said as she
fished a pen from her purse.
"Never
use 'em."
She
looked at me in disbelief. "You're not kidding, are you?"
"Nope.
I had to use one for a couple of years while I was on assignments in the
States, but I never remembered to charge the fuckin' thing or wasn't close
enough to a tower to pick up reception. Besides, now that I'm retired, there
isn't anyone I either want or need to talk to."
Cate
nodded and got back into her car. I watched as she drove out of the parking lot
before joining Pauli in my room.
Pauli
and I spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon trying to figure
out what Kyle had written, without having much luck, and were both frustrated
by the time we decided to give up.
"This
James Bond shit is gettin' you nowhere," Pauli said. "You need
someone on the inside to get close to the kid."
"You
mean at the newspaper?"
"Yeah.
At least to find out what the fuck this story is about besides illegals."
"I
might know someone....if I can talk her into it."
"Who's
that?" Pauli asked, stretching his huge frame.
"Stevie
Leonard," I said.
"I
thought she dropped off the radar screen after she got shot up in Mexico."
"She
did. Last I heard she was living in a cabin somewhere along the
Guadalupe."
"Weren't
you two an item once upon a time?"
"Yeah."
I frowned. "Once upon a time."
Stevie
Leonard had been a moderately experienced photojournalist when she accompanied
me to cover the Indian revolt in the Chiapas area of Mexico in 1994. We had
been on two other assignments together prior to Chiapas and had found enough
attractive about each other to entertain ourselves during our downtime. The
situation in Chiapas had escalated faster than anyone anticipated, leaving us
vulnerable. The Mexican government and army regulars hadn't wasted much of
their time attempting to peacefully quell the revolt.
It
had been a relatively peaceful afternoon when the quiet was shattered by the
sound of sporadic gunfire and screaming. Reacting instinctively, we both
grabbed our cameras and ran toward the action. Stevie was almost fifteen years
younger and an exercise addict in good physical condition. When I made it over
the top of a small rise close to the sounds of the gunfire, a few seconds
behind Stevie, I was immediately knocked to the ground. My left leg burned and
blood spread rapidly down my jeans. Glancing around without getting up, I
spotted Stevie on the ground about ten yards in front of me. I couldn't tell if
she was alive or dead, but she had obviously been shot. I lay as still as
possible for what seemed like an eternity before the firing ceased and the
afternoon was quiet again.
By
the time I reached her body, Stevie was unconscious and her skin was white and
cool from blood loss. As I said her name over and over, I saw that she had been
hit at least three times. A military helicopter came into view and hovered near
us as I tried to shield Stevie's body with mine. I barely remembered being
evacuated to a hospital.
Two
days later I was released from the hospital and preparing to return home.
Stevie had been taken to Mexico City and then flown to Houston. The doctor
wasn't sure whether she had survived or not, but even if she did, he was
certain she would be paralyzed.
When
I drove up to her cabin, I wasn't sure what to expect. Years had passed and I
hadn't seen Stevie since her release from a Houston rehabilitation center. Her
experience in Chiapas had changed her, and I had no idea what she was doing now
or how she would greet me. As I looked around, everything seemed peaceful and
very far removed from violence and the fast life.
The
door to the cabin swung open and Stevie walked onto the porch. Now about forty,
she still looked physically fit. She smiled when she saw me and stepped forward
to hug me. As we embraced, I was glad to see that the doctors in Mexico had
been wrong concerning her "certain" paralysis.
"It's
good to see you again, Jo," she said.
"Been
a while," I said.
"Well,
come on in
fished a pen from her purse.
"Never
use 'em."
She
looked at me in disbelief. "You're not kidding, are you?"
"Nope.
I had to use one for a couple of years while I was on assignments in the
States, but I never remembered to charge the fuckin' thing or wasn't close
enough to a tower to pick up reception. Besides, now that I'm retired, there
isn't anyone I either want or need to talk to."
Cate
nodded and got back into her car. I watched as she drove out of the parking lot
before joining Pauli in my room.
Pauli
and I spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon trying to figure
out what Kyle had written, without having much luck, and were both frustrated
by the time we decided to give up.
"This
James Bond shit is gettin' you nowhere," Pauli said. "You need
someone on the inside to get close to the kid."
"You
mean at the newspaper?"
"Yeah.
At least to find out what the fuck this story is about besides illegals."
"I
might know someone....if I can talk her into it."
"Who's
that?" Pauli asked, stretching his huge frame.
"Stevie
Leonard," I said.
"I
thought she dropped off the radar screen after she got shot up in Mexico."
"She
did. Last I heard she was living in a cabin somewhere along the
Guadalupe."
"Weren't
you two an item once upon a time?"
"Yeah."
I frowned. "Once upon a time."
Stevie
Leonard had been a moderately experienced photojournalist when she accompanied
me to cover the Indian revolt in the Chiapas area of Mexico in 1994. We had
been on two other assignments together prior to Chiapas and had found enough
attractive about each other to entertain ourselves during our downtime. The
situation in Chiapas had escalated faster than anyone anticipated, leaving us
vulnerable. The Mexican government and army regulars hadn't wasted much of
their time attempting to peacefully quell the revolt.
It
had been a relatively peaceful afternoon when the quiet was shattered by the
sound of sporadic gunfire and screaming. Reacting instinctively, we both
grabbed our cameras and ran toward the action. Stevie was almost fifteen years
younger and an exercise addict in good physical condition. When I made it over
the top of a small rise close to the sounds of the gunfire, a few seconds
behind Stevie, I was immediately knocked to the ground. My left leg burned and
blood spread rapidly down my jeans. Glancing around without getting up, I
spotted Stevie on the ground about ten yards in front of me. I couldn't tell if
she was alive or dead, but she had obviously been shot. I lay as still as
possible for what seemed like an eternity before the firing ceased and the
afternoon was quiet again.
By
the time I reached her body, Stevie was unconscious and her skin was white and
cool from blood loss. As I said her name over and over, I saw that she had been
hit at least three times. A military helicopter came into view and hovered near
us as I tried to shield Stevie's body with mine. I barely remembered being
evacuated to a hospital.
Two
days later I was released from the hospital and preparing to return home.
Stevie had been taken to Mexico City and then flown to Houston. The doctor
wasn't sure whether she had survived or not, but even if she did, he was
certain she would be paralyzed.
When
I drove up to her cabin, I wasn't sure what to expect. Years had passed and I
hadn't seen Stevie since her release from a Houston rehabilitation center. Her
experience in Chiapas had changed her, and I had no idea what she was doing now
or how she would greet me. As I looked around, everything seemed peaceful and
very far removed from violence and the fast life.
The
door to the cabin swung open and Stevie walked onto the porch. Now about forty,
she still looked physically fit. She smiled when she saw me and stepped forward
to hug me. As we embraced, I was glad to see that the doctors in Mexico had
been wrong concerning her "certain" paralysis.
"It's
good to see you again, Jo," she said.
"Been
a while," I said.
"Well,
come on in
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