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 Dee STP 19 by Peregrinf

   Teen fights off arrow attack

   Naked student wounds assailant at archery range

   By Johanna Brahms Staff Writer

   A student from Central High School foiled an attempt on her life Sunday
when she shot her attacker in the buttock with an arrow.  The student, who
is active in the nudism program at the high school, was naked at the time.

   The attack occurred about 10 a.m.  while the 14-year-old ninth-grader
was taking target practice at Eddie's Archery Range in Foley Park on
Hawthorne Lane.  Police said the attacker, whom they described as a hired
killer, pinned her down behind a target by lobbing arrows at her.

   "The arrowheads were heavy, the kind hunters use to bring down deer,"
said Det.  Maria Sanchez of the Police Department.  "This guy meant
business.  He was definitely trying to kill her -- we believe because of
her involvement with the Naked in School Program."

   The student ran from target to target, hiding from the barrage, and
returned fire with her own arrows when her assailant emerged from cover to
look for her, police said.

   "He was stalking her, and he was awfully surprised when she starting
shooting back at him," Sanchez said.  "He turned tail and ran, and she got
him in the ...  well, she got him."

   The alleged hit man, identified as Joseph Anthony Martini, no address
given, was treated for his wound at Alfred Memorial Hospital, then taken
into custody and charged with attempted murder.  Police would not comment
on whether the suspect has confessed, or whether he named the person who
ordered the killing.

   The name of the student has been withheld.

   "This girl is a hero," Sanchez said.  "Naked, alone, and frightened, she
found the courage and the skill to fight back and save her own life."

   "Oh shit!" I slapped the newspaper down on the kitchen counter.

   "Dee!" Mom pointed to the jar on the counter before picking up the
newspaper.

   Reaching in my pocket -- being naked just felt too exposed today -- I
dug a quarter out and flipped it into the mayo jar from five feet away.  As
they say in basketball, nothing but net.  Practice makes perfect.  The
jar's half full already, enough for another movie.  How time flies....  I
sat at the kitchen table and buried my face in my hands.

   "I can't believe she said that!" I muffled out.

   "Oh dear," Mom said, handing the newspaper to Elaine before going back
to the French toast, flipping it deftly.

   "Oh my!" Elaine responded after reading the article.  "Can I touch you?"
she added mockingly.

   "Don't you dare!" I warned her, dropping my hands to consider the
chances of drowning myself in my orange juice.

   "I don't see what's so wrong with it," Elaine protested.  "I think it's
a rather nice article."

   I tried to change the subject.  "And speaking of Maria, where is she? 
She's s'posed to be bringing Bessie home this morning."

   The doorbell went.

   "My guess is that's her," Mom said, dropping everything to follow me,
perhaps to keep me from throttling my favorite Hispanic detective.

   The relief of seeing Bessie safe made me postpone screaming at her.  I
didn't know whether to hug her or Bessie first so I compromised by hugging
them both.

   "Why don't you put Bessie away, Dee?  Maria, come in and have some
breakfast," Mom invited, hitting the button to open the garage door.

   Soon the four of us were at the table, reducing the stack of French
toast to crumbs.  I guess nothing can kill my appetite.

   "I can't believe you called me a hero.  How could you?" I asked between
bites.

   "I said it, Chiquita, and I meant it." She didn't look the slightest bit
guilty as she drizzled syrup.

   "It's not true!  I'm no hero!  I was terrified!  I was so scared I was
pissing in my panties -- or I would have if I'd had my panties on!  All I
was trying to do was survive out there!"

   "You are a hero!"

   "No I'm not!"

   Maria eyed me with those dark eyes of hers.  "Chiquita, do you know who
General George Patton was?"

   "What's old 'Blood 'n' Guts' got to do with it?"

   "You know your history!"

   "We're studying World War II right now.  One of the guys in class gave a
report about the movie.  He's not exactly a role model.  He slapped a
soldier in the hospital, in Sicily I think, for being a coward.  The way I
see it he'd slap me silly."

   "So he wasn't perfect, but you're wrong.  Wouldn't you say he knew
heroes if anyone did?"

   I shrugged.

   "Well, he once said the real hero is the man who fights even though he
is scared.  Those were his exact words.  Isn't that what you did?"

   "You've got the scared part right!  But did you have to call me a hero
and get it in the paper?  The article's bad enough.  Couldn't you have kept
the whole thing quiet?  They managed to do that with The Worm."

   "Who's the worm?  Oh, Worthington.  We did the best we could, Chiquita,
believe me, but it was just too good a story for that reporter to pass up.
A naked teenage girl facing down a professional hit man, bows and arrows at
ten paces?  That is News with a capital 'N.' At least she stuck to the
facts and kept your name out of it."

   "Kept my name out of it?  Lot of good that did.  Don't you get it?  I've
been outed!"

   "How so?" For a smart doctor sometimes Elaine could be pretty dense.

   "The total population of naked, female, ninth-grade archers in this town
ranges from zero to one, depending on where I am in relation to the town
line," I pointed out.  "Everyone'll know it's me!  It's a good thing
there's a teacher's conference today.  The guys'd at school would be on me
like fleas on a dog.  Another chapter added to The Legend of Dee."

   I almost contributed to the curse jar again.  I've really gotta cut down
on the four letter expletives.

   "So, Chiquita, since you got the day off you can come with me this
morning.  You need to sign your statement and the guys in the crime lab
could use your help."

   "Can't you see what helping you has already gotten me into?  And help
with what?  And is that why you're here?  To get me in deeper?"

   "I'm here 'cause I brought Bessie back to you, and for some of your
Mamacita's delicious French toast, and to see how you're doing, of course.
But figured I could ask."

   All I could do was shake my head.  I knew her well enough to know she'd
use that silver tongue of hers to talk me into helping her somehow.  She's
still trying to turn me into a junior G-man -- or woman.

   "What would the crime lab want her for?" Mom asked warily.  "Is she
under suspicion?"

   "No no no.  Anything but.  They're trying to piece together exactly how
it went down at the park." Maria forked another slice of French toast off
the stack, with a nod of her head to Mom as thanks.  "After she signs her
statement we'd like her at the range to walk us through exactly what
happened.  They call it a reconstruction."

   "You mean actually at the range?" I felt a chill at the thought.  "I'd
rather not, thank you!  I don't ever want to see that place again!"

   "I don't blame you," Maria agreed, "but it would be a big help."

   "No, you have no idea!"

   "You've loved your time there, ever since Ms.  Andrews got you started,"
Mom pointed out.

   "In the first place, she only did it as a way to work off my anger
management issues caused by my PTSD from -- well never mind.  And look
where that's got me."

   "I hate to see you lose that.  You do enjoy it."

   I sighed, knowing Mom was right.

   "You gonna let him take that away from you?" Maria asked.  I wavered. 
She does know how to manipulate me.

   "It might help you again.  What about if we all go with you?" Elaine
offered.  Ever the doctor she throws some psych into her gyno practice --
calls it "holistic medicine." First time I heard her use the term I thought
she was talking about the female openings she so enjoys exploring.

   Shit.  I was getting it in surround sound.  "Don't you guys have work?"

   "I'm on call," Elaine admitted, "but I don't have anyone near term at
the moment."

   "I called in yesterday to tell them I wouldn't be in," Mom explained. 
"Sorry to be a clinging Mom but I'm not letting you out of my sight today."


   Well that was a familiar theme after one of my adventures.

   "I can't force you to do it," Maria admitted, "but Martini's lawyer
might try to claim you started the whole thing.  He might get that scum off
by creating reasonable doubt in the jury's mind, but with your help we can
nail him for good."

   "I already nailed him, in his ass.  Isn't that enough?"

   "Right now the lab guys can only testify to what the evidence appears to
show -- you know, where the arrows are, stuff like that.  They'll be able
to do a better job if you can show them how it all went down."

   "It has to be up to you," Mom assured me, her touch warm on my wrist.

   From wavering I started to tilt.  I really did enjoy archery, and I'd
really hate to see that fucker -- it's a good thing I can't be fined for
what I think or I'd be broke!  -- get off.

   "Maybe we can try to think of it as a walk in the park," Maria
suggested.

   I remembered the walk and talk and lunch Ms.  Andrews and I had shared
after I'd dealt with my anger over Bessie's stomping.  I'd felt pretty good
after that.

   I sighed.  "Okay, I'll do it, if you really think it'll help.  But he
better not be there.  I can't promise I won't try to kill him if he is."

   "He won't be.  He doesn't want you coming within twenty miles of him. 
After what you did he thinks you're loco.  I didn't say anything to change
his mind."

   So after tidying things Mom rode with Elaine while I was shotgun with
Maria.  I used the time to ask her if anyone besides her knew that I was
the one who'd come up with the name of Martini's employer.  Even I was
smart enough to know if that got out I'd have a bull's eye on my forehead.

   She shook her head.  "I passed it along to Sgt.  Kelly without telling.
He knows my snitches, suspects it was you, but he promised when he passed
it on he'd make it sound like it came from Martini.  If the bad guys think
Martini rolled over on them, so much the better.  It'll make his life in
jail all the more exciting."

   "Well, considering his size if he rolled over on anyone they'd be
goners, but I thought he was a pro and would never talk."

   "He hasn't, 'cept to you, but only 'cause he's more afraid of them than
us, an' I suspect something about your interrogation method is one reason
he's more scared of you," she said.  "They made a mistake when they hired
him.  He's a bargain basement freelancer.  They thought you'd be an easy
target."

   The thought people could be so casual about killing me, about killing
anyone, gave me a chill.

   At the station there was some kind of a briefing going on when we passed
the squad room.  A few people glanced in my direction but didn't really
take much notice, except Maria's boss, Detective Sergeant Kelly, who was at
the front table with some important looking suits.  He gave me a thumbs up
when he saw me.

   "What's that all about?" I asked as we went back to the lab.

   "Big bust in the works," Maria explained casually.  "You done good,
Chiquita."

   "What?  Why?  How come you're not in there with Sergeant Kelly?"

   "'cause I got other fish to fry, Chiquita, namely you."

   I wasn't sure I liked that turn of phrase, but didn't say anything.

   "Come on, let's get that statement signed and talk to the squints."

   After I signed my statement the lab guys fingerprinted me, asked me to
pee in a cup, drew some blood and swabbed the inside of my cheek to get
DNA. They told me that was so they could make sure who left what where. 
God knows I'd left enough panic sweat and pee out there to fill a bucket.

   At the park the range was all festive with police line tape, and we were
dressed like a hazmat team dealing with something really yucky.  I could
see why they called what we were wearing "bunny suits." Engulfed in loose,
disposable coveralls, with puffy hairnets on our heads and booties on our
feet we looked like a convention of giant white rabbits.  They said it was
so we wouldn't contaminate the crime scene, in addition to what I'd done
yesterday, that is.

   "Come on, let's get this over with," I said aloud, my tension building.

   All too soon I found myself entering the scene of the crime, Maria in
front of me, Elaine on one side, Mom the other.  The three of us were
surrounded by lab guys with their cameras and equipment boxes and stuff. 
In addition to a case of nerves I was hot and uncomfortable and wanted to
strip to my Program uniform and drown myself in the nearest swimming pool.
I'd go for even the duck pond.

   On the other hand the suit made me look like just another one of the
rabbits.  A lurking newspaper photographer had made a run at us until the
uniforms guarding the scene chased him off.

   I explained how I'd come in the gate, greeted Eddie at the shack and
sent him off for his latte fix before undressing and leaving my clothes on
the bench, mentioning I'd transferred my cell to the strap of my quiver
'cause I'd promised Mom I would, just in case.

   Just in case!  Woooo!  We'd had no idea.

   Anyway, talking about my stripping got no comments, no questions beyond
"And what did you do next, Miss Walker?" from the head of the team, though
I saw a couple of younger guys making eyes at me and whispering.  They were
obviously disappointed this was a dressed rehearsal.

   Sorry guys, no show today.

   Trust you to show up, I told The Stick.

   I'd like to give them a week in The Program for an attitude adjustment.

   So would I, I agreed with a mental sigh.

   From there I went to where I'd stood to fire my first flight of arrows.
When I asked about my bow they told me it was in their evidence locker,
along with my arrows, leaving me to wonder when I'd get them back.  With
the photographer gone I could safely do a pantomime of shooting, showing
them how I placed my feet and everything.  I mentioned I usually warmed up
at twenty yards but that I'd felt pretty loose so I'd started at forty
yards.

   That made me realize it had been an incredible stroke of good luck, and
not the only one.  If I'd been retrieving my arrows from the butt at twenty
yards chances are he would have nailed me with his first shot.  I also
remembered another bit of luck -- I'd jerked my release, sending my first
arrow into the butt well outside the target.  After I'd steadied down and
taken a deep breath to relax I'd fired a nice tight pattern with the
remaining eleven arrows.

   Down by the butt I showed them how I always pulled my arrows out. 
Standing in front of the butt I spread my left hand to press the target
flat as I pretended to draw arrows straight out with my right hand.  Sticks
through the holes made by Martini's arrows poked me, one between my tits,
the other right about at my belly button.

   I wished I didn't have such a vivid imagination.  For a moment I rested
my forehead against the butt to steady myself, drawing a shaky breath.  Mom
saw and gave me a reassuring hug, and no one said anything.

   "And then you hid behind the butt," the senior lab rat gently prompted
me when I'd pulled myself together and showed them where I'd been when
Martini's first arrow hit the butt.  He was pretty cool about this whole
thing.  I guess he'd cleaned up a lot of crime scenes.

   "I went down flat, here, and scrambled for cover.  I couldn't believe
someone had shot at me, and when I saw it was a hunting arrow I pretty much
knew it hadn't been an accident."

   "And what did you do next?"

   I gave a bitter laugh.  "Like an idiot I stuck my head out to see who
was shooting at me.  I didn't see him and fortunately he must've twitched
and it went high.  That was his second shot.  I went down again and that
literally scared the piss out of me."

   I got goose bumps remembering that evil whistle past my ear.

   "Where did you urinate?"

   Urinate.  That was a nice way to put it.

   I pointed, amazed at how steady my hand was.  "Right there."

   It was mortifying to admit I'd been so scared I'd pissed myself, but I
knew when the lab techs tested the grass they'd know I wasn't lying.  I was
glad he didn't snicker.  In fact no one did.  Mom put her arm around me
again and I rested my head on her shoulder.

   Beckoning someone over to take some samples of the grass the team
leader, or whatever he was called, made notes on his clipboard.  Someone
else took pictures.

   "His third shot was this one." I fingered the lower stick marking the
hole he'd put through the butt.  "I guess he was trying to get me right
through the butt." I gave a snort at the accidental pun.  "In a way he did.
That arrow scratched my ass."

   Still making notes the boss guy mumbled something about checking the
arrows already back at the lab for traces of my blood.  I sweated in my
bunny suit.  I felt like I needed to pee again, even though I'd gone at the
station.

   Then he had me show them where the arrows I'd harvested had come down,
but I wasn't able to be too specific.  They took lots more pictures and
planted little numbered yellow flags where I pointed.  Someone even got
down on his hands and knees and looked for the craters the lobs had left.
There were other flags where they'd picked up the arrows that had been too
risky for me to reach.

   I showed them where I'd peed the second time, just before my first run.
From there I demonstrated how I'd scampered, first to the butt at thirty
yards, and then to the one only twenty yards from the firing line, trying
to sort of estimate where I'd been in my runs when he missed me, and where
I'd paused to fire off that one arrow vaguely in Martini's direction.  I
hadn't hung around to see where it wound up -- probably on the roof of the
shack.

   As I showed how I'd huddled behind that butt I remembered the terror and
anger building inside me and now I felt it again, terror and anger melting
together, becoming rage, blinding fury.  I realized now that at that moment
I'd become a cold-hearted, totally ruthless monster that wanted him DEAD!
DEAD!  DEAD!  and suddenly I was back in that moment, reliving it,
virtually oblivious to the watching techs, to Mom and Elaine and Maria.

   Wordlessly I mimed changing my quiver from my back to my hip, answering
Maria's call to my cell.  Mindlessly pulling the tech's damn stick out I
looked through the same arrow hole where I'd seen him advancing on me,
bringing me to the final, unavoidable face-off.

   Even as my body acted it out some rational corner of my mind couldn't
believe what I'd done, stepping out from cover, taking him on that way,
facing that fucking mountain of a man with his fucking compound bow loaded
with that fucking hunting arrow big enough to punch a fucking hole right
through my fucking body -- and shooting at him, actually shooting at him,
advancing on him, drawing and shooting, drawing and shooting, drawing and
shooting like a machine until he'd fumbled and dropped his last arrow. 
When I bounced that arrow off his skull he straightened up and in my mind's
eye I could still see him there, his eyes wide with fear, me aiming right
between his eyebrows, the "voice" of The Stick desperately trying to talk
me out of killing him echoing in my ears.

   Until I suddenly snapped to my senses, surprised to discover that I
wasn't naked but dressed in that silly bunny suit, empty-handed, not
actually holding my bow.  I was frozen, a statue, rigid, my body straining
as if I were actually holding my bow drawn, my arrow nocked and aimed,
aware of everyone in my line of sight watching me, Mom and Elaine and Maria
wide-eyed, even the techs were holding their breath, still and silent.

   THINK!

   What then?  What had I done?  I was in exactly the same position I'd
been in then, just the way Eddie had taught me; feet planted toward my
target, left arm extended as if I held my bow, the thumb of my right hand
at the corner of my mouth, fingers crooked as if I held the string.

   I remembered my left hand, my bow hand, had been slippery with sweat on
the bow's grip, the string had been digging into my right hand's fingertips
-- not hooked into the knuckles, that's not the right way -- on the
calloused tips of my index and second finger, and they had been sweaty,
too.

   Had they slipped?

   No, and it's a good thing or Martini'd be dead.

   What had happened?

   That was the question I needed to answer, for the sake of my own sanity.
As I'd snuggled between Mom and Elaine in their bed last night, their
embrace cushioning me from the nightmare, I'd found myself worrying that
I'd actually shot to kill and only missed by accident or the grace of God,
if there is a God.

   In my dream I'd seen my arrow embedded between his startled eyes, the
point sticking out of the back of his head, a trickle of blood starting
down his nose.

   Blood, so much blood.

   I wasn't sure I could live with myself if I'd really tried to kill him.
He'd already been beaten.

   What had I done as he'd started to turn and run?

   I replayed it in my mind.

   My bow had dropped...

   NO!  I remembered!  I'd lowered my bow, picked my target -- right where
his camouflage trousers stretched over his massive right buttock.  As it
tensed I'd released the arrow ...  BULL'S-EYE!

   "I remember!" I exclaimed, suddenly relaxing, my arms dropping to my
sides as I turned to my gaping bunny-suited audience.  Only then did I
notice that one of them had a video camera on me, red light glowing in the
morning sun, recording the whole thing.  Had he been recording the whole
time?

   "Remember what?" Mom asked.

   "I wasn't trying to kill him!" I exclaimed with relief.  "Oh, I wanted
to kill him, I really did.  But in the end I couldn't.  I didn't shoot to
kill, only to wound him."

   "If you had I'd have been glad to dance on his grave," Mom admitted
grimly.

   "But that would make me a killer!  Maria had asked me not to let him get
away, and I knew she'd want him alive, so I only shot to stop him.  That's
what I did!"

   Okay, that was a bit of a fib, but I couldn't tell them about The Stick
or they'd lock me in a padded cell.  It wasn't because of Maria I'd only
wounded him.  It was The Stick that had talked me out of killing him.

   But The Stick is me and I am The Stick.  If it hadn't been for that part
of me, that little voice in my head, I would have put that fat slob on a
table in the morgue with an arrow through his skull.  Instead I'd put him
face down on an operating table with my arrow sticking up from his ass, the
feathers a symbol of my victory.  I bet the surgical team that removed it
got a good laugh out of that!  Oh how I hoped they did.

   And what would Ms.  Andrews have to say about this?  I knew I'd need
sessions with her, but knowing what I did now left me feeling a lot better.
She knew about The Stick, of course.  She calls it a coping mechanism.

   "He'd turned to run, and I shot him right where I wanted to shoot him,
in his fat ass.  I could have put that arrow right between the cheeks...,"

   That made even the lead tech wince.  "Which probably would have been
fatal," he said, "but not right away."

   "...but I didn't.  Instead I planted it right where I wanted it, in his
right cheek, a moving target!  Damn that was a great shot!" I was so happy
and relieved I almost felt like dancing, only I was too tired.

   "He's lucky you didn't hit a major artery," Elaine observed.

   "Yes'm," I said, sobered by how close it had been -- him or me, him or
me -- remembering, too, the rage, the all encompassing fury.  I'd come so
close to being a killer it was scary, and I was glad they let me leave off
there, before I'd stirred his butt with my arrow to get that name out of
him.  Jeez that must have hurt!  He'd squealed like the stuck pig he was.

   I'd also discovered I had an absolutely ruthless, murderous beast within
me -- I suppose that's what Ms.  Andrews would call my id -- and that only
The Stick had saved me from making a terrible mistake.

   Aww shucks!  You like me!

   Giving her a mental hug I told her not to let it go to her head, if
she's got one.

   I was exhausted.  Between showing them what I'd done and answering their
questions and them taking samples and what-not, the walk through had taken
probably ten times as long as the actual battle.  While at the time it
seemed to take hours the whole thing had lasted less than ten minutes, from
the time the first arrow had barely missed me to when I stuck that fat pig
in the ham.

   Maria had shown up less than five minutes after that.

   My reenactment over, the crime-lab people wandered off to do their
crime-lab thing, leaving me with Mom and Elaine and Maria in the parking
lot, stripping off our bunny suits.  I was drained, and thirsty.

   "I should never have let you come here alone yesterday," Maria growled
angrily, handing me a water bottle.  I think she's a mind reader sometimes.


   "Not your fault," Mom argued.  "I should have kept Dee home yesterday. I
shouldn't have let her go after Worthington in the first place!  What was I
thinking?  That's where all this started.  I should have put my foot down
then!"

   As if she could have stopped me.  My friends were being threatened, some
of them had already been damaged, and I know how bull-headed I can be, and
so does she.  She was mad at herself, and I felt terrible about that.  How
many times has she had to patch me back up after I pulled one of my stupid
stunts against her best advice?

   "It's not your fault," I assured her.  "I should have told you guys when
they tried to run me over.  I'm the one told Eddie he could go get his
latte.  If I'd asked him to stay I wouldn't have been here alone in the
first place, and because of me I suppose he may lose his job.  He's not
s'posed to leave if someone's on the range."

   "He owns the place," Maria pointed out.

   "But he could lose his concession," Elaine answered.  "Oh shoot!"

   She reached for her cell phone and moved away.

   "Are you okay, honey?"

   I hugged my Mom, soothed and comforted by her, enjoying the scent of her
shampoo.  "Just tired and thirsty.  I'll be okay."

   God I was horny!  That was my id again, I suppose.

   Elaine came back.  "I've got to go.  Some kid wants to be born early and
he's gonna need all the help we can give."

   "I'll get them home," Maria assured her.

   This whole thing seemed like a dream.  Here I'd just relived a
nightmare, but life goes on, Elaine off to tend to a laboring mother.  I
felt like a leftover pizza crust after a big party.  Then Maria and Mom
closed in on me and we made our way to the refreshment stand.  The park was
coming to life with the lunch crowd as we got our drinks -- coffee for Mom
and Maria, orange juice for me.

   "How are you doing?" Maria asked as I stared off into the distance.

   "Better, now that I know I didn't shoot to kill -- that I meant to shoot
him where I did."

   "That was a damn fine shot, Chiquita.  I'm glad you're my partner."

   Mom nodded and sipped her coffee.  "Have you ever shot anyone, Maria?"

   "I've never even fired a shot in anger," Maria answered, crossing
herself as she did.  "I hope I never have to.  I think the closest I ever
came was when we went in to bust that pedophile who'd molested you kids.  I
had my gun out.  If he'd looked cross-eyed at me I might have."

   "I can't help thinking that there has to have been another way I could
have handled it yesterday."

   She took my hand.  "Chiquita, you did the only thing you could do.  When
he shot that first arrow at you you had only two choices; to lie down and
die or fight to live.  I thank Dios -- she crossed herself again -- you
made the decision you did, 'cause if you hadn't ...  I don't like to think
about that."

   "Me neither." Mom added her own hand to Maria's.

   I shivered.  Neither did I.  "I guess that's what Patton was talking
about, wasn't he?  So by his standards I'm a hero."

   "By his standards?  By any standards," Maria replied.  "What you showed
me today, what you did yesterday, was the bravest thing I've ever seen. 
When I got to you yesterday and you started throwing up I didn't really
understand what you'd gone through.  When you walked through it today...I
don't know what to say.  I like to think I could have done what you did, if
I knew archery like you do, but to take him on as you did -- face to face
at ten paces with bows and arrows -- I don't know I could do that."

   "You've already told me I only had two choices, and the first one was
unacceptable.  I guess I just did what I had to do.  If I'd stopped to
think...." I trailed off into silence, my mind someplace else.  Oh I was
going to have a lot of sessions with Ms.  Andrews thanks to this.  She'd
have read the newspaper, of course.  She was probably already clearing her
calendar and laying in fresh supplies of tissues and barf bags for me.

   "You don't know what was going on in my head," I went on.  "You don't
want to know.  I wish I didn't."

   "You hungry?" Mom asked after a few minutes of silence.

   "Starving," I admitted, dragging my mind back to the present, realizing
it was almost lunchtime.

   "My treat," Maria offered.  "They actually make decent tacos here."

   Back from the refreshment stand we silently enjoyed our lunch.  She was
right, the shell was crunchy, the meat filling rich and warm and spicy, the
lettuce, green peppers, onions and tomato fresh, topped with taco sauce
that made my eyes water.  As my stomach began to fill it started to settle
and I began to feel more human.  Without even asking Maria got me a second
one.

   "There's something else you deserve to know, but you can't mention a
word to anyone," Maria cautioned Mom and me as we gathered up the debris
from our lunch.

   Mom collected everything for the trash while I grabbed the recyclables.
"Sounds serious."

   "It is serious.  Dee helped us crack the case."

   "Case?  What case?"

   "That meeting in the squad room?  They're setting up a major, major
bust, should be starting already, and it all came from that name you gave
me.  I can't tell you anything more than that."

   "What?  You can't leave us hanging like this!"

   "Gotta, Chiquita.  Can't say more.  Come on, let's get you home.  I bet
your answering machine is jammed by your friends calling about that
article. Watch TV tonight.  You'll find out then."

   I groaned at the thought of the phone calls.  "I don't watch TV."

   "Ay caramba!  What do you do for entertainment?"

   "I read a lot!  And swim.  And there's always sex, if I have a willing
partner." I batted my eyes at her.

   She laughed.  "No can do, Chiquita.  I don't wanna miss out on the
action."

   I almost asked to go along on the ride, but Mom's glare stopped me.  She
knows me so well!