She had been from Bisbee to Tombstone
on to Sierra Vista down to Douglas,
back multiple times and around and
around all within the first hundred
pages or so. Later, apprehending two
murderers, she blew out tires with
the pistol she had tucked in the small
of her back but not before getting the
duct tape off her wrists and ankles.
Then she had to save a guy whose cover
was blown and dirty cops were coming
to get him at a funeral no less. She got
engaged; her daughter liked that; her
fiancé almost called the whole thing off
for understandable reasons. Twenty-five
pages to go and the reader wonders if
she is going to visit Patagonia, a nice
little artsy town where Jim Harrison
winters and, as the reader has been told,
can be seen on occasion in a dive bar.