Guilty Photographs

by S I Taylor

  “I need one hundred-dollar bill, two fifty-dollar bills, ten twenty-dollar bills, twenty ten-dollar bills, and twenty-five dollars bills in that order,” Barbara said.

  He stopped his twirling and grabbed the bills from the counter, looking down at Barbara.

  He unrolled the bills, licked his thumb, and counted. “You’re short two hundred dollars.”

  “I know,” she said, “I’ll get the rest from the ATM.”

  Barbara walked to the back, her eyes scanning the small convenience store. She walked past food items, either boxed, canned, or bagged, arranged around the open shelves. She rummaged through her backpack for her bank card and inserted the card into the machine, following the instructions. Fuck, only fifty dollars in my account and I can only retrieve forty plus the three-dollar processing fee. “No need to retrieve any funds,” she whispered, cancelling the transaction and pulling her card from the machine. She walked back to the register staring up at the cashier.

  “I’ll need another loan,” she said in a hush tone, ashamed that she had to borrow again.

  He raised a brow, not from shock but rather out of annoyance. “The last time you requested a loan you said that it was the last time you would need one and you still owe me from that time and from the time before that.” He grabbed an old notebook and flipped through the pages. He ran his fingers across the page as if looking at an accounting file. “Aha, there it is, Barbara Wolf. Your name on my list. As a matter of fact, your seven hundred-and-twenty-five-dollar rent is less than what you owe me.”

  Barbara stood there thinking about the few times he helped her. “Come on, Yasir. I promise I’ll pay you everything next week.”

  “Yeah, I know. You said that the last two times too. I’ll give you a head start. This five hundred and twenty-five dollars I have here, I’ll subtract from your debt and next week you can give me the five hundred dollars to close the debt.” He looked at her with a sad smile on his face. He didn’t seem to want to keep her money, she was sure he knew she desperately needed it; she didn’t want him to be right.

  Barbara’s eyes grew wide. She thought about doing some damage to the store, as Yasir had ruined her chance to pay Mr. Riley with cash. She was kidding herself as she knew she got herself into that ridiculous contract with Mr. Riley.

  But what good would that do? Yasir’s entire family would appear faster than she could blink and make her disappear just that fast. Besides, he had a kill switch for the door to lock her inside and she wasn’t in the mood to fight and she didn’t want to go to jail. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Good doing business with you. But you know I got to feed my family too and loaning you money is not helping me or you as your debt increases with me each time. Get me my money and we’ll start over from scratch.” The front door opened and the bell chimed. He quickly opened the cash register and sorted the cash she gave him inside each slot. He leaned back in his chair and continued to monitor his camera when three people entered the store.

  She nodded and walked out of the store. Yasir was a good man but right now she was out of her rent money.

  Chapter 3

  The trembling and the cold chill jerked Barbara upright on her mattress. She had relived her childhood nightmare for a month and each night the storyline got worse. This time her mother, Tina, was burning the only breakfast she enjoyed and wasn’t smoking her life away. That was laughable as her mother was attached to a cigarette like her limbs were attached to her body.

  But that wasn’t the worst of her dream. The worst was discovering that her best friend, Sam, had matured over summer vacation and moved on to date the only girl in high school that caused so much pain to her—Lana Clinton. In her nightmare, the scene where Lana pushed her down the stairs echoed in her mind. Her jaw broke in two places and she had to wear braces, the metal contraption along with rubber bands, to realign her bite. Sometimes when she yawned, she still felt her jaw crack and even though the act wasn’t painful, she would force herself to stop. Although Sam said it wasn’t intentional that he was dating Lana, he hurt her more with his betrayal just like her father did on her eighth birthday. That’s when she decided to fully rely on herself and that was the real nightmare—the betrayal scene—each night it got worse.

  She joined the boxing club at the gym that school year and was able to release her frustration on the old bags.

  Knowing that those memories had been real haunted her more than her current situation.

  Her eyes focused on the sun that streamed in from her small window above her mattress. Her room was small and had the essentials. She only had a mattress which lay on the floor, two end tables which served as nightstands, and a three-drawer dresser where she kept the few clothing items she owned. That was the only furniture that she’d been able to get from her move years ago. Aside from her birthday gift that she’d kept all those years in the drawer still held together by clear tape, she did not have any other valuables. And she didn’t want any other memories to creep up from her past.

  The creaking of the steps that led to her basement apartment jolted her out of her thoughts. Those steps were not the usual rat-crawling rattling noises she was used to listening to from time to time, along with the leaky pipes above her and the loud noise of roaring engines on the road and children playing on the sidewalk.

  “Barbara. The rent was due two days ago. Today is the final grace period,” her landlord, Mr. Riley, said. His soft-spoken voice flowed through her basement door.

  “I know, Mr. Riley. I’ll have the money this afternoon,” she responded as she lay on her mattress, contemplating what to do. She stared at the exposed rusted metal beams and pipes on the wall.

  She didn’t have the rent money, so Iggy’s deal better be legit.

  “I’ll be home late tonight, so just leave it in the kitchen drawer,” he said.

  “All right!” she shouted as she stretched in bed, removing the dirt-stained sheets from her body. She slept in a white T-shirt and tight black cotton shorts, since the basement in the summer tended to be warmer than the rest of the house.

  He walked up the steps again and she could faintly hear the kitchen door open and shut. The basement directly faced the driveway and from the small rectangular window she watched as he fumbled with his car keys. He wore his usual nice tailored dark blue slacks and brown oxford shoes with a brown belt and a crisp white shirt. He opened the door and placed his black briefcase on the passenger side before he closed his door and started the car.

  Barbara waited until the engine of his vintage blue Volvo screeched down the street before she reached for her cell phone on her nightstand and called Iggy.

  “Thank you for calling Iggy’s shop, how can we give you attentive service?” Lauren’s chirpy voice echoed before Barbara hung up.

  She must’ve dialed the shop instead of his personal cell. So she called again, making sure she was dialing the right number. Lauren answered once more.

  “Is Iggy around?” Barbara said, annoyed. She was eager to know about the new job and Lauren was wasting her time.

  “Well, hello to you too, ma’am,” Lauren snarled.

  “I don’t have time for pleasantries, and besides, this isn’t your phone. Is Iggy around or not?” Her desperate tone was ruder than she intended.

  “Ah, the nerve. You’re such a rude little girl. One day you’re going to regret talking to me that way. I promise you. You’ll have eternal scars engraved in your mind when I’m done with you,” she said.

  Her threat, if that’s what Lauren considered it, didn’t scare Barbara. However, Barbara’s annoyance was escalating.

  “You don’t scare me. So leave your stupid threat for someone who cares.” Her tone was slow, enunciating every word clearly for Lauren to understand.

  “What the hell are you doing? You know that’s my personal phone. You’re in charge of the business phone, not this one.” Iggy’s nasal voice resonated from a short distance.

  He snatched the phone and
placed his thick hands over the microphone to muffle the conversation instead of just muting the sound. Barbara managed to catch bits and pieces of their argument. She felt like she was intruding in a conversation where she didn’t care about siding with either party. She rolled her eyes and hoped they would be done soon so she could state her business and get going.

  “Sorry, baby, the ringing was aggravating me,” Lauren whined.

  “Okay, well… since you answered the phone, who is it?” he said, stumbling over his words as if he didn’t know how to address her behavior or her comment.

  “It’s that rude girl who thinks she owns this town. You know, the one those people want, the one…”

  “Shh.” He cut her off mid-sentence, not wanting her to continue, as if she was about to reveal something. “I told you to stop snooping around when I have businessmen here.”

  “I only do it to look out for you. I need to know who comes just in case I need to do something. Your job doesn’t necessarily ring safe for either of us to have our guards down.” Her tone changed from whining to concern.

  There was silence and for a moment Barbara thought the line went dead.

  “I don’t like that girl,” Lauren finally said. “You need to tell her that she needs some manners. She’s lucky I picked up instead of letting it ring. One day she will…”

  “Shut up!” Iggy interrupted Lauren again but this time with sternness in his voice. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know enough,” Lauren said through gritted teeth.

  He must’ve waited until she left the room because as soon as the clicking of her heels stopped and the door slammed, he began to speak. “What do ya want?”

  “What was that all about?” Barbara furrowed her brow with curiosity, expecting Iggy to explain.

  “What was what all about?”

  “What your wife said about me and whoever came there looking for me,” she explained to make sure he understood her correctly.

  “That was nothing. You know her, she’s always in my business and don’t know the specifics of anything,” he said nervously.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Iggy. If I find out you’re lying it will be a bad day for you.” She wasn’t threatening him, she was making a promise to him.

  “Barbara, come on. Not this again. I told you I need you. We work well together.” If she could see him, she could almost bet he was pacing and looking frantic. He should know by now that she didn’t have time for games or nonsense.

  Barbara was leery about him and a conversation about her from Lauren was a sting, but Lauren knew how to get under people’s skin, especially Barbara’s. Barbara brushed it off and figured that Lauren didn’t know what she was talking about, since she was indeed bad at gossiping.

  “I need to know, is your contact on board with my stipulations?” she asked, changing the conversation and diverting back to the real reason she called.

  “Yeah, the money will be in the account tomorrow and the duffel bag with the cash will be delivered in two days,” he said.

  “I need the cash now, Iggy!”

  “I can’t control the shipment, his delivery guys are traveling from a distance to get here and that’s the fastest you’ll get the money.”

  Fuck. I need the money tonight, she thought. She needed that job more than an addict needed his daily high.

  “Oh yeah, three days only from the time you get the jewels,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll get in touch with you once I get the money to formulate and organize the plot,” she told him.

  “Aight, Barbara,” he said before hanging up.

  She sighed, letting out a long breath, and plopped herself on the mattress. The bruises on her skin were faint, as she’d had enough time to heal from her wounds. She lay there thinking about another way to get some sort of cash. She had to rely on Iggy and that was something she didn’t like to do. In the street life no one should be trusted, not even your own shadow.

  Nixon’s experience in computer analytics was precisely what she needed for this job. He was the only one she trusted since she’d met him four years ago. But how was she going to convince him to help her with this job? She hadn’t seen him since the last job, and he hadn’t been pleased with her for not coming to him right after. Instead, she’d chosen to lay low in her basement alone. She hated to include anyone in her personal life. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her.

  Chapter 4

  The siren blaring in Carter McKinley’s unmarked gray Ford Taurus bombarded his thinking. Not that he wasn’t used to the noise, it was just that his mind was preoccupied with the thought of trying to find her. Every curly-blond-haired young girl with green eyes he encountered reminded him of her.

  He swerved hard to the right, jerking the vehicle back into traffic. The tires of his vehicle screeched, just in time before on coming traffic approached. If it wasn’t for their seatbelts their heads would’ve been an ornament in the windshield. “McKinley, pay attention to the road,” Coolidge said. “I knew I should’ve driven,” she huffed and instead of sitting back against the plush gray seat, she was scanning the streets.

  His adrenaline was pumping for many reasons, but right now he needed to calm down. He readjusted himself and quickly glanced at Coolidge. “What are you doing?” McKinley asked.

  “Being an extra set of eyes to look out for pedestrians and other vehicles just in case you veered off again,” Coolidge replied, annoyed.

  “I know. I saw them crossing,” McKinley said dismissively.

  “It didn’t seem like it.”

  McKinley shook his head. She was more focused on the drive than McKinley and that kind of irritated him since he’d never been in an accident in his four years as an agent.

  Carter McKinley worked with William Bush and Michelle Coolidge, a small team in the second division of homicide, with cases that didn’t involve robbery. They worked in the San Diego Federal Crime Control Agency (FCCA) downtown headquarters. McKinley had been working with this team since he’d started with the agency four years ago. They worked well together.

  Bush was the team’s voice of reason. His cool and calm voice settled any argument or heated scene instantly. Short but slim, he had straight black medium-length hair which brought his olive skin tone alive. He had a long face and small upturned dark eyes underneath a bushy unibrow. He wore khaki slacks and a black polo shirt and black loafers to work almost every day. When asked about that, Bill said it eliminated the need to figure out what to wear every day, it made laundry for his wife easier, and the neutral colors seemed to calm people. McKinley agreed with the calming aspect since he’d witnessed firsthand numerous times how it had proven to be effective.

  Coolidge, on the other hand, while nice, was wary and suspicious of everyone. At times McKinley thought that she didn’t fully trust her team, but he couldn’t prove it since she always trusted them to complete their part of the mission. She was taller than Bill Bush and loved to tower over him when she could, although she tried to do it discreetly. She liked to wear dark jeans that hugged her curves, with different-colored blouses and heels that elongated her legs. However, she always kept a V-neck T-shirt and running shoes in her car and in her desk in case they needed to make an emergency arrest or had a lead on a suspect that required them to run.

  McKinley liked when Coolidge wore yellow—it accentuated her tan skin. And somehow Coolidge knew it, so she wore yellow a lot. When in the office she wore her shoulder-length brown wavy hair loose but when they were on a mission out of the office, her hair was in a bun or a ponytail. The forehead of her small heart-shaped face was covered by sleek parted long bangs. She was independent and sometimes her ways seemed to be rude. She liked to compete with the guys and considered herself one of them, so they treated her like one of the guys—family.

  McKinley and Coolidge drove through Carmel Valley, the picturesque scene and busy shopping strip a stark contrast to the Corona Del Mar neighborhood up ahead.

&n
bsp; The home they eventually arrived at belonged to Senator Richard Dempsey. The Spanish-style house sat on at least five acres of land and the next neighbor was probably half a mile away. Police cars, the forensics SUV, the ME’s van, and now his car swarmed the home.

  “Alpha-836,” McKinley said though his handheld police radio as he placed the car in park.

  “Go ahead,” dispatch said.

  “Show myself and alpha-921 on scene.”

  “10-4, I’ll show you and alpha-921, 10-6 in the system,” dispatch replied.

  It took McKinley three months of the seven-month-long FCCA Academy to understand the ten codes of the agency. He’d always thought a simple “OK” was faster than “10-4” and that saying “busy” was easier than “10-6,” but now the lingo was second nature to him. He sometimes found himself speaking in the shorthand jargon as if it were part of normal everyday speech.

  They approached the San Diego police detective who was waiting for them by the entrance to the house. McKinley and Coolidge flashed their FCCA badge for confirmation and Detective Joseph Rios did the same.

  “The scene is rather gruesome. In my ten years in the force I have yet to see this level of…” He trailed off, looking somberly in the distance.

  “No worries, Detective, we’ll take it from here,” McKinley said, patting his shoulder.

  “You can speak to the news reporters who are setting up out front while we take a look at the scene,” Coolidge said. “Don’t tell them too much.”

  They stepped inside the house—a mansion with at least three floors. They stood in what was normally a white room but now the red blood splatter tainted the walls and the pool of blood around the body smeared the floors.

  “This must be Senator Dempsey,” Coolidge said, she stood at a distance scanning the body and the scene.