Snapshot

by Camryn King

  His smile disappeared. “They still made a lick, though, got away with about five grand. Microphones, some of the best on the market.” He walked around pointing to where stuff used to be. “The computer, monitors, keyboard, a couple guitars. The main thing they wanted though was that mixer. That’s what they kept asking about. I’ve got something for them, though,” he finished, walking out of the room. “Those brothers are getting ready to be dealt with.”

  “I know you’re upset,” Kennedy said, as they reached the living room. “You’ve got every right to be. Being violated is a horrible feeling, it’s fucked up. But the last thing we need is another brother killed on the streets of Chicago. Your equipment can be replaced, Logan. You can’t.”

  Logan didn’t respond. He sat down heavily, spent.

  “Did you have . . . never mind.”

  “Insurance?” Logan asked, with a crooked smile. “I’ve got some insurance back in the bedroom that’ll help me collect what’s due.”

  His phone rang. He looked at the face and stood. “Look, I appreciate you coming over, but I’ve got to bounce.”

  “Promise me you won’t do something stupid.”

  They reached the elevator but continued to the stairs. “Nothing stupid.”

  Once on the first floor, Logan headed toward the hall leading to other apartments.

  “See you, later.”

  “Hold up, Kennedy, let me walk you to your car. That lick has got me tripping, acting like my mama didn’t raise me right.”

  They reached her car.

  “You know what, Ken? You need to follow up on what you told me just now. I don’t think I was robbed for your flash drive, but you may be on to something regarding those pictures and why you were hit twice. You may have captured somebody on your camera that wasn’t supposed to be there. So, check that out, real talk.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m all over it.” She clicked the fob and gave Logan a hug. “Call me, later, okay?”

  He threw the peace sign over his head and headed back inside.

  Kennedy’s thoughts were in turmoil all the way home, mentally flipping through the pictures from her trip. That she’d caught someone in a shot was highly unlikely. She’d been on assignment for a nature shoot. Logan’s cavalier attitude about his robbery was bothersome, too. He believed the culprits were his neighbor’s friends. Kennedy wasn’t so sure. She’d noticed a sedan parked at the end of Logan’s block, one of those somber black numbers that Feds drive in movies. The car had pulled out right after she passed it. At a red light two blocks down, she could have sworn she saw it again. Taking a circuitous route to get home made a fifteen to twenty-minute drive more like thirty-five, and had her arriving when most residents were already safe and sound inside their homes, the garage devoid of witnesses. Now, getting out of her car, fear crawled up her arm and slid down her back. The garage was almost too quiet, as though even the concrete held its breath. Getting out of her car, she imagined eyes on her, and hurried up the short flight of stairs to the locked back entry. She fumbled to get her key card into the slot. There was a sound, like a footstep. Her head whipped around. She heard nothing, saw no one. But . . . there it was again. The distinct sounds of sole meeting stone. She looked again. There it was. A silhouette in shadow. Walking, slowly, coming her way. Her hands began shaking. She dropped the key card. It hit the step and slid, almost falling off the side. She slapped down her hand to prevent it going over the edge and connected with a shard of glass. It pierced her palm but she barely felt it, her focus on the card slot in front of her and the stranger behind. In her mind’s eye it was Jack, right behind her, his face distorted and laughing as he slid an ether-soaked cloth around and over her nose.

  The card slid into the groove. The red light flashed green. She reached for the door handle. A hand clamped her shoulder.

  “No!” She meant to scream but with a lump of terror stuck in her throat the word came out in a whisper. She wrapped the strap of her computer bag around her hand and raised it to deliver a blow.

  “Whoa, Kennedy! Stop, it’s me Glenn.” He deflected the bag headed toward his forehead and grabbed Kennedy’s arm to steady her.

  Kennedy clutched her heart, recognizing a guy who lived on the fourth floor, who she’d sometimes see in the gym. “Dammit, Glenn. You just took five years off my life.”

  “I’m sorry. You turned around. I thought you saw me.”

  “I heard footsteps. I didn’t see anybody.”

  “Probably because I saw this and picked it up.” He held out an earring. “Is it yours?”

  Kennedy shook her head, turned and walked through the door. They crossed the lobby and reached the elevators. She was still out of breath. “Don’t ever do that to a woman. Don’t sneak up on us like that.”

  “I’m really sorry to have scared you. It wasn’t my intention. I thought you saw me. I should have said something.”

  Kennedy was quiet during the elevator ride, barely acknowledging her neighbor when he said goodbye. Her mind was on Logan, and the “insurance” against violence that he kept in his room. Kennedy wasn’t a violent person. The only thing she’d ever shot was a Super Soaker. But for the first time in her life she considered buying a gun.

  9

  Kennedy drove to a twenty-four-hour superstore and bought a weapon that could be purchased without a background check, a thirty-two-ounce can of pepper spray strong enough to fell a bear. She purchased more mega flash drives like the one she gave Logan and arrived home a short time later—armed, dangerous, and focused. She removed her photographs from the computer and placed the Bahamas pictures and all her other work on separate flash drives.

  The next day, her first stop was at a bank where she secured one set of drives in a safe deposit box. Ten minutes later, she settled into the back booth of a random coffee shop, one of half a dozen she navigated between to work from since her house was invaded. Now that she had a focus, Kennedy was determined—borderline obsessed—with finding out if the pictures she took in the Bahamas held the answer to why she had been robbed not once but twice. A memory she recalled while waiting for her coffee, and the agreement Anita sent over, gave her a place to start. It was the day Logan had taken her to Lake Michigan, when the glint she’d seen off a rock he’d tossed reminded her of what happened when she photographed the rainbow, the reflection that showed up in some of the shots. That day she’d said nothing, had dismissed its significance, but now she wanted to take a closer look and see if she could find something hidden and worth six figures. She inserted the flash drive into her laptop and pored over the shots for over an hour, with no success. Even after enlarging the photos and inspecting them inch by inch, she saw nothing suspicious. Other than trees, branches, and dense brush, she couldn’t see anything at all.

  Kennedy sat back, frustrated, trying to think of more pictures to search. She scanned through the hundreds she’d taken. Nothing stood out. She thought about returning home and viewing them on her flat screen. Then, remembering a colleague, Kennedy reached for her phone and typed a text.

  Hey Toby it’s Ken. I need your help with some digital files. Looking for a needle in a haystack. I know if something’s there you can find it.

  She reread the text and was about to send it when a subtle feeling, as faint as a feather, gave her pause. Instead of pushing send, she pushed delete and wrote another text.

  Hey Toby, Ken. Call me.

  That done, Kennedy focused on the few pictures with people included, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who called himself Jack. His was a face she wouldn’t forget. But she didn’t see him. Nor had he been found on any of the surveillance footage, according to the attorney from whom she’d finally received an email. Maybe someone was over there when they shouldn’t have been, doing something that they shouldn’t have been doing. Only problem was, she had no way of knowing who this was, or why her having taken a picture of them was such a problem. The person she was looking for obviously knew enough about her to know where she lived back
on the mainland. She searched blindly, without a clue as to what she sought. She’d separated every face in her pictures that could be seen clearly, isolated them and enlarged them to eight by tens. A folder marked Model Headshots held almost thirty adults of every age and race, along with the enlarged pictures of the private island where she’d snapped the rainbow. If trees could talk, and if there was a story behind the flash of light she’d seen on the private island, she needed to hear it.

  After organizing the pictures, updating her chart, and saving everything to her flash drive, Kennedy left the coffee shop. It was early, just after three o’clock, and even though she was ready to chill, she didn’t go home. She kept a straight back and firm voice when talking to her friends about the burglary, assured them that she was fine. She wasn’t. Hadn’t been comfortable in her home since the night she returned to find that someone had been there. Even with the extra security equipment that Logan had installed, and the patrol car that regularly patrolled her block, Kennedy still felt vulnerable and paranoid, wondering whether or not she was being watched. It was a feeling of pure helplessness. Not knowing who in the world could be after her out there. Not knowing why. Her phone rang. Kennedy eyed the Caller ID and smiled. She had questions that the caller might be able to help answer.

  “Hey, Toby!”

  “Hey, stranger! I was surprised to get your call. It’s been a long time.”

  “I know, too long. I’ve been busy.”

  “I hear you. What’s going on?”

  Kennedy looked at the clock on her dash. “I’d like to get your take on something you need to see in person. Are you still working in the same place? If so,” she hurried on, “Don’t say the name.”

  “Um, yes.”

  Kennedy could only imagine what her co-worker was thinking. The way he’d hesitated and dragged out the “yes,” he probably thought she had a screw or two loose. Who could blame him?

  “I know I’m sounding all clandestine and CSI, but I assure you, I have my reasons. Are you still at work? I’m not that far away and can meet you there if it’s okay. It won’t take long, just five, ten minutes.”

  “You’ve got me a bit worried, Ken, I can’t lie. But you’re good people and I trust you so . . . come on by.”

  It was nearing rush hour, so Kennedy didn’t get to Toby’s job as quickly as she’d planned. Reaching the tan, nondescript building brought back fond memories of working part-time and later full-time while pursuing her BA. When thinking about it, she realized she didn’t know Toby all that well. He was quite a bit older than her, already married with children when they met. But he’d always been kind and a gentleman and photography was his passion. That’s what they bonded over. He loved digital photography but was partial to film, and developed his own film. Had he had the courage to pursue it full time, she believed he could have been world renowned. When it came to anything regarding photography, film or digital, he was a master. Even more important for her was the monster enhancer he had in his home. It was the size of a movie screen and could blow up a ponytail enough to count the strands of hair.

  She pulled into a parking space and hurried toward the building. It was a little after five o’clock, but when she walked into his office, he was there waiting.

  After the pleasantries, Toby was direct. “Alright, young lady. Who did you kill and where did you bury the body?”

  Kennedy frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Something illegal happened given how you sounded on the phone.”

  “As I said earlier, I have my reasons.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  What Kennedy thought would be five or ten minutes turned into almost an hour of spilling her heart. Toby was a great listener, calm and steady. He didn’t dismiss her paranoia or call her flat-out wrong. Perhaps it was his comforting manner that made her trust him. She told him everything that had happened and how she felt about it from the time she woke up in the Bahamas until now. Afterwards, she pulled out the flash drive and copied several pictures to a drive that he owned.

  “It’s probably much ado about nothing,” she said as they walked out of the building together. “But I appreciate you humoring me and agreeing to help.”

  “I don’t need much of a reason to turn on the spotlight.”

  “Oh, the machine has a name now?”

  Toby nodded. “And a new friend. A computer program that allows me to correct the distortion that comes from enlarging a picture a great magnitude. I just got that two weeks ago. So thanks for giving me the perfect reason to try it out.”

  * * *

  Waiting to hear from Toby was nerve-wracking, but Kennedy managed to keep it together. There were people to see and bills to pay. She appreciated the diversions. Though temporary, they kept her from being totally consumed with who wanted her pictures, and why. Toby didn’t leave her hanging for long. He sent a general text about wanting to see her. They agreed to meet the next day.

  Kennedy was up and out of the house early, well before their appointment time. She drove thirty minutes to her old stomping grounds, the area near her alma mater where she’d lived and worked for four and a half years. Meeting Toby in the area made her nostalgic, took her back to a time when life threw her no curveballs. The days had a rhythm—school, study, work, study, sleep—and party on the weekends. Back then, it felt somewhat monotonous, but now she realized that it also felt safe.

  She passed Pops, a family-owned diner and college student’s second home, before pulling into the coffee shop parking lot. After ordering a caramel latte, she spotted a table in the corner, a perfect place to set up shop. It also provided a clear view of the entrance. Just in case the boogeyman chased her, she mused, while trying to find humor in the thought. She opened her computer and began checking emails. One of the companies she’d sent her resume to had responded, the startup magazine. She quickly clicked on the link, read the email, and replied to someone named Monica. Would she come in for an interview? She’d love to, and looked forward to seeing her next week. There was also an inquiry from Anita. Yes, she’d received the agreement, had no questions, and would be in touch after word from the Star. Truth was she hadn’t followed up on them removing the pics from the internet. Kennedy had been purposely vague to buy more time to check out the photos. If there turned out to be nothing to her needle in a rainbow theory, she didn’t want to rouse suspicions. She wanted to get paid!

  After finishing up emails and checking into social media, Kennedy went into research mode, searching out events she could photograph and sell the pics. It was an unorthodox approach to the business, almost like being paparazzi, except her targets were not celebrities and her customers weren’t TMZ. They were magazines and newspapers, sometimes even the Chamber of Commerce. Fun for the most part, and highly rewarding. But three years into the freelance free-for-all and Kennedy was beginning to feel the effects of the grind. She returned to Monica’s email and tapped the link at the bottom of the page. Chicago Sightings was a regional print and web publication highlighting the city—its neighborhoods, people, culture, and food. They were looking for an art director, someone to shape the overall image and presentation, a job Kennedy knew she could handle well. A complementary educational background in copy writing bolstered her qualifications. That she was also a photographer, whose Star spread had been seen by the owner, had worked in her favor, too. She continued researching potential shoots, but her heart wasn’t truly in it. She was already at Chicago Sightings, working a steady job with a steady paycheck. She picked up her phone to call Gwen. It buzzed in her hand.

  Can you meet me over at Dad’s house?

  It was Toby with a question that made Kennedy frown. She didn’t know his father. Plus, she now sat at the place they’d agreed to meet. Her thumbs hovered over the screen as she thought of an answer. Her indicator pinged again.

  He promises to make your favorite. Thighs and fries.

  The lightbulb clicked on. He was talking about Pops, the college kid’s go-to din
er. But why was he acting like a Kamikaze spy? She would ask him in person, and replied with a yes. She placed her computer in its bag and headed out to meet him. Halfway to her car came another lightbulb moment. The pictures. He’d found something. Whatever it was had him sending crazy texts, the normally mild-mannered co-worker talking in code. Kennedy reached her car and started the engine, the latte curdling in her stomach as her mind raced with possibilities of what he could have found.

  Kennedy valiantly tried to stay calm during what should have been a five-minute ride. But already beyond paranoid since her burglary, Logan’s burglary, and a garage stalker named Glenn, she couldn’t be normal. Her eyes were everywhere, and every sound outside of her car made her jump. She tried to get green lights and probably spent as much time looking in her rearview and side mirrors as she did on the road in front of her. She even made a couple unnecessary turns, taking a loopy route to the college hangout passed a short while ago, the spot that he referred to as “Dad’s house” in his covert operation text message. What he’d called thighs and fries was billed on the menu as the Two-Sided Chick, a two-dollar meal boasting two thighs and two sides for cash-strapped students. To this day, it was Kennedy’s favorite part of the bird, even though right now she might not be able to eat it.

  Kennedy circled the block twice and then parked across the street from Pops with a clear view of the entrance. Her eyes moved, continually looking for anyone or anything out of place. She watched Toby enter the establishment and still didn’t move for another five minutes. When her phone vibrated with a text, three question marks from Toby, she decided the coast was clear and she could go inside.

  It had been years since she’d eaten at Pops. It felt weird to enter and not see people she recognized working behind the counter, but her mouth watered as she stepped through the door. She saw Toby and headed to a table in the very back of the establishment, on the side facing the door. How he’d positioned himself wasn’t lost on Kennedy. It cut through nerves and made her smile. He was still wearing his hat and shades and stood as she approached him.