Sex, Lies & Serious Money

26

Chip Arnold parked his car a couple of hundred yards up the road from the house, then he slung his camera around his neck and started down the hill. The sun was already behind the mountains, leaving a red sky, slowly darkening, and as he left the road it seemed to get dark all at once. He used a penlight to find his way through the piñon trees; he wanted to be about a hundred feet from the house. The 300mm lens would do the rest.

He had no more than a few paces to go when everything turned white for a moment, followed quickly by black, stopping him in his tracks. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his normal vision, but all he could see was a red dot. He sat down on the ground and waited for his sight to return.

Laurence was undressing for bed when, simultaneously, a flash momentarily filled the bedroom window and his iPhone chimed. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. He slipped back into his loafers, opened the bedside drawer and extracted the new pistol, then ran for the door. He could hear Theresa, still in the shower.

He came out of the house at a dead run, heading into the piñons, then he was overcome by darkness and stopped, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed. Fortunately, there was enough backlighting from the house to make it possible to move through the trees. He worked the action of the pistol, pumping a round into the chamber, and thumbed up the safety to the on position.

Chip heard a rustling noise from down the hill, then he heard the metallic snap of the pistol’s slide closing. He stood up and looked around. He could see the lights of the house, but that way was a man with a gun. He turned and ran blindly through the trees, holding up his arms to keep piñon boughs from slapping him in the face.

Laurence could hear the running footsteps ahead; then, for the first time, it occurred to him that whoever was out there might be armed, just as he was. He thumbed off the safety and moved slowly up the hill, his trigger finger laid along the weapon’s slide, as he had been taught at the range.

Chip made the road and now he could see well enough to run flat out. He made the car in record time, started it, and reversed up the road and around a bend, before he felt it was safe to turn around. He expected gunfire through his rear window at any moment, but it didn’t come.

Laurence made the road and saw the dim shape of the car ahead, then it disappeared around a curve, and he saw the lights flicker on behind the piñons and heard the engine accelerate. He eased the hammer down on the pistol and took some deep breaths, his heart pounding. He knew he would have fired if he had seen a target, and that gave him pause. He walked down the hill in the road, to avoid setting off another flash, and a moment later he was back inside the house. He was in the bedroom when Theresa came out of the bath, naked, and he was able to get the pistol back into the drawer before she could see it.

“I was hoping you’d already be undressed,” she said.

“That won’t take long,” he replied, shedding clothes and climbing into bed beside her.

Chip’s phone woke him shortly after dawn. “Hello?”

“It’s Pat Bolton at the Inquisitor. You got my photographs?”

“I was there last night, and I got blinded by a flash of light, then I heard somebody approaching, and a gun being racked. I got the hell out of there in a hurry.”

“What do you mean, a flash of light?”

“Like the flash on a camera, but brighter. I couldn’t see a thing for a couple of minutes.”

“Well, shit, kid, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“What, you mean I should get shot taking your fucking pictures?”

“Life is full of risk.”

“I’ll get your photographs, but I’m not going to get killed doing it.”

Bolton slammed down the receiver.

Chip lay there for a moment thinking about it, then he got up, got dressed, and grabbed his camera bag. It was before six in the morning, and he had a shot at getting photographs in daylight. This time he drove past the house, then walked back toward it. He turned into the trees and made his way slowly toward the house. The sun was up now, and while he could see, he knew he could be seen. He made his way past the pool and stopped with a view of a terrace. Then he heard a noise like a refrigerator door closing, and a naked woman came outside, stood on the terrace, and sipped from a glass of orange juice.

Chip was transfixed and a moment passed before he got the camera up and pressed the button. Then a man joined the woman, as naked as she. He put his hands under her arms, lifted her off her feet and set her down on a tabletop. By the time Chip got his camera up again, the man’s head was buried between her legs. She set the orange juice down and grabbed his hair with both hands.

Chip got three more shots, then the two went back into the kitchen. He checked the display and reviewed his pictures: They were good, but her face was obscured by the glass when she drank her juice, and, of course, his face couldn’t be seen when it was between her legs.

He sat down on the ground and waited, hoping they would come outside again, but they didn’t. He worked his way around to the other side of the house but could see nothing. He waited for more than an hour for another opportunity, then he heard the clatter of a garage door opening, and a Mercedes station wagon drove away from the house with two people inside.

He thought about going into the house, but if this guy had flashing security lights outside, he sure as shit had an armed security system for the house. He went home and e-mailed the photographs to Pat Bolton.

Almost immediately, he got an answer: “Great stuff, but no ID. Keep trying! I’m past deadline for next week, but there’s always the week after!”

Chip heard his mother calling him to breakfast, and he went downstairs for some eggs and bacon.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked as she served him.

“I woke up early,” he said, “and never got back to sleep.”

“Are you going to look for a job today?”

“Yeah, Mom, sure.”

“What kind of job?”

“I’ll go check with the New Mexican and see if they’ve got an opening yet.”

“How many times have you done that?”

“I don’t know, half a dozen maybe.”

“You should try somewhere else.”

He wanted to show her the pictures he had shot, just to prove he was trying to earn money, but he could imagine what her reaction would be.