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When I’d first started out, about ten months ago, I’d been woefully out of shape. After being chased down the street by a heavyset woman wearing only a teddy and almost getting tackled, I’d decided it would be in my best interest to join a gym and take up running.
It made all the difference. Sometime I had to get creative, but, knock on wood, I always got the shot … even if it was sometimes grainy.
Taking pictures of people in the act is actually easier than you might think. People are stupid. Especially the ones who think they’re untouchable, they’ll never get caught, and that their shit don’t stink.
I eased out of the van, looking around the mostly empty parking lot as I walked casually toward the door they’d entered. I even started whistling, just to make myself more conspicuous.
Hiding in plain sight actually worked.
“Thanks for leaving the curtains cracked,” I murmured as I slid up to the window, camera up and ready, and peeked inside.
Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for my pocketbook, they’d left the lights blaring and must have done some heavy petting in the car, because they were already going at it.
“Sixty-nine … classic.”
I snapped quickly, making sure their faces were in frame as I captured each lick, suck, slobber, and moan.
“Gross,” I grumbled as I hurried back to my car.
One of the downsides of the job was that it sometimes took hours to get the sordid visions out of my head. On occasions like these, there was one thing that helped ease my pain.
I needed a cupcake.
“You’re a genius,” I moaned as the chocolaty goodness hit my tongue.
Amy May was on the other side of the counter pouring me a steaming cup of coffee as I made love to one of her cupcakes from a cherry-red stool on the other side.
Amy May was a Midwestern girl who’d married her high school sweetheart, Jason, and traveled with him when he joined the military. She’d always had a love of sweets, and had picked the brains of bakers all over the world. Amy May had fused everything she loved into one kick-ass idea and opened her bakery on Main Street. Even if she didn’t own the only bakery in town, her diner-inspired motif coupled with her assortment of French, Italian, and Polish pastries, and sinfully delicious cupcakes, would have made her the town treasure she is.
“Rough morning?”
“You have no idea,” I said with an eye roll, popping the last bit of cake in my mouth. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”
“What else you got on tap today?” she asked, pulling her shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair back into a small tail at the nape of her neck.
“Headed to the library to shoot these pics over to Moose, then see if I can get a line on this chick who’s been supposedly working for Clarice’s Nail Salon. The husband says no money ever comes in … Should be pretty low-key.”
“Kids with you?”
“Yeah. They don’t go to The Douche’s until Friday this week.”
“You wanna come over for dinner?”
“Nah, it’s burger night at Casa Horton, but I’ll take a rain check.”
“Sounds good, babe, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I replied, standing up and picking up my trash. I’d tried to pay my bill when Amy May’s had first opened, only to be told I got the best friend discount for life.
It’s a good thing I’d found exercise, or my ass would be the size of a house. As it is, it’s only about the size of a singlewide.
“Thanks, girl.”
Amy May gave me a little wave, then blew me a kiss and I was gone.
Rather than drive twenty minutes to my place in The Heights, I usually worked out of the Greenswood Public Library. It was only a couple blocks from Amy May’s and was a nice quiet place to do what I needed to do.
“Hey, Clare,” I called, keeping my voice loud enough for her to hear the greeting, but low enough so she wouldn’t shush me.
