“Like I said, you can do some online research. You can contact the police if you think you have something concrete, but it’s been my experience that going to the police just makes me look suspicious and I have to make up explanations for how I know what I know.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. One good thing is that it’s dark in the photo, so I should have most of tomorrow, after I dream, to figure this out.”
“Good point. You could even ask your dad to check things out, see if he has any background on similar cases or any possible suspects. He sees a lot in his job-more than I ever see, and sometimes things connect in ways I would never think of.”
“No, I don’t want to ask him. What about Jessie?”
“She’s heading out to visit her sister tomorrow morning to spend the weekend with her sister and niece.” Mark hated to admit that he was relieved when Jessie’s sister had moved to St. Louis the month before. Over the years, she had constantly questioned Jessie about Mark’s sudden absences from her family functions and she didn’t buy their excuses. There was also still the shadow of Mark’s time in the brig. Although Jessie hadn’t ever told her sister outright that Mark was in prison, there was enough information on the Internet for anyone who cared to search.
Mark leaned forward, his arms resting loosely across his thighs. “You know, CJ, before you jump into this with both feet, there are probably some things you should consider first, because once you make the commitment, you can’t really stop.”
CJ dropped the pad of paper with his notes into his lap. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Mark scrubbed a hand down his face as he constructed his bit of advice. “I just realized that through your eyes, you might be seeing my life as it is now, and thinking it’s a cool lifestyle-but looks can be deceiving.”
CJ glanced around the loft, his gaze snagging on the framed photos of Mark’s work hanging on the walls and the end table with a few more frames containing pictures of Mark and Jessie smiling into the camera. The sofa was a rich, brown leather and Jessie’s touch had turned the loft into a cozy and tasteful home. “I've been told a lot of what you went through, but it looks like you survived just fine.”
“For now. I’m not going to go into a laundry list of everything that’s happened to me, but there have been many times I wanted to chuck the camera and its responsibilities into the deepest, darkest part of Lake Michigan.”
Mark drew in a deep breath. This part still gnawed at him because he knew it was unlikely to ever come true for him. “I wanted to just have a normal life. I always thought someday I’d have kids and do all the usual dad things.” Mark smiled as he imagined a miniature version of Jessie playing softball-or maybe baseball. He had to clear his throat before he continued with his imagined life, “I’d plan my shoots around their sporting events, recitals, plays-whatever it was that they wanted to do. Of course, by then, my business would be a lot more successful than it is now.”
“You look successful now.”
“What did I tell you about appearances?” Mark swept a hand out to encompass the loft. “This? It’s an illusion. Most of the furniture was Jessie’s and the only reason the business is doing well is because I’ve had a great partner, Lily. She takes over when I’m not available and deals with pissed off clients when I’m forced to miss a shoot. I don’t know what I’ll do now that she’s leaving because despite her amazing skills, many times, the clients never consider us for a big job again.”
Mark paused and took a deep breath. Was he laying it on too thick? No, if anything, he was glossing over so much. “Jessie and I have a great relationship, but we’ve had a lot of ups and downs. I can’t forget that I’m just damn lucky to have her. It’s not like there’s a Jessie waiting around on every street corner.”
CJ’s mouth dropped open and he burst into laughter. “Please tell me you never actually told her that.”
Mark’s face heated when he replayed the comment in his head. He waved his hand. “Okay, wait. That came out wrong-but you know what I mean. Now, I don’t know what your life’s goals are, but whatever they were, using this camera will likely make them come to a screaming halt.” Mark plopped onto the sofa. “And that, CJ, is why your dad is dead set against you doing this.”
* * *
Mark had gone over all the chemicals and how to build a dark room. “It’s not hard, but you do need to ventilate the room, so a laundry room or bathroom usually works well.”
They were splitting an Italian beef sandwich they’d picked up from a local place on the way back, and Mark pulled plates from the cupboard. “Cut that in half.” He slid a knife across the counter. CJ took it and divided the foot-long sandwich, putting half on each plate. It smelled incredible and he almost drooled as he pulled his plate in front of him. “Couldn’t I just take the film to a one-hour place instead?”
Nodding, Mark opened the fridge. “I suppose. Water, pop or beer?”
“Water is fine.”
“Sure, you could go to a drugstore or photo place, but sometimes it’s just easier not to have to worry about what’s going to show up. Some of those places report suspicious photos.” He handed CJ a bottle of water.
CJ shifted on the stool at the breakfast bar and took a bite of the sandwich. He spoke around a mouthful, “Makes sense. Guess I’ll have to move to someplace with a second bathroom or a laundry room.”
“Yeah. It's kind of hard to find a two bathroom apartment though, unless you're talking big bucks for rent."
“I know. Most just have one bathroom and if I'm lucky, I'd find one with a laundry facility, but I don’t think the management would be down with me turning it into a darkroom.”
Mark grinned. “Probably not. But if you find an apartment not too far away, you could use mine whenever you wanted. I’d give you a key.”
CJ paused with the sandwich mid-way to his mouth. What started out as just a glimmer of an idea at dinner last night was now a full-blown plan. Was he sure he wanted to do this? He was finished with school so there was no reason he couldn’t move out here. He’d offered to help Mark for the next month anyway, and moving here would allow him to continue helping him out. He bit the sandwich, set it down, using a paper towel Mark handed him to wipe his mouth. His mom was in the D.C. area, as well as his cousins, but if he’d stuck with his plan of working for the CIA, he’d have been relocated at some point anyway. She'd ask a lot of questions though and he might have to tell her about the camera but he'd worry about that later. Would it be crazy to move to Chicago because of the camera? His dad was here. And Mark. In D.C., he’d have nobody who knew anything about the camera and its properties.
“CJ? Hello? Don’t you like the Italian beef?”
CJ blinked to find Mark staring at him. “Oh, sorry. No, the sandwich is great. I was just thinking about moving here and how great it'll be.” He took another bite of his lunch. It made perfect sense. “How expensive are apartments in the area? And, I'm sure at some point you'll find another photographer and won't need me helping out, so I'll need to find another job eventually.”
Mark grinned. “That you will, because this superhero gig doesn’t pay for shit.”
CJ laughed and they finished their lunch while talking about the job possibilities and apartments. CJ didn’t want to live with his dad, but he might have to for a little while, if his dad let him. That wasn’t a given since CJ was going to use the camera against his father’s advice. Still, CJ thought his dad wouldn’t turn him away.
* * *
Jim stirred the rice and added a little more chicken broth along with a cup of broccoli. The chicken looked about done, and he glanced at the clock- almost six-thirty. CJ had said he’d be home by six. He’d looked forward to CJ’s visit. When he’d been out at CJ’s a few months ago, things were so crazy, they never got much of a chance to talk-just one lunch. After that, their focus was on finding Mark.
Jim thought back to how shocked he’d been when CJ said he was planning on joining the CIA when he finished h
is degree. That had been hard enough to accept, and now, just when he’d come to terms with it, CJ wanted to fool around with that damn camera.
He heard the key in the lock, and breathed a sigh of relief. A few seconds later, CJ entered the kitchen, and nodded at Jim. “Smells good.”
“Thanks, I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.” CJ reached into the rice pan, snagged a broccoli floret, and popped it into his mouth. “Whoa. It’s hot.” He waved a hand in front of his mouth.
Jim smiled and shook his head. “Hand me the potholders behind you.” After CJ complied with the request, Jim removed the chicken from the oven.
“Wow, Dad. When did you learn to cook?”
“When I moved here. I got tired of eating out, and Lily was a good cook. She showed me a few things.” He was going to miss their cooking nights more than he wanted to admit.
CJ took a couple of plates from the cupboard and handed one to Jim. “Well, it smells fantastic.”
They served themselves the food and ate with minimal conversation except about how the meal tasted. Jim thought the chicken needed more garlic, but CJ said it was perfect. He decided to wait until after they'd eaten to bring up the subject of the camera. All day, Jim had stewed about the topic, at one point, picking up the phone to call Mark and ream him a new one for encouraging CJ. But, he'd set the phone down. Mark wasn't the problem. CJ wanted to do this, but he just didn't know what he was letting himself in for. It was Jim's duty as his father to do his best to steer his son in the right direction and that didn't include pushing him towards certain danger and heartbreak.
After clearing their dishes, CJ remained in the kitchen and declined a cup of coffee, but accepted some water. Jim poured coffee for himself, stalling the inevitable, but finally, he couldn’t put if off any longer. The time had come for their discussion.
* * *
His mouth suddenly dry as his stomach seized with nerves, CJ took a sip of his water. He fought to keep his expression passive. He had to set the tone for the discussion. Calm, cool and collected. Yeah, that was the ticket. He took a deep breath and one more gulp of water before he set it on the table.
His father sat across the kitchen table and regarded him with a level gaze. “I’d be lying if I said I was okay with you taking on the responsibilities of the camera.”
CJ opened his mouth to respond, but his dad held a hand up. “Hold on, Chris. My feelings on it are entirely personal. I’m not speaking as a CIA officer or FBI agent. I’m speaking as your dad. Will you hear me out?”
Nodding, CJ crossed his arms, hardly even registering that his dad had called him Chris. Everyone else used CJ now, but his dad had found it difficult to switch to calling him by his initials instead of his given name. He didn’t mind it, but he braced for the spiel that his dad didn’t think he was old enough or responsible enough.
His dad paused, his eyes softening as his mouth turned up just the slightest bit. The look unnerved CJ and forced him to break eye contact. He reached for his glass to cover his emotions. What was his dad thinking right now?
“Listen, son. I’m incredibly proud of how you handled yourself a few months ago. Without your help, we might never have been able to rescue Mark. You’ve proven that you have the instincts, guts and courage to do anything you want and achieve any goals you set.”
Praise was not what CJ was expecting and he shifted in his seat, trying to conceal the pleasure at the words.
“But, as your dad, this terrifies the hell out of me. I’ve seen what this camera can do to a man. What you saw of Mark in D.C. was just a hint of how it affected him other times. What kind of father would I be if I urged you to take on that kind of responsibility? That kind of risk?”
It came as a surprise that anything terrified his father. “You just said I could handle it.”
“In the moment, I’m sure you could. You’re cool under pressure, I’ll admit that. It’s afterward that worries me. How will you pick up the pieces if things get bad? You were right that I was part of what happened to Mark after 9/11.” His dad angled away from the table, and gestured towards himself. “Do I look like a bad guy? Do you think I’m a horrible person?”
Startled at the question, CJ blurted out, “Of course not.”
“But from Mark’s point of view four years ago, I was the enemy.” He leaned forward, cradling his coffee cup, his gaze turned inward. “I remember how he used to look at me when I was…when I was carrying out my duties.” He shook his head, silent for a few moments as his throat worked as if he couldn’t quite speak. He studied the contents of his cup, then blew out a deep breath. “Mark hated me. I was this asshole tormenting him when he was innocent all along.” He opened his hands. “Of course, I didn’t know he was innocent. All I knew was the evidence presented to me and the duty to do all I could to prevent another 9/11.” He raised his gaze to hold CJ’s. “Don’t you see? What if that happens to you? What if there’s some other government asshole treating you the way I had to treat Mark?”
“I get it, Dad. You were only doing your job. With my training, I can see it from your point of view, too. I may have only been interning last summer, and most of it was busy work, but I got a sense of the culture. Mark didn’t have that advantage, so what does what happened to him have to do with me?”
“Do you think that’s the only bad thing that happened? Shit.” His dad abandoned his coffee and the table, crossing the kitchen to brace his hands on the sink, head bowed, his back stiff.
CJ had an idea there was more to Mark’s story, but hadn’t been told anything specific. “I know it’s been hard on him, but-”
Without turning around, his dad cut him off. “What would you think if I told you that being held as an enemy combatant wasn’t even the worst thing Mark had to deal with?” He pivoted, facing CJ.
CJ couldn’t think of much worse, so he just shrugged. "I can take care of myself. Mark even told me I’m better prepared than he ever was. I mean, I know karate, and I’m an awesome shot-you know that.” He cringed when he realized it sounded like he was bragging. He didn’t mean it that way, but his claims were true.
“Damn it, Chris! Ninety-nine percent of the time you can’t shoot your way out of a problem. What are you going to do? Wave your gun at a bomb? Karate-chop a speeding car aiming for a group of senators walking to lunch?”
Forgetting his vow to keep his cool, CJ jumped to his feet, his chair tilting precariously before the front legs thumped against the floor “You’re making up crazy shit now, Dad. Can’t you give me at least a little credit for having a couple of brain cells to rub together?”
“I would if it didn’t seem like you wanted to jump into this like you’re some kind of summer movie superhero.” His dad strode to within a foot of CJ, and continued, “With that attitude, inside of a week you’ll either be locked up or dead. Cops don’t look kindly towards vigilantes and that’s how they’ll peg you.” He punctuated his remark by jabbing a finger against CJ’s chest.
Stung that his father didn’t seem to count the skills he possessed already, he lashed out, “Hell yeah I’m jumping into this-but not because I have a fantasy of being a superhero, but because I feel like I have to.” Mark’s earlier words echoed in his head and he spat them at his dad, “I’m meant to do this. What Mark does is a hell of a lot purer than the shit you did with the CIA.” His dad flinched at CJ’s words, his eyes narrowing, but CJ rolled on, “There’s no politics, no agenda and no judging-just saving people who are about to die. That’s what I want to do. Save people.”
They stood toe-toe, CJ’s jaw clenched while his dad’s mouth set in a thin line, his nostrils flared. As his father glared at him, CJ hardened his resolve, leaning even closer until they were less than a hand-span apart. His three-inch height superiority gave him an advantage and he straightened his shoulders. “I’m going to use the camera.”
His father’s eyes searched CJ’s face. Then he blinked. And nodded. “I know.”
CJ held his ground for an
other few seconds, then he stepped away and grabbed his glass of water, guzzling what was left. Too bad it wasn’t a beer or something stronger. “I already have future photos. Mark and I went out today.”
His father sprawled onto the chair he’d abandoned a few moments ago, his eyes distant as he seemed to fixate on his half-cup of coffee. He let out a sigh. “Well, I guess you better get to sleep. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.” He sounded tired, and pushed up from the chair and left the kitchen.
Chapter Three
That night, CJ lay in bed, his stomach in knots as he wondered if he’d dream about the photos. He knew if he kept thinking about the pictures, he’d have a hard time sleeping, so he tried to push them out of his mind. In the void, he replayed the scene in the kitchen earlier. Did his dad really have such a low opinion of CJ’s skills? It stung to think about, especially since his dad was the one who had taught him to shoot in the first place. Their excursions to the shooting range was one of his most treasured memories as a boy. He remembered the joy that would fill him when his dad offered some off-hand praise of CJ’s shooting prowess. It made CJ try even harder the next time they went.
In high school, he’d even been on the rifle team one year and had excelled, but when his parents divorced, he lost his enthusiasm for shooting and quit the team his junior year.
Karate was something he’d done long before he was involved in drama. With their nomadic lifestyle, moving when his dad was assigned to a new duty station, his mom put him in karate because it was a sport he could do no matter where they moved. It wasn’t like baseball where he’d have to leave a team mid-season.
CJ hadn’t thought about his karate in a long time and made a mental note to seek out a new dojo. His skills had probably faded somewhat, but with some practice, he could get them back up to speed.
Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1) Page 3
