, and now he had one on his staff. He could even give her a little commission for each new client she brought in— sweeten the pot a little, get her to put the word oµt.
    He was most impressed with Aziza Scott as a client. Not only hadn’t she balked at his considerable hourly fee, she’d turned out to be a hospital administrator. Hospitals were big businesses. They got sued; they had employees who stole; they had plenty of investigative needs. Also, from the looks of her, Ms. Scott was plenty well-fixed and likely had plenty of friends who were— and who might need a little divorce work or something.
    If he could just do something about her mouth, the Baroness might work out.
    One thing about it bothered him a little— the coincidence of Scott making a scene at Talba’s boyfriend’s school at the very moment she was negotiating her salary. He decided to let it go. He knew it had to be a setup and a pretty transparent one— but if Scott’s money was good, what the hell did he care? Let the Baroness play games all day and all night if she wanted; if she thought she was fooling him, so much the better. Being underestimated was always an advantage.
    After the client left, he said, “Ya got a car, Ms. Wallis?”
    She came back with, “How about if we do ‘Talba’ and ‘Eddie’?”
    Damn, she could be irritating. It was his place to say that, right? Who the fuck did she think she was? But what the hell, it was going to come to that, anyway. So he just said, “Whatever Your Grace desires. Ya got a car or not?”
    “Yes sir. Nice little Camry.”
    “Well, get out to Delgado and sign up for the next investigators’ course. But first call up the state Board of P.I. Examiners and apply for your apprentice license.” He paused. “Oh, and by the way— nice of ya to include me in on the interview with the kid.”
    She gave him a smile he could only construe as mischievous. “I thought I had to.”
    “Ya damned right ya had to. Ya can’t do a damn thing on this case— or any case,