Winning Texas (37 page)

Annie stood beside Travis and her boss, Managing Editor Greg Barnett, during McKnight
’
s comments. She looked at them without masking the worry she could see they shared. How could this be happening? The
Times
had changed hands less than five years ago. They
’
d barely had time to get used to McKnight
’
s ownership and the company was dumping them already? They
’
d seen and reported on what happened to companies acquired by greedy, bottom-fishing hedge funds. The funds seemed interested only in stripping newspapers of their assets, including the most experienced, best-paid staffers, and eventually offloading them.

“
Did you know about this?
”
she whispered to Greg.

“
No, I could tell that something was going on, but they
’
ve managed to keep it secret,
”
he said with a warning finger to his lips.
“
Better be quiet and listen.
”

Russ Williamson, a lean man with a prominent widow
’
s peak in his graying half-pompadour, took the microphone and tried to lighten the leaden atmosphere by beaming at the assemblage. No one smiled back.

“
Well, to put it in a nutshell, we
’
re going to attempt something the industry has talked about for several years,
”
he said.
“
We
’
re going to shut down the daily paper and put our whole focus on the website.
”

Annie sucked in her breath and looked at Greg and Travis, who appeared as shell-shocked as the rest of the room. There were scattered murmurs, but mostly people waited.

“
This is a bold move and it won
’
t be without some pain,
”
he said.
“
But we
’
ll offer good severance packages, including a week of pay for each year the person has worked at the
Times.
”

“
Cheapskates,
”
Annie whispered to Greg.
“
They know that the industry standard is at least two weeks.
”

Greg raised his hand a few notches and said,
“
When will the daily paper be shut down?
”

“
We
’
ll phase in all these changes in the next three months,
”
Williamson smiled.

Why does he keep smiling, Annie wondered. He
’
s either very nervous or an idiot. Can
’
t he see that people
’
s hearts are breaking?

“
How many people will be laid off?
”
she asked.

“
You have 223 in the newsroom,
”
Williamson said.
“
We expect that about eighty will be offered jobs on the website. As you know, previous layoffs have done away with the copy desk and most of the photography staff. But we believe that we can achieve many more economies. Reporters who stay will also take photos and video to stream with their stories.

“
We have studied this carefully and believe that print has no future,
”
he said.
“
People read the newspaper, if at all, mostly on their mobile devices. We will give them what they want
–
shorter stories, more celebrity news and a very scan-worthy product that won
’
t take up too much of their valuable time.
”

He still looked pleased with himself, but at least didn
’
t flash another inappropriate smile, Annie thought.

“
Of course, we
’
ll have a lot more details over the next couple of months,
”
he added.
“
We
’
ll post a slate of all new jobs for the website and everyone will need to reapply to be considered. If you
’
re rehired, you
’
ll be part of a ground-breaking experiment in American journalism.
”

He stepped back and Amanda moved to the microphone.

“
I know this is difficult to digest for those of us who
’
ve spent our careers at traditional newspapers,
”
she said. Her eyes looked wet, but her voice was steady.
“
But let
’
s not rush to judgment yet. We still have our jobs for a few months. And those who stay will be part of a national model.
”

Most staffers drifted away, some stopping to grab a free can of soda or a few cookies from the refreshment table. Some staffers broke into dejected-looking clumps, talking among themselves in low voices.

Annie noticed that Abigail McEwan, a bright, young business reporter, had waited to interview Williamson and McKnight after the meeting. Abigail was taking notes in longhand, her long brown curls bobbing as she asked questions and listened closely. Annie could see that she was hurrying to file a website story about the paper
’
s sale and changes. She wondered what would happen to Abigail. The youngest, lowest-paid journalists were the ones they
’
d keep in a slimmed-down operation. The young woman likely would land on her feet, but lots of older reporters would be gone.

Greg beckoned Annie and Travis toward his glass office. She went in with Travis and they sat in straight-backed chairs opposite his desk, looking at each other glumly.

“
I just wanted to reassure both of you that I
’
ll do what I can to keep you,
”
Greg said.
“
You
’
re valued members of our staff. But there
’
s no guarantee that I
’
ll be around either.
”

“
I can
’
t believe Houston will lose its only daily newspaper,
”
Travis said.
“
First the
Post
, then the
Chronicle
disappeared, and now the
Times
. More than our careers are at stake.
”

“
It
’
s terrible for the city,
”
Annie said.
“
It
’
s incredibly bad for Houston
’
s politics, government and cultural life. Of course, that
’
s not something hedge fund managers would consider.
”

She thought about other cities where newspapers had moved from daily publication to several times a week
–
New Orleans, Cleveland and Ann Arbor, Mich. None had lost the whole print product. She felt a lump in her throat. What would happen to journalists like her and Greg who
’
d grown up with print? Would Travis, the expectant father, survive in the new environment?

CHAPTER 41

Dan Riggins smoked his last cigarette outside the front entrance of the hospital in Ojinaga, Mexico. He hadn
’
t indulged in months, trying to give up the noxious habit for good. But he
’
d taken a pass today after three days at the bedside of his dying Alicia. The gut-wrenching vigil was almost over. Alicia probably had only a few hours left before she succumbed to the brain tumor.

The nurse had sent him out while she adjusted the morphine drip that was easing Alicia into oblivion. He
’
d hated to bring her to the hospital, but couldn
’
t keep her pain-free any longer at the rented house a few miles outside of town. The brain tumor had moved quickly and relentlessly in the last few weeks. She
’
d become seized by nightmares and he couldn
’
t bear to hear her cries in the dark. He could travel around Mexico freely, thanks to a bodyguard provided by his friends in the Zetas. He wasn
’
t afraid of being detained or arrested if he took her anywhere. He
’
d just wanted her to have a peaceful death at home. But she was past caring now.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the sand around the desert plantings that decorated the walkway. He walked back into the building. The two-story hospital was clean and decent, but its operators weren
’
t wasting their money trying to make it beautiful. The mud-colored adobe exterior of the building blended into the arid landscape in a kind of comforting plainness.

He climbed the tiled stairs, rather than taking the balky elevator, mostly to stretch his legs after hours in a straight chair beside her bed. He walked into the room, saw that the nurse had finished stoking the drip and was tucking Alicia
’
s sheet and blanket around her thin shoulders. His lover
’
s eyes were closed and her body seemed at ease. Dan motioned to the nurse that he
’
d take over and she bowed and left.

He thought about his and Alicia
’
s life together, separated for long stretches by work but punctuated by rapturous reunions at the West Texas house. In the quarter-century since they
’
d met in the mountains of Peru, he
’
d never tired of her company. She
’
d had occasional affairs with men and women, but he believed what she told him
–
that he was the only man she
’
d ever loved.

He listened to her shallow breathing for an hour or so, losing track of time. He dozed off, waking only when the nurse came back, checked Alicia
’
s vital signs and said she was gone.

“
Muchas gracias
,
”
he said. After signing a required form to retrieve her body later, he left abruptly before the doctor could return to offer condolences.

He sat in his car for a moment before rummaging in his back pocket for his mobile phone. He
’
d made up his mind what to do after her death, the only thing left that made sense.

Within an hour, Riggins had changed the course of his life. He
’
d struck the deal he wanted and now he was headed through Marfa, perhaps for the last time. Again, his fake passport was good enough to get him across the border without questions, a blessing in his current state of mind. He
’
d decided that when he fled Texas four years ago he
’
d change vehicles often to avoid detection. Today, he drove a dusty white Honda Accord with a large trunk.

It was a clear day in the little town, just 85 degrees with low humidity. He stopped at a convenience store for bottled water, sipping it as he surveyed the quiet landscape and blue sky, treasuring its peace. On impulse, he parked the car on a side street and walked through the downtown area, savoring its understated charm one more time. He strolled into the courtyard of the Hotel Paisano, a restored cattleman
’
s hostelry, and went inside. He remembered one cold winter when the outdoor fountain at the entrance had been crowned with icicles. He knew the look of the sweeping lobby by heart, its cowhide chairs, buffalo heads and original green, gold and orange tile, but he needed to see it again. He admired the pictures and memorabilia from the filming of the 1955 movie,
Giant
. He left the hotel and walked to the restored Presidio County Courthouse. He looked at its pink and beige hues shining in the sun before heading back to his car. It was time to get on with the sad business that had brought him here.

He drove a few miles to the yellow stucco house where Alicia had lived for eighteen years. He
’
d had so many wonderful times there that he regarded it as home, though he
’
d never actually lived with her.

He spotted Tom Marr
’
s pickup in the back yard, so he drove there, parked and accepted Marr
’
s hug. He
’
d called his friend before leaving Ojinaga.

“
Buddy, I
’
m so sorry,
”
Marr said.
“
Didn
’
t think it would happen so fast. Was Alicia in pain?
”

“
Kept her comfortable,
”
Riggins said.
“
Got painkillers from the doc in Ojinaga and later at the hospital. He said the tumor had grown so big before we found it that he couldn
’
t do anything. She knew I would have taken her anywhere for treatment, but she wouldn
’
t allow it. She was tired of running.
”