The World Could Wait (All We Are)
I’m a photographer, and most of my work is my own. I’m a freelance, I guess. Sometimes it’s newspapers, sometimes it’s promo photo shoots, and sometimes it’s recon - for the right price, of course. So it wasn’t really surprising when a less than trustworthy someone crossed my path.
It was meant to be autumn, but it was hot - too hot. I had recently discovered that I belong in cool climates, and I was not really enjoying myself. I was sitting in a nameless café in the city, trying to ignore the weather, camera in hand, hoping that something worth recording would present itself. Something out on the street caught my attention, and as soon as I looked back, I had someone else sitting at my table. He wasn’t looking at me, he was following my original line of view. Expensive sunglasses hid his eyes, but his thin, white cotton shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination. A man with that many blood vessels visible on his arms is not someone I’d like to meet in a dark alleyway.
Not unless he was already accompanying me, anyway.
Content to sit and enjoy the silence, I said nothing, allowing him to begin the conversation. ‘I’m assuming this is yours,’ he said, motioning towards my camera.
I nodded. ‘Ten point two mega pixels, compatible with most lenses, ranging from telephoto to macro.’ I had no idea why I felt the sudden urge to gloat.
He seemed impressed. I also got the feeling that he didn’t impress easily. Score one to me. ‘How much for a for an afternoon of recon?’
I paused. ‘Do I get to know who I’m taking photos of, or am I kept in the dark?’
He smiled. ‘Let’s just say it’s going to be a night job.’
I considered this. ‘$150 per hour, and you pay for expenses.’
He raised his eyebrows, which was understandable - it was just about double my normal rate, but I wanted to see how this guy took it. It wasn’t like I was desperate for the work.
Slowly, he nodded. ‘Fine.’
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I was considering offering him a drink, considering I’d soon be taking a lot more money off his hands soon enough, when, out of the blue, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to my throat. He smelt like the beach, mixed with expensive alcohol and exertion. I really should have been more shocked, and less inclined to enjoy the treatment, but as his teeth grazed the skin above my pulse, I felt my eyes flitter close. But not before I saw two men walk past, obviously in a hurry. I find it quite surprising how much you can take in within only a few seconds, especially when you’re distracted. The two guys were totally out of place - they were wearing tailored suits, and looked incredibly uncomfortable. I could understand why, given the weather. But their clothes gave them away - no one wore stuff like that now, not around here, which meant they hadn’t been expecting to come here. And the way they moved showed they were obviously looking for something - or someone.
My friend planted a kiss on my jaw line and pulled away, coincidentally as soon as the two men disappeared around the corner. ‘So do you have a name?’
He looked at me with a smile that I’m sure he’d used before - one that probably caused most women to combust the moment they saw it. I was impressed, but not about to burn up. ‘Mark Keaton’
I smirked under my breath. No one has a name like that. At least not this side of the continent. By I decided to play along. ‘Keaton it is then,’
‘And you?’
‘Amelia Wynds’
His smile changed slightly. There was suddenly something more intellectual about it. Maybe he realised he wasn’t winning me over like he wanted to. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He whispered before dropping a ten on the table and sauntering off.
So I was impressed by the way he handled himself, but was a little unsettled by the way he worked. Why would he bother looking for someone who could help him with recon when he was being pursued by others who were obviously more than just annoyed by him? I sighed. Maybe he had adrenalin issues.
Five days later I was sitting in the passenger seat of a five-year-old ugly sedan, waiting for someone I knew nothing about to emerge from their house so I could take photos of them.
‘You’re really not going to tell me why I’m taking photos of this person?’
Mark gave me a slightly patronizing smile. ‘No.’
‘Right.’ For about the fourth time I checked that my lens was properly connected. Not looking up, I started talking again. ‘So why did those guys want you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘When we were at the café. When you were here.’ I pointed at my neck. ‘There were two guys and they ran past. I’m assuming they were looking for you. Why?’
He looked a little taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected me to have noticed anything other than his mouth. ‘They, they weren’t looking for me,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘Are you sure?’ I met his eyes and was faced with a face that seemed a little sharper and more dangerous than the face I’d seen five days ago. The vibe that came from said that he might yell at me, but at the same time it was calculating. The gears were obviously churning, but his eyes gave nothing away. For what seemed like eons, we watched each other carefully, unsure of what the other would do. It was one of the most unsettling but also the most compelling experiences I’ve had in a while.
Noise from across the street interrupted us. The target was finally moving. I brought my camera up, quickly adjusted the lens, and soon had six or so shots on the memory card. The target was in his late twenties, with a smooth, pale complexion. And he looked like someone who had been trained in keeping himself safe and secure - he did a rough scan of the area around him, before getting in his car and driving off. He didn’t notice us though. Maybe he hadn’t really paid attention in his lessons. I thought we were going to follow him, but Mark didn’t seem that way inclined. He kept his eyes forward, trying hard to ignore me.
I kept my eyes forward too. ‘I would’ve done the same thing, had I been in your position,’ I say quietly.
He shifts slightly. He knows what I’m referring to, of course. I get the feeling that he’s still not too comfortable with himself, having done it, but I think he’s also quite relieved to know that I understand. He closes his eyes and runs his hands through his short hair, before looking at me. His eyes have softened up now, and for the first time I see the lines that crease his forehead and run past his eyes. They make him look more tired, but more human too.
Part Two to follow soon.