by Joan Mauch
No, no, Izzie, don’t do that. As you said it was probably only a father disciplining his daughter. If something’s going on, you could end up in the middle of it. Please, leave it alone. DON’T GO BACK THERE!!!! I’m sorry for the rude comment. I didn’t mean it. My shoulder was hurting and I overreacted. Let’s talk about it Monday and see what we can come up with. In the meantime, I’m begging you—don’t go anywhere near that guy!!! Jackson
The next morning, Jackson couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling. Izzie’s email stayed with him. What if she’d gone back there? What if the man was a trafficker, had noticed her hanging around and grabbed her? Where was she now?
Whoa, man, get hold of yourself. You’re always letting your imagination get the best of you. There is no trafficker—just a guy who noticed a pretty girl and invited her out for a drink. That’s all there was to it. Who was he to interfere? Besides, he’d emailed Izzie and told her to stay out of it. She might be a bit stuck on herself and think she knows it all, but she’s not stupid. She’ll be all right. We’ll talk about it Monday. There’s no need to get all crazy over this.
Jackson had to fight the urge to call Izzie and make sure she was all right. She’d gotten his email, he told himself. The woman was all but surgically attached to her computer. There was no way she didn’t get that message. He’d made it clear she’d be putting herself at risk if she went back there. Besides, she was an adult, more than capable of making her own decisions.
Jackson touched the tender spot on his shoulder and glanced around the apartment: The fridge was almost empty. Dirty dishes filled the sink, an empty pizza box peeked from the overflowing garbage can and a basket burdened with a profusion of smelly clothes begged to be laundered. Collecting empty beer cans that populated his living room like unwanted guests, he decided he’d gotten worked up over nothing. Taking another look at the disaster his living space had become, he headed out the door to buy groceries. The dishes and laundry could wait.
Chapter 10
The weekend went by too fast for Jackson’s taste. Seemed like he’d barely got caught up with his chores when it was Monday and time to start the routine all over again. He wasn’t looking forward to another week with Izzie. She knew exactly which buttons to push to aggravate him. Well, not today. He’d do his assignments and keep his mouth shut. If she wanted to bitch about people or her personal life, she’d have to find another shoulder to cry on. Speaking of shoulders, he rubbed his. It was still sore.
After picking up his equipment and checking to make sure everything was working, Jackson glanced around, absently listening to the ebb and flow of newsroom activity. Fingers clicked across computer keyboards reflecting the typists’ urgency. Reporters and photographers headed out to cover assigned stories. One of the newer photogs gleefully proclaimed he’d gotten a “shot of the blood stains…”
Jackson didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t have to. Those first days on the job were one big adrenaline rush. He sighed. Was the honeymoon over? He still liked the work, but somehow the excitement was beginning to slip away. It had become something of a grind. Well, what did he expect? Life wasn’t one big thrill ride, no matter how much he wished it was.
He checked the time again. It was well after eight. Where the hell was that woman? They’d have to get a move on if they were going to make it to the news conference. It was true they had plenty of time, since it was only a few miles away, but Jackson liked to arrive early to get a good spot. Izzie didn’t seem to understand his part of the job.
Yes, she had to stand in front of the camera, look good, write the stories and report them without getting her words garbled. Jackson knew that wasn’t easy. He’d seen plenty of reporters crack up, then have to repeat it over and over before they nailed it.
But if he understood how difficult reporters’ jobs were, why couldn’t they understand that photographers worked equally hard? He’d personally taken a workshop on lighting at his own expense to improve the quality of his work. Instead of appreciating it, people like Izzie got annoyed because, in her words, “he’s too fussy and should just point, shoot and get it over with.”
He’d even overheard her call him a prima donna. Well, maybe he was, who knew? He rubbed his shoulder again and looked at his watch. Where was that girl? He’d lost his lead time and would be lucky to even get set up before the news conference began.
Glancing around the room again, he headed over to the assignment editor’s desk.
“Why’re you still here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the convention center by now?” Morris Stone, the chief photographer, had just joined them. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I know,” Jackson said, “but Izzie’s not here yet. She call in sick or something?”
“If she had, you would’ve been told. Right?” The assignment editor was clearly flustered. “Go on over there and get set up. When she shows up, I’ll tell her where to go—literally.”
They guffawed at the reference to what happens when someone let the team down.
Jackson headed out the door toward the news van. Now he’d really have to hustle. He didn’t have time to worry about a truant reporter.
Chapter 11
Jackson had managed to land a spot to the far left of his preferred position when Izzie pushed her way through the gaggle of reporters and photogs. Generally unflappable, she appeared nervous, her hair less than perfect, her face an odd shade of red.
“Hey,” she said.
Jackson glanced up from the camera and nodded. Because of Izzie his tape would no doubt be subpar. And who’d catch flak for it? Not her for damned sure. He took a deep breath, muttered “S’up?” and turned his attention back to the camera.
“Sorry. You have a lousy position because of me.”
Izzie never apologized for anything—ever, even when she made an obvious blunder. She always—always turned things around to make it appear as though the mistake was her photographer’s fault—in this case, Jackson’s. So when the word, “sorry” dribbled from her mouth, however softly, he had a hard time suppressing his surprise.
“No problem,” he said, as though arriving forty-five minutes late for an assignment was an everyday occurrence. He was about to ask what happened, when the news conference began. Izzie and her excuse would have to wait.
Half an hour later on their way to the next shoot, Jackson addressed the issue.
“So, what happened this morning? You oversleep?”
“Uh, nothing, it was nothing.”
Her expression said it was a whole lot more than nothing, but if she didn’t want to talk about something there was no use trying to pry it from her. He tried another tack. “Morrie give you hell?”
She nodded. “You could say that.”
“What’d he say?” Jackson knew it was none of his business, but curiosity got the better of him.
“He called me into his office and said if I pulled another stunt like that, not to bother showing up again—period, that I’d be canned.”
Jackson knew his boss was something of a hardass, but that seemed harsh even for him.
“He really said you’d be canned?”
“Not his exact words, but his meaning was clear. Man, he doesn’t mess around, does he?”
“Guess not. I’d prefer not finding out.”
He turned his attention to the latest disaster he had to film. A sinkhole had swallowed a house. Fortunately the family wasn’t home at the time. Still, all their possessions had disappeared. From the looks of it, they weren’t very well off to begin with. Having to witness so much misery was beginning to get to him.
Afterward, in an effort to get his mind off that newly homeless family, Jackson asked Izzie if she got his email.
“What email?” she said.
“The one telling you to stay away from where we spotted that girl on the balcony.”
“And who put you in charge all of a sudden?” Izzie barked, “Since when do I need your permission to check something out if I feel like it?”
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“It’s not that, Izzie, but when you said the man spotted you, well, I was concerned, that’s all.”
Izzie turned in the seat to face him. “So you’re all concerned about me, are ya? Well, I don’t need your so-called concern or your protection neither. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself. If I want to do a little investigative reporting on my own time, I’ll bloody well do it whether you like it or not. Got it?”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” Jackson’s heart drummed in his ears. “It’s just that I’ve been reading about human trafficking and…”
“Human trafficking again? That’s what got your shorts in a bunch? God, Jackson, get real. This is Tampa, Florida not Malaysia or Thailand. Women here aren’t trying to leave the country or escape poverty by falling for whatever dumb story some guy tells them.” As she spoke, she became more animated, her eyebrows raising and lowering, emphasizing each point she made.
“I know. That’s what I thought too till I started looking into it. Izzie, according to a report by the National Human Trafficking Center, it’s happening all over the world—including in the United States. It’s going on right in front of us, and we don’t realize it.”
The skeptical look on Izzie’s face said it all. She didn’t believe a word he said. “You always blow things out of proportion. Babe, you need to get a life. Find a girlfriend. Go bowling. Do whatever you want, but stop seeing bogeymen behind every tree. Or at least don’t keep trying to ‘save’ me. It’s exhausting.”
Jackson lifted his hands from the steering wheel in surrender. “I got the message, Iz, what you do on your own time is your business. I’ll stay the hell out of it. You want to get yourself in trouble, have at it. Just don’t say you weren’t warned.” With that he pulled into the parking lot, grabbed his gear and walked away, leaving her to follow in his wake.
Chapter 12
Leon opened the back door and let Tiny out. That was another reason he hadn’t wanted a dog. The mutt had to go out several times a day. And remembering was a royal pain in the ass. If he waited too long or was away taking care of business, the damned thing pooped in the house. One time, Leon even stepped in it. Almost beat the dog to death for that. They’d both learned something that day: Leon remembered to let him out and Tiny held it until he did.
The house was quiet now. Jennifer was gone. Seymour’s client picked her up Friday night. The transaction had gone down smoothly enough despite the unpleasant scene: she’d kicked and screamed, begged him to let her stay. Little bitch even bit the client when he tried to take her. In the end, they’d shot her up with drugs. That calmed her down long enough for them to get her out of the house.
Yes, it was quiet now, a little too quiet for Leon’s taste. Well, not for long. Seymour’d be sending another shipment soon. In the meantime, he had some rare free time. Maybe he’d go to Clearwater Beach for some well-earned R&R. Pick up a chick or two.
How about the one he’d noticed hanging around the other day? A real looker she was. Reminded him of somebody, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly who. He’d waved at her from the balcony and invited her to go for a drink. She’d declined, but gave him a flirty smile, then turned and left, her hips in those tight jeans swaying in the most inviting fashion. He told himself she wanted him, that she was playing hard to get. She’d be back, oh yeah. And when she came, he’d be waiting. He had all the time in the world.
Chapter 13
Hi Mom. Jackson’s fingers clicked rapidly over the computer keyboard. He much preferred texting, but she hadn’t managed to get the hang of it so he was left to either call or email. With his limited resources, email was cheaper. Besides, he kind of liked getting his thoughts out with no interruption. It had only been a few hours since he and Izzie had had “words” and he was still smarting from her retort.
How’re you and Dad doing? Is he feeling better? I know it’s hard on you when he’s sick—he can be such a baby. Not that me or Zac’re any better. Truth is, you’re the strongest member of the Taylor family, whether we want to admit it or not.
Life in Florida’s pretty good though I’m still getting used to it. Tampa’s beautiful, but the traffic is bad. I can’t wait till you guys come for a visit. There’s so much to do and see. I know money’s tight so it’ll have to wait, still it’s something to look forward to.
The job is everything I’d hoped and more. I love being a news photographer. You get to see and do exciting things most every day. When I was in school, I never thought someone would actually hire me. It seemed so impossible, like trying to become a movie star—something you dream about, but never really think will happen. And now, here I am. Mom, I know you worry about me, but I’m fine, really. Eating good. Doing my laundry. Even keeping my apartment clean.”
Jackson stopped typing and glanced around his filthy apartment. Only this morning he’d taken the trash out, so it wasn’t a total lie. He’d do the laundry tomorrow.
Right now my only problem is my reporter, Izzie. I’ve told you about her: pretty girl, a year out of college; thinks she knows it all. Comes from money so she thinks she’s entitled. Never, ever admits she’s wrong or realizes her partner’s a professional too. It can be frustrating. Most times I just write it off to her being young and stupid. But lately it’s getting a whole lot harder to do that—especially when she does things that could get her in trouble.
Like today, for instance, I found out she’s hanging around an apartment where I suspect a young girl may be a trafficking victim. Since I have no proof, there isn’t anything I can do about it and reporting it to the police will alert the trafficker that someone’s on to him. I planned to keep my eye on the place. Then I found out Izzie was doing the same thing, but that the guy spotted her. When I found out, I told her to be careful, that if the guy is, in fact, involved in trafficking, she’s putting herself in danger.
I only told her that because I genuinely care what happens to her. You know what she said? ‘Mind your own business. Who are you to tell me what to do? I’m a grown woman and can take care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me.’ Or something to that effect.
I wasn’t trying to boss her around or anything. But she’s a beautiful young woman, just the kind a trafficker would love to get his hands on. She thinks I’m making it up when I tell her what I’ve read about human trafficking going on all over the country, including here in Tampa. Mom, right now I feel like if something happens to her, it’ll serve her right. On the other hand, I hope it doesn’t and I’m probably overreacting because of everything I’ve read.
You always said I had an active imagination and that’s probably what makes me a good news photographer. I see beyond the obvious. But that can also be a two-edged sword, getting me in trouble. Plus people don’t take me seriously because they think I overreact, which I admit I sometimes do.
Then something comes along like this and my own partner refuses to listen. I guess I have no choice but to wash my hands of the whole thing and let whatever happens, happen.
Well, it’s getting late and I’ve had a hard day. Say hey to Zac and Dad for me.
Love, Jackson
Chapter 14
My dear darling boy. I’m glad to hear you love your job. We’re all proud of you. Every time I go to the store, people ask how you’re doing. I know it’s a sin, but I swell up with pride when I see the envy in their faces. I know it’s nothing I’ve done, that you worked hard to be where you are, but I just can’t help myself. Now, if only your brother would stop smoking marijuana and finish his education, your father and I could stop worrying and rest easy. I guess I should be grateful at least one of my boys has turned out so well.
Your father’s ailing, but try not to worry about it. I’m sure he’ll pull out of it as he’s done in the past. It’s just that the drinking has affected his liver, and I doubt he can get a transplant. I don’t think they put people with drinking problems on the list unless they can prove they’ve stopped and he hasn’t, so we’ll have to
wait and see.
I don’t want you to worry, dear boy, there’s nothing you can do except pray. You could do that. There’s nothing more powerful than prayer, you know. So, throw some your father’s way.
As far as that girl’s concerned, in a way, she’s right. She’s a grown woman and if she wants to put herself in a dangerous situation, that’s her business. It’s really stupid of her not to listen to you, but there it is.
It’s like your brother. If he’s determined to throw his life away by smoking and laying around instead of getting out there and making something of himself, all the nagging in the world won’t change a thing. He’s got to make up his own mind.
Same thing with Izzie. Don’t waste your time fretting over a girl who thinks she’s better than you, just because her daddy’s rich. As far as I’m concerned you’re head and shoulders better than anyone I know, and I’m not saying that because you’re my son. It’s the truth.
Love, Mom
Amanda Taylor closed the notebook computer and leaned back in her chair. Writing to her youngest still seemed odd, despite the fact he’d been in Tampa over a year. Tears came to her eyes. Her throat constricted as she held back the pain. She missed him, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Life wasn’t the same without Jackson around. She could still hear echoes of her boys around the house. Sometimes she thought if she looked fast enough, they’d still be there—tussling or arguing over something.
She so wished she could have those days back—have a do-over, as kids would say. She’d made mistakes despite her best efforts, but it was too late: They were grown up and way past needing her. Jackson was pursuing his dream in Tampa and Zac, well, he was—what could she say about her eldest son? That he was trying to find himself? She shrugged. How many years does it take to find oneself? It didn’t appear to her that he was looking very hard. At the moment, the only thing he seemed to be pursuing was his next drink, another drag on a marijuana cigarette, or some girl.