Twenty-two

She slept as though she hadn't rested in days, soundly and peacefully. Her face was childlike in its innocence. This wasn't a woman with secrets. Her blunt manner was a shield, armor to protect a sensitive soul. I was certain now that she hadn't fabricated tales of her husband's transgressions; I was determined to uncover whatever it was that he was hiding in Kingsburg.

Her first words upon waking were that she needed to go. I promised to drive her anywhere but suggested that first she clean up. She said thanks, she would take a taxi, but I wouldn't hear of it. She took her clothes into the bathroom and emerged six minutes later ready to leave. I pulled my pants on. The .22 was already in the bag.

Mrs. Pemberton wanted to be dropped at the bus station, discreetly, of course. She didn't say where she was going, and I didn't ask. Before she stepped out of the car, she turned and kissed me once on the cheek and looked at me as if to ensure that I were real. She said nothing. It was our second farewell without words.

I returned home and took a hot shower that was longer than it needed to be. I worked on the photos for Justine's portfolio and copied the best ones to a portable drive as fully prepared, 16-bit TIFF files. I burned a disc as a backup; I never make one copy of anything.

I drove downtown to one of the two professional color labs that I've come to trust over the years. At the counter, I asked for Randee, but they said that she would be working a later shift. I filled out the forms to specify the number and size of the prints that we needed, the paper type, the model of printer and the specific printing process that I wanted them to use. In the special instructions section, I wrote "RANDEE ONLY." I didn't need some junior tech mucking up an important order - not with everything else that was going on this week.

Manny called. He'd scheduled an interview with Pemberton for four o'clock at the Health Club in Kingsburg. We were promised an hour of his time, which is business owner speak for seventeen minutes with numerous interruptions. It didn't matter. I was less interested in what he had to say than simply knowing where he would be for the afternoon.

Janice had prepared the fake press passes. Manny told her that we wanted to play a prank on a friend at his bachelor party. Janice liked the idea of a roomful of virile men playing tricks on each other. She wanted to hear all of the details over dinner. Manny promised that I would come along to help recount tales of the adventure.

I picked up a pre-paid mobile phone from a small shop. Back at home, I packed the equipment that I would need for the interview and the following activities. I thought about grabbing lunch at the pub down the street but decided to wait until I made it to Kingsburg. Maybe by some dumb luck I would stumble into the right restaurant.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-one

I parked on the back street and down the block. I looked around carefully and switched the door light off before I let her step out of the car.

"Let's go!" I urged her.

We walked swiftly through the darkness and entered the building through the back. Nothing seemed out of place. No one was watching.

"I'm sorry for the mess," I said as we entered what for most people would be a living room. "A client stopped by this morning for a photo session."

Emily gazed at the lighting equipment. "This looks expensive."

"Left over from my glory days of shooting for fashion magazines," I said. "They had bigger budgets back then."

I offered to take her coat, but she stood frozen. Her anxiety was ramping up again.

"You're safe here," I told her. "If anyone walks through that door uninvited, they won't be walking back out."

She handed me her coat and took a seat on the sofa. It was positioned against the wall temporarily in order to clear space for Justine's session. 

I opened the gun cabinet, counted four-thousand from my casino winnings and handed it to her.

She tucked the money into her handbag without examining it. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't say it," I said. "It's your money. And I haven't finished the job yet."

"So, you're taking the job?" she confirmed.

I smiled. "Drink?"

"Yes, please." 

I poured two glasses of bourbon on the rocks and sat on the other side of the couch.

"When did this problem start?" I asked.

"Which one?"

"The gambling."

She thought for a minute. "He was always impulsive, more than his brother."

I listened. I watched her closely. I wanted to trust her.

"I don't know," she continued. "When he left for college, maybe. The lack of supervision. We didn't find out about it until later."

"When he needed money."

"When he needed money," she confirmed with downcast eyes.

"And your husband doesn't want to pay."

"Ross has been supportive," she explained. "He did pay, several times. A LOT of money. He told Ricky that he needs to get help."

"Is he getting help?" I asked.

"He goes to meetings," she confirmed. "But he still does what he does."

"And now?"

"Ross said that he wouldn't pay anymore," she explained. "He said that Ricky needs to take responsibility. But how can he take responsibility if he can't pay them?"

I found myself agreeing with Ross Pemberton, but couldn't admit that to his wife.

"I tried to help him," she sobbed, "I gave him everything that I had."

I gave her my handkerchief. She was overwhelmed by the trouble that had befallen her family. "How do things get like this? We were happy."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pemberton..."

"Thank you."

"Can your talk to your husband?"

"He won't listen." 

"Can you try again?"

"Ross and I have been throught his a hundred times. Two-hundred times. He won't budge."

"And you think that by divorcing him..."

"If I have money, I can help Ricky."

I moved a box of tissues and placed them within her reach. 

"Thank you," she said in a whisper.

"It's going to be okay, Emily," I said.

She wiped her eyes and nose. "I don't know."

"What is your real name, anyway?" I could tell by the way that she looked at me that the question had come as a surprise.

"It's Rhonda."

I wiped a tear away from her cheek with my thumb. "It's going to be okay, Rhonda."

I don't know what it is about a woman in trouble. It's something about their sadness, how overwhelming it is and how completely they express it. They hide nothing, they hold nothing back. 

That's all but impossible for men. We bury any sign of weakness before it can be discovered and exploited. Only in moments of deepest, safest love can we open up and share our painful secrets. When a woman bares her soul, we want to provide that same degree of safety for her. Maybe that's why I didn't flinch when she kissed me. I felt the tears on her cheek. I stayed with her.

These weren't reckless kisses, either. They were intentioned and impassioned and profound. She kissed like a woman who hadn't received affection in a long time but believed that all was possible if she gave of herself wholeheartedly.

She was beautiful, slender and curvaceous, as alluring as models that I'd photographed who were well-paid and decades younger. I won't pretend that I wasn't attracted. But it was her sadness that drilled into my heart. That, plus the powerful instinct to save her child from the wrath of evil men, even if that meant destroying her husband. She was the most potent female force that I had ever encountered, and resisting wouldn't have changed anything. 

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty

"Where have you been?" I asked. I didn't expect an answer, but I hoped that she could sense the concern in my voice. It was genuine.

"Can we just get in the car?" Emily Pemberton seemed nervous, frightened. She climbed into the passenger seat and secured her safety belt.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Just drive."

She looked over her shoulder a number of times as we pulled away. Once we'd left the vicinity of the diner, she regained her composure. She was direct, just as I'd remembered from our first meeting. "What have you found out so far? Do you have anything that I can use?"

"Everyone seems to think that your husband is a wonderful guy," I conveyed. "I'm still looking into him."

"Well, look faster!" she commanded.

"On the other hand, your son seems to have a gambling problem and some unhappy Russian associates."

There was a dreadful silence in the car. I sensed her cringing even though I never took my eyes off of the road. After a moment, she spoke in a hushed voice, a voice that was desperately clinging to hope. "I didn't ask you to investigate my son."

"No," I admitted. "But I needed to understand the full context of the situation. These guys are dangerous. I'm not going to be much use if I'm lying in a gutter."

"I'm sorry," she said after a short pause. "I should have said something. Have you checked the restaurant?"

"In Kingsburg?" I was guessing. Some of the receipts in the blue folder were from a restaurant, but I couldn't recall the name, and I didn't want to admit that I'd lost her information."

"Yes," she confirmed. 

"I'm heading out that way again tomorrow," I told her. "I didn't discover anything conclusive on my first trip."

"Please keep trying," she urged me. "They'll show up, sooner or later."

They? Who are they? I needed to find out where this restaurant was.

"Did you know that your husband filed a missing person's report?" I asked. "Yesterday morning."

"I couldn't let anyone where I was," Mrs. Pemberton confided. "Those monsters, they're after Ricky."

"You were with Ricky?"

"I don't want to talk about it, please."

"Would you like me to drive you to Brownewood?" I asked. "I have time."

"Not yet," she replied. 

"Where are you staying?" I asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Do you have enough money for a hotel?"

She paused again. "I can't use my cards. I can't let them know where I am."

On the run with no money - it's a tough situation.

"I can give you back your four thousand." I offered. "I haven't touched it."

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Nineteen

"I need to look into this Pemberton character a bit more," I explained, "but I'm having trouble tracking him down."

Manny listened while carving a chicken leg, carefully cutting away the bones and gristle. "What do you need me to do?"

"The guy seems to treat his employees really well," I explained. "He provides full health benefits even for his part timers."

"Wow! That's generous these days." Manny had spoken without looking up. He was still focused on his chicken dinner. "He doesn't sound like a bad guy."

"So here's my idea," I proposed. "What if we interviewed Pemberton for a human interest story? - Generous Boss In Kingsburg, something like that..."

"Are you serious?" Manny was looking at me now.

"It wouldn't take much effort," I reasoned. "A few hours and a couple of phone calls, maybe."

"Yeah!" Manny exclaimed, "Just that and my job! If word of this gets back to Ed..."

"How is Ed going to find out?" I demanded.

"Ed's a sharp guy," Manny explained, "and he has a nose for stuff being out of place. Hey, maybe that explains why he works for a newspaper."

"You work for a newspaper, Manny."

"Yeah, well, not for long if I keep hanging with you," he jabbed.

"Can you use an alias? Doctor your press credentials?"

"It's risky," Manny explained cautiously. "People tend to look at that stuff more closely these days. Homeland Security, and all."

"Can you get Janice to print up some fake passes?" I asked.

"Janice?" Manny asked with ridicule in his voice. "Really?" 

"Yeah, why not?" I asked. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem," Manny explained. "She does me a favor, she's gonna want something in return."

"Like a backrub?" I teased him.

"Like dinner," Manny clarified. "An expensive dinner at a classy joint. Not like this."

"What if I picked up the tab?" I suggested.

"Yeah, but then I still have to listen to her talking about her cat's health problems for an hour and a half. And wonder why all of her friends can find decent guys, but she's still single."

"That sounds brutal," I conceded.

"Tell me about it!" Manny exclaimed. "And that's if she doesn't start crying. She starts crying, I can't handle it."

"Okay, maybe we'd better just leave her out of it."

Manny looked around the dining room. "Hey, where's your girl Justine today?"

"She's off today," I confirmed.

"What, you know her schedule now?" Manny demanded. "Don't tell me you're stalking the poor girl!"

"I know that she's off today because she came over to the studio this morning."

"Get out! You serious?"

"Yup."

"Whoa! How'd you get her to come around?"

"I enlisted the help of an old friend," I said. "A ringer."

Manny's expression silently demanded more information.

"Someone with experience in the business," I continued. "Someone with a female perspective."

"Wait!" Manny exclaimed. "You're not talking about..."

Now it was my turn to use silence.

"Veronica?"

"In person."

"Holy shit!" Manny exclaimed. "What's miss fancy pants doing hanging out with a loser like you?"

"I needed a favor," I confessed.

"And she just dropped everything to spend the day coiffing hair in your living room?"

"Yes, something like that."

"So, cranky Peter is out of town, I guess?"

Manny makes me chuckle. "Peter's not my problem," I said. "Anyway, somehow she found a little time to come over and help out, so I didn't refuse."

"You, two..." Manny explored, "...you're not..."

"We're not," I assured him.

"So, anyway, Justine!" Manny inquired subtly.

"Justine," I repeated.

"How'd she do?" Manny was being polite, but I knew where this was going.

"She did really well."

"Did you get her to take her top off?" - Manny was predictable. He always appreciated a great rack. I knew that he would ask this question eventually. Usually, it's his FIRST question.

"My God!" I exclaimed with exaggerated indignation. "Listen to you!" 

"Hey, I'm just curious," Manny argued.

"Curious, right," I mused. "Is that what dirty old men tell themselves these days?"

"So, did you get her to take her top off or not?"

"Of course, I did," I boasted with bravado.

"No way!" Manny's face was now a deeply saturated shade of pink.

I gloated a bit more. "What do I look like, an amateur?"

"Oh my God, Mike!" Manny exclaimed. "You are shameless."

"Thanks!" I said. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"So, tell me," Manny prodded, "how ARE the eighth and ninth wonders of the world?"

"Hmm, well... Picture something truly amazing, and then boost that by another thirty percent for good measure."

"Dios mio, Mike!" Manny was about to fall off of his bench. "You've gotta show me the pics!"

"I can't do that!" I said, once again projecting an air of false indignation. "That would be unprofessional."

"Oh, come on, Mike!"

"I have to respect the privacy of my client," I said.

"Privacy?" Manny demanded. "You're not planning to submit those photos to an agency?"

"Not all of them," I said with a wink.

"You are killing me, Mike!" Manny exclaimed in a pained voice. "Killing me."

I took a sip of my coffee.

"This is your old friend Manny, here. Manny, who's been with you through thick and thin. Emphasis on the thin!"

"Okay, I'll tell you what," I offered. "Find a way to make this Kingsburg thing work, and maybe we can discuss it."

"Oh, so it's bribery now?" Manny inferred. He was right, of course.

My phone vibrated. A message popped up: "Meet me where you parked - EP"

"Is everything okay?" Manny asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, sorry, I've gotta follow up on something."

"Your mystery dame?" Manny asked.

"A lead." Something in my head urged me to be vague, to be cautious.

"Okay," Manny said.

I reached into my wallet, pulled out a fifty and placed it on the table. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"You bet!" Manny assured me. "Be careful out there!"

"Thanks."

"Thank YOU!"

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Eighteen

The bus ride home was uneventful. A group of schoolboys and girls laughed and teased each other in flirtatious ways. The rush hour crowds were still toiling away in their offices. 

The apartment was secure; no one had broken in yet today, thank goodness. I poured myself a drink, switched on the computer and the external drives, and began work on Justine's photos. 

First, I separated out the flawed shots - times when the model had blinked or had an unbecoming expression, or where I failed to acquire sharp focus on the eyes. I tagged the remaining files as potential keepers or at least worthy of further review.

I picked out a handful of images that caught my eye - mainly nice poses or expressions. I adjusted the contrast and white balance in order to bring the look closer to my expectations. I cropped some of the images, as I prefer head shots with a 4x5 aspect ratio.

Next, I delved into retouching. Even gorgeous nineteen-year-olds have skin flaws, and a professional makeup job doesn't cover everything. I don't exaggerate the touch up process. I never want the subject to look as though her skin were made of plastic, but I do want her to look as nice as she can - clean, clear, and natural. That typically requires the removal of the occasional freckle, mole, crease, blemish, or other imperfections.

A dash of sharpening and saturation spiced up the overall look. I took a second pass at fine-tuning the white balance in order to ensure natural looking skin tones. In some cases, I added a vignette effect, a slight darkening at the edges of the frame. 

I boosted the rating on my selected and now processed shots up to three or four stars. Some photographers rate all of their work at the maximum rating of five stars. I could never justify that strategy (perhaps it's a vanity issue on their part). I reserve the five-star rating for my absolute best images, because I want to be able to distinguish them from the rest of my work.

The initial sample looked great. Justine was a stunning young woman, and we had captured her in a variety of alluring poses. I felt good about the results, good enough to stop obsessing over it for a few minutes so I could call Manny.

"Hey, what time do you finish tonight? - Could you meet me at the Rainbow? I have a project that I'd like to discuss with you."

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved