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ya got that?— till your apprentice license comes through.” He paused, his gaze boring right through her— this was something you couldn’t mess around with. “Ya know why?”
    “My mama always said, ‘because I told you not to’.”
    “Well, there’s three thousand better reasons— one for every dollar I’m gon’ get fined if ya do. Now get outta here.”
    While she was out, he and Eileen rearranged the copy room so she could use it for an office.
    Talba was touched to find the little office they’d carved out for her— Eileen had even put some flowers in there. Still, it wasn’t quite what she expected. The obvious space was the room down the hall, the one that appeared more or less empty.
    “What’s with that one?” she asked. “Is there another employee?”
    Eileen shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s the video room. It’s Eddie’s pride and joy.”
    “What do you need a video room for?”
    “We do these ‘Day in the Life’ things, see? Like if somebody gets mangled up in a car accident and they’re suing. We do a little movie showing how tough their life is when they can’t even move their little finger.”
    Talba winced. “Omigod. I hope I never have to do that.”
    “No fear. Uncle Eddie loves it— he’d do nothin’ but that if he could. That and divorce work— anything, so long as it doesn’t involve computers.”
    “Did you say
Uncle
Eddie?”
    “Oops, did I? ‘Scuse me, I’m not supposed to do that. Anyway, it’s on Aunt Audrey’s side.”
    That was good information— there’d be no antagonizing this one. Eileen said, “Make me a list of what you need, okay? There’s already a phone line in there. Oh, and I’ve ordered you a cell phone. Eddie thinks you should have one. You got a camera?”
    “Not a very good one.”
    “Okay, I’ll get you one.”
    “I’ll probably need another phone line for the Internet.”
    “Sure. He said to get you whatever you want.”
    “Great. How about a nice green Jaguar?” Talba slipped into her new office and started setting things up. There were a bunch of folders in her in-box with a note on them: “Not to be touched until you have your license.” They were mostly credit checks. Easy-peazy. She had them nearly all done by five-thirty, and the interview with Cassandra was at six. Eddie didn’t say a word when she laid them on his desk.
    “Pontchartrain Park,” he said as they piled into his Buick. “Birds of a feather still flock together.”
    Talba racked her brain, but in the end had to give up. “Eddie,” she said, finally, “what language was that?”
    “It’s where we’re going. Where the rich black folks live.”
    She almost said, “I don’t think so— or my brother’d be there,” but that sounded snotty even to her. She settled for, “Oh. Thought that was Eastover.”
    “Pontchartrain Park’s older— must not be fashionable anymore.”
    “Well, I sure wouldn’t know. I live in the Ninth Ward.” She said “de Night Wawad,” like a native, and actually got a laugh out of him.
    The neighborhood was on the lake and nicely appointed with a golf course, but by nineties standards it was really pretty modest— a tasteful collection of ranch-style brick homes, nearly fifty years old by the looks of them.
    Aziza Scott’s was no different, being well-kept and sedate, though the Mercedes in front was one of the better cars on the street. The inside, by contrast, was mildly chaotic.
    Scott had had time to change into khakis and a T-shirt, but her makeup hadn’t had an update for hours. “Would you like to talk in the living room?” she asked, and Eddie shook his head, perhaps thinking the room too formal. That it was, but it needed a good dusting.
    Scott said, “Cassandra’s watching TV,” and started toward the back of the house.
    The dining room table was piled high with papers and files— work stuff, probably the mom’s or dad’s, and they’d spilled over onto a buffet with a silver tea service