He was shocked when he read the email. He’d expected the woman to write a scathing defense on her own behalf. This was what he wanted: someone to write his story. The thought went through his mind that maybe this was a setup, but in his gut, he felt like the woman wanted to hear his story. He quickly answered the email and agreed to meet with her. Perhaps this could be the beginning of a joining of two likeminded people. If she was willing to tell his story, he was more than willing to let her do it. She had a huge following of people, including the Colombian cartel. It was time to catch a killer. It was time to catch the man who had killed his family.
Chapter Thirteen
Both women were shocked when the man answered their email so quickly, even going so far as to give his name; Tadias, or Tad, as he liked to be called. Page liked the name, it had a ring of uniqueness to it, and she liked the way it rolled off her tongue. He could very well be an asset for the next writing and possibly even her book she was working on. She was excited to hear Tad’s story. He had revealed just enough to pique her interest. There was a tiny piece of every writer that craved uncovering the hidden truths people kept locked away inside of them. It was like digging for buried treasure, and when the prized possession was unearthed, there was a story to tell the world. Readers lived for the words on paper that transported them from the mundane of everyday life, and writers lived to give them the drug they craved: a way of escape. It was evident this story of Tad’s was something close to his heart. The thought of that caused a surge of empathy to go through Page. No matter how many stories she heard, she was stirred by compassion. She knew journalists who had become hardened to the plight of the people in the mountain regions, but her love for the people who lived in the isolated areas ensured she never became callous to their predicament. She could care less about nickels, noses, and numbers, she wanted her readers to feel the same compassion for these beautiful people that she did. Though she was making a hell of a living on her writing, it wasn’t about the money for her. Perhaps that was the reason her writing resonated with her readers. She knew readers were smart, they didn’t just read books, they also read the authors who wrote them. She cared about her readers as much as she did the stories she wrote. She couldn’t imagine doing any other kind of work. Writing had found her when she felt like the voices in her head were making her crazy, and words had been there for her when nothing else existed in her empty life. She was lonely until the words became her friend and the stories her lifeline. Writing had opened-up a beautiful world she inhabited with eagerness as the sun rose with each new day of promise. She was excited about living—excited about meeting Tadias and writing his story.
“Where did you go, girl?” Judy snapped her fingers to get Page’s attention. She knew her friend was in her own head, probably feeling sorry for the man who had messaged her. “I’m going with you. There’s no way I’m letting you meet a man who blames you for the death of Juan. It could be one of his family members bent on revenge. Speaking of enemies, I’m surprised your one-night stand hasn’t called you.”
“Maybe it was just that: a one-night stand.” Page didn’t like the emptiness she felt in her chest at the thought of Mano being no more than a ship that had passed through a night of her life. She’d felt a connection with him that she’d never felt with another man. Her sexual experience was limited. Mano had touched something within her that she never knew existed. She wondered if it had been the same for him.
“As long as the guy doesn’t break your heart…I’m cool with him. If he hurts you, he’s on my shit list. I can tell you like him, Page. He does have a magnetic way about him that pulls you in. I think he likes you too if it’s any consolation.”
“What is this high school?” Page rolled her eyes. An attempt to take the edge off of the seriousness of their conversation. “You’re a good friend, Judy.” Page reached over and hugged her best friend.
“I’m your best friend now let’s get going. I don’t want to miss this meeting. I’m dying to hear Tad’s story.”
“I have to admit, I’m curious too,” Page said, grabbing her jacket and walking towards the door.
“We need a dog, Page. A fur baby to watch over the place when we’re gone. We could share custody.” Judy laughed at the thought, but she was serious about rescuing a dog from the local shelter. There were so many who needed good homes. Maybe they could get two, so they didn’t get lonely when their people's parents were gone.
Reading her friend’s mind, Page spoke: “Fuck it. Let’s get two, so they don’t get lonely. We work a lot.”
Judy looked at Page with expectancy.
Page locked the door, and both girls got into the SUV. Page had bought it because she needed room to pack the boxes full of filed research she kept—an old school habit of hers. It also gave her room for luggage when she traveled—above all, it was a reliable vehicle. No girl who worked closely with the Colombian cartel wanted to be stranded on the side of the highway. A woman who wrote things that could possibly piss them off sure didn’t.
“We have plenty of room for a big dog here. Maybe it’s a good idea. Two dogs would be company for each other. We’ll have to wait until we go out of the country together. When we get back, we’ll go to the animal shelter. You’ve never gone overseas with me, Judy. I want you to experience it. Your outlook on life will never be the same.”
“I’ve never been overseas. It sounds exciting.”
“A real-life adventure,” Page laughed. “There’s no sound in the world like bullets whizzing past your head. Make sure you take your running shoes.”
“There has to be some good things too.”
“The beauty of the land. Whether it’s Colombia, Guatemala, Peru, or Mexico, the mountains are breathtaking. And the people are amazing. They are so kind. They’ll kill their last chicken to feed you. It’s heartbreaking, but to say no is considered rude. I usually try to leave money for them to buy a flock of chickens or a couple of goats. The people and the country pull you into the magic and intrigue the land possesses. You need to experience it with me. You’ll never be the same. The land calls out to me when I stay away too long. I miss you when I’m gone. It’ll be cool to take you with me.”
“Well, you’ll have to translate for me. My high school Spanish is rusty.”
“There’s nobody I’d rather translate for. Sometimes it can be a headache going back and forth with two languages, but for you, I’ll suffer through. You do know high school Spanish and street Spanish are two different things, right?” Page looked at Judy to ensure she understood what she was saying was important. “They tell the missionaries: ‘Okay, you’ve been to school for Spanish, now go and learn how to speak the real language.’”
“Yeah, right. You’re fluent, you grew up speaking it from when you lived in Puerto Rico. Save the headache argument for people who have a hard time speaking Spanish. Totally off subject, but… I wonder what this guy we’re meeting looks like.”
“We’ll know him when we see him. He’ll have a look of distrust and determination.”