photography. I've put out a few
feelers to nature magazines," she said as she munched on a breadstick.
"Not
very exciting, but there's money in it." I smiled. "Anything new
today?"
"Kyle's
back at work. I went on a gang shooting call with him this afternoon near the
Old Market."
"How's
he doing?" I asked as our waiter placed salads in front of us.
"Seems
to be recovering pretty good," Stevie said, stabbing at her lettuce.
"From what I could tell he does a thorough interview."
"Did
you mention his story?"
"Not
in so many words." Stevie shook her head. "I told him I heard he had
been shot covering a story, but he clammed up."
"Anyone
else in the newsroom talk about it?"
"Just
that he was shot. Apparently they have no idea what he was working on, and as
far as I can tell, no one is associating his shooting with any story. They're
all convinced it was a random incident."
"It
could have been," I said. "I'm thinking this is all a waste of
time."
"Well,
I've got one more week to go. I'll do what I can, Jo."
"I
know you will, Stevie."
"How
is your ex anyway?"
The
question surprised me and I shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I hadn't seen or
talked to either of them for nearly fifteen years until Cate showed up on my
doorstep a couple of weeks ago."
"You
still carrying that torch?" She smiled.
"Well,
she does look pretty damn good," I laughed. "Surprised the hell out
of me that she contacted me."
"Thinking
about rekindling your relationship?"
"No.
No interest there anymore," I said even though I knew I was lying.
"Besides, how do you know I don't already have someone at home?" I
grinned.
"I
know you, Jo."
"Yeah,
well, I'm getting too old to be chasing after women."
"Bullshit!"
Stevie exclaimed. "You're a damn fine-looking woman yourself, Jo. And
remember, I've seen you in action."
BY
WEDNESDAY OF Stevie's second week at the paper, we were no closer to Kyle's
story than when we started. I had decided that if something didn't drop in our
laps within the next day, we would pack it in. Late Wednesday afternoon, Stevie
called and asked me to meet her at a bar named Jeri's, a few blocks from the
newspaper.
Four
or five Spanish tiled steps led down to the entrance of Jeri's Bar and Grill.
Refined wasn't the right word, but Jeri's wasn't what I had expected. Jim Beam
tasted the same poured out of a brown paper bag or delivered in Waterford
crystal. Jeri's seemed to pay quite a lot of attention to that intangible thing
called ambiance. The minute I entered, I was met by an exquisite woman in her
mid-forties —the kind anyone would like to see at the end of a rough day. She
wore more makeup than I personally liked, but some things could be overlooked
if other incentives were strong enough. I had always been attracted to taller
than average women, and Jeri, who was barely half a head shorter than my own
five-ten frame, certainly filled the bill.
"Hello,"
the woman said warmly in a husky voice. "I'm Jeri. Tell me what can I do
for you today, sugar."
The
greeting left itself open to a number of possible interpretations, and I
wondered what Jeri's response would have been if she knew what was in my mind.
"I'm
supposed to be meeting someone from the Light, darlin'," I finally said
with a smile.
Jeri
wrapped her arm around mine and led me away from the door. "You don't look
like a reporter," she said, walking very closely next to me.
"Photographer."
I smiled.
"Fascinating!"
Jeri drawled. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to take a few pictures of me
sometime. Privately, of course."
"I'm
afraid I don't do portrait photography," I said.
"That's
a pity. I'll bet you're really good at getting people to relax and act
naturally for you," Jeri said, as she squeezed my arm.
Tiffany-style
lamps were hung strategically around the room, casting a stained-glass glow
onto the rich, wood-paneled walls. I noticed that there were a number of
equally attractive women mingling with customers throughout the bar and was
beginning to think a
feelers to nature magazines," she said as she munched on a breadstick.
"Not
very exciting, but there's money in it." I smiled. "Anything new
today?"
"Kyle's
back at work. I went on a gang shooting call with him this afternoon near the
Old Market."
"How's
he doing?" I asked as our waiter placed salads in front of us.
"Seems
to be recovering pretty good," Stevie said, stabbing at her lettuce.
"From what I could tell he does a thorough interview."
"Did
you mention his story?"
"Not
in so many words." Stevie shook her head. "I told him I heard he had
been shot covering a story, but he clammed up."
"Anyone
else in the newsroom talk about it?"
"Just
that he was shot. Apparently they have no idea what he was working on, and as
far as I can tell, no one is associating his shooting with any story. They're
all convinced it was a random incident."
"It
could have been," I said. "I'm thinking this is all a waste of
time."
"Well,
I've got one more week to go. I'll do what I can, Jo."
"I
know you will, Stevie."
"How
is your ex anyway?"
The
question surprised me and I shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I hadn't seen or
talked to either of them for nearly fifteen years until Cate showed up on my
doorstep a couple of weeks ago."
"You
still carrying that torch?" She smiled.
"Well,
she does look pretty damn good," I laughed. "Surprised the hell out
of me that she contacted me."
"Thinking
about rekindling your relationship?"
"No.
No interest there anymore," I said even though I knew I was lying.
"Besides, how do you know I don't already have someone at home?" I
grinned.
"I
know you, Jo."
"Yeah,
well, I'm getting too old to be chasing after women."
"Bullshit!"
Stevie exclaimed. "You're a damn fine-looking woman yourself, Jo. And
remember, I've seen you in action."
BY
WEDNESDAY OF Stevie's second week at the paper, we were no closer to Kyle's
story than when we started. I had decided that if something didn't drop in our
laps within the next day, we would pack it in. Late Wednesday afternoon, Stevie
called and asked me to meet her at a bar named Jeri's, a few blocks from the
newspaper.
Four
or five Spanish tiled steps led down to the entrance of Jeri's Bar and Grill.
Refined wasn't the right word, but Jeri's wasn't what I had expected. Jim Beam
tasted the same poured out of a brown paper bag or delivered in Waterford
crystal. Jeri's seemed to pay quite a lot of attention to that intangible thing
called ambiance. The minute I entered, I was met by an exquisite woman in her
mid-forties —the kind anyone would like to see at the end of a rough day. She
wore more makeup than I personally liked, but some things could be overlooked
if other incentives were strong enough. I had always been attracted to taller
than average women, and Jeri, who was barely half a head shorter than my own
five-ten frame, certainly filled the bill.
"Hello,"
the woman said warmly in a husky voice. "I'm Jeri. Tell me what can I do
for you today, sugar."
The
greeting left itself open to a number of possible interpretations, and I
wondered what Jeri's response would have been if she knew what was in my mind.
"I'm
supposed to be meeting someone from the Light, darlin'," I finally said
with a smile.
Jeri
wrapped her arm around mine and led me away from the door. "You don't look
like a reporter," she said, walking very closely next to me.
"Photographer."
I smiled.
"Fascinating!"
Jeri drawled. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to take a few pictures of me
sometime. Privately, of course."
"I'm
afraid I don't do portrait photography," I said.
"That's
a pity. I'll bet you're really good at getting people to relax and act
naturally for you," Jeri said, as she squeezed my arm.
Tiffany-style
lamps were hung strategically around the room, casting a stained-glass glow
onto the rich, wood-paneled walls. I noticed that there were a number of
equally attractive women mingling with customers throughout the bar and was
beginning to think a
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