Free Lethal Bayou Beauty by Jana DeLeon

Myrtle used to work night dispatch, but there wasn’t much call for the position except drunk and disorderlies, so they made her the admin last Friday. Carter called her in to work early today.”
    “She learned how to text without looking at her phone, so she sent us a message as soon as she knew what was up,” Gertie added.
    “So have her hack Carter’s computer like she did before.”
    “He’s changed the password,” Gertie said. “We think maybe he caught on that we were siphoning off police information during the whole Marie debacle.”
    I blew out a breath. Carter was right, of course, that Myrtle had hacked his computer and given us confidential information, but it was frustrating that he’d caught on so quickly and moved to act.
    “I don’t suppose you know anything about computers?” Gertie asked.
    “Only what normal people know. The agency has an entire department dedicated to working with computer stuff. I’ve worked with them on most of my missions. Those people are on a whole different plane of existence.”
    Ida Belle cocked her head to the side. “There might be someone—”
    “Oh no!” Gertie shook her head so hard her headband slipped over her eyes.
    “What?” I looked back and forth between Ida Belle and Gertie, who were locked in a stare-down.
    “Give me another option then,” Ida Belle challenged.
    “I…we can…crap.” Gertie sighed. “But I want to go on record saying that even though I can’t think of a better idea, I think this is a really bad one.”
    “I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said. “Should I ask?”
    “She wants us to see the sorcerer,” Gertie said.
    I looked back and forth between them, waiting for the punch line, but none was forthcoming. “Wow. I thought I had heard some ridiculous crap since I’ve been here—most of it from you two—but this takes it all. You want to have some voodoo person tell us how Pansy was killed? Why don’t we sacrifice a chicken while we’re there?”
    “The Sorcerer is not a voodoo priest. He’s a techno-anarchist,” Ida Belle said.
    Gertie nodded. “He’s rumored to be a member of Anonymous.”
    Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny bit of recall flickered. “Those people who hack major computer networks? We had a meeting about them at the agency.”
    “Exactly my point,” Gertie said. “If the CIA held a meeting about them, then they’re dangerous. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with those people.”
    Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “Those are only rumors. No one knows for sure that he’s in that silly group.”
    “No one knows for sure he’s not, either,” Gertie insisted. “In fact, all we know about him is rumor. Some say he makes his money in the stock market, but others say he’s laundering money for Colombian drug dealers. Some say he’s got a set of mercenaries complete with assault weapons and man-eating dogs guarding his residence.”
    “We’re customers,” Ida Belle argued. “You don’t kill your customers.”
    “I don’t know,” I said, getting a bad feeling about the entire thing. “If he can afford mercenaries, why would he help us? We can’t pay him a lot of money.”
    “No, we can’t,” Ida Belle agreed, “but if he’s truly an anarchist that means the chance to best a law enforcement agency should get his attention, especially in the interest of justice to the common man. And I think you have something he’d be interested in for trade.”
    “Me? I came here with a suitcase of clothes that I’d never even worn and a laptop. I seriously doubt he’s interested in my substandard computer equipment or girlie clothes. Heck, I’m not even interested in the girlie clothes.”
    “Not you, directly, but Marge. According to the grapevine, The Sorcerer has a collection of historical military weaponry. Before her death, Marge accumulated quite a collection herself.”
    I blew out a breath. I knew all about Marge’s collection. I’d accidentally