Writer’s Night 2014-05-03 Part 8
You’re a private investigator taking photos of someone who spots what you are doing. What happens next?
I stand behind the blinds, camera in hand. Through the telephoto lens, I see her, across the street. The client’s wife. She holds an electonic cigarette in her hand. I snap the first picture, and right as I press the shutter button, she looks up in my direction. Part of me is sure she heard the click of the shutter from all the way over there. Through the vapor, she looks right at me. I could swear she sees me. I shake my head and pull it together.
This girl is trouble. I can always tell when girls are trouble. Somehow, that doesn’t keep me away from the trouble ones. But I’m safely away from this bundle of drama. I stay there for another hour, until she leaves. She’s talked on the phone a few times. But the guy she was supposedly going to meet never showed. I leave a few minutes after she does and head back to my “office”.
The office, for lack of a better word, is barely more than a shack inside a downtown building. When I can’t afford my apartment, it’s also where I sleep. I email the client the pictures I took. They’re timestamped, so I tell him he can at least track the times of the phone calls to see who she called. But it’s all I’ve got. He’ll still owe me for the time, but he won’t want to pay. They never want to pay when you tell them there’s no evidence of anything wrong.
There’s a knock at the door. Maybe a new client. Right. More likely it’s Detective Caswell with another complaint about me. Maybe someone saw me break into the room where I took the pictures from. I sigh. This is gonna be trouble. I can always tell.
I open the door. She’s there. The client’s wife.
My jaw drops, and I say nothing. Turns outm I don’t have to.
“I want to hire you.” she says. “I think someone’s been following me, and I want to know who.”
I sigh. This girl’s gonna be trouble.