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The Young Turks in winter

Just then, Nicky has a flash of insight and returns to the room in which the rest of the evidence is kept. He pulls out a copy of the paper and we see what he remembered: Veronica had written an article on narco corridos for the paper upon which her head ultimately rested.

Cut to a shot of a printing press in production, and an editor explaining that Veronica had been freelancing for about six months. The narco corridos was her first major story. The guy finishes, "It makes me sick to think she's not going to finish it." Ah, spoken like a true editor. You know the only thing that's keeping him from bitching about having to run wire copy is the knowledge that he doesn't have to pay for the first installment of the series. We find out Veronica had been working undercover because she figured it was the best way to get the guys to open up to her. By...opening up to them? So is this what I missed by not going to J-school -- the class where they explain when it's okay to date your sources?

Everyone then turns into the world's quietest newsroom as the editor explains that Veronica felt the narco corridos were "poisoning our young people." Catherine and Nicky set upon the interns' desk that Veronica shared, and they find a big black candle. Ack! Goths! The editor tells them, "I warned her that it was a vicious subculture." And how -- they set some creepy guy with a lot of tattoos and a cowboy hat to wander around the newsroom and mutter darkly, while everyone sat around with their thumbs planted somewhere that would have made dialing 911 very difficult. Anyway, since it was El Creepo who was waving the candle around, Nicky figures it's his fingers what left an imprint in the hot wax, and scarpers with the candle back to the lab so he can lift a print.

We soon find out that it belongs to a bald fortysomething guy named Elindio Zapata. Oddly enough, he's listed as "Caucasian" in his record, which seems inaccurate given the story here. Anyway, within seconds, we're in Zapata's zhop, which appears to traffic mostly in superstition-enabling knick-knacks. Vega calls a few times, but Zapata is zilent. When Vega and Nicky get to the back of the store, Zapata's back there hunkered down in front of a low altar and a ridiculous number of candles, muttering assorted incantations. Vega impatiently shouts, "Elindio Zapata," and Elindio Zapata replies, "No hablo ingles." Vega snaps, "Well, that's funny because the border patrol said you spoke perfect English."

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