Guilty Photographs Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Barbara lived every day as if it were her last and every day she rose from her mattress expecting the worst. Today the bruises on her body were less noticeable and the wound less painful. That had been the fastest she had recovered. She looked at the time and date on her small alarm clock.

  “Dammit! I’ve been sleeping for three days,” she said.

  Since Mr. Riley had not come down to collect rent, Barbara took the opportunity to find that traitor and her money. She changed the gauze and bandage on her wound and got dressed in her usual leather jacket, white T-shirt, light blue distressed jeans, and black high-top sneakers. She grabbed her backpack, tucked her cell in her back pocket, her pocketknife in her left front pocket, and her gun on her hip holster and headed out the door.

  The morning sun beamed, and it was a good day to wreak havoc at Iggy’s shop. It was hot and she knew she would sweat but she loved the rugged look her attire gave her. She thought it was comfortable and if she needed to make a run for it or use her knife or gun, she was prepared.

  She walked briskly through the neighborhood notorious for drugs, addicts, guns, death, and cheap sex. Police sirens blared loudly at every other corner, following distressed 911 calls from reported gunshot noises. Everything in the neighborhood was run-down, old, colorless, and rusty. Corner stores and liquor stores took over every other street. There was a laundromat, two barber shops, a few check-cashing stores, two small soul food restaurants across the street from each other, and several nameless stores that sold everything you might know you didn’t need but would buy just because it was affordable.

  Barbara despised this neighborhood even though she’d lived here her entire life. She needed to get out of this place for something better.

  Ever since her mother died two years ago, she had avoided returning to that street unless in dire circumstance. She walked with her fist tucked in her black leather jacket, gripping the comfort of her pocketknife, her eyes on the ground while she constantly checked her peripheral.

  One could never be too careful in this part of Huntersville. Even though the people seemed to be friendly, you never knew what or who you would encounter. Not making eye contact afforded Barbara the advantage of not colliding her fist into someone’s jaw. She was tough thanks to this place. Either you grew a backbone or at least pretended to have one, or you would lose to a bullet, an overdose, or a stab. And the thought that she almost became a statistic three days ago, was more than enough evidence for her to get her life together and leave Huntersville.

  The neon sign for Iggy’s Auto Body Shop had been broken and missing letters for years and ever since it had been called G’s shop. Barbara couldn’t remember the last time a vehicle had been worked on in there. But the chemical and paint stench lingered in the air as if it were alive within the walls.

  She peeked through the two rectangular windows of the large retractable garage door, which was heavily bolted with chains and locks. The red Ferrari inside and the black Lamborghini parked next to it were the only two vehicles parked at the garage. You could tell that those cars didn’t belong in that neighborhood. They were the only new things in that old run-down shop.

  She stepped away from the window and walked the few paces to the front of the shop. She entered the front door as if she lived there, even though the sign read “Closed.”

  The front reception area was small. Barbara leaned on the glass-enclosed counter where a cash register sat. She peered down to see if Iggy or anyone was crouched back there but instead, she saw shelves stocked with dusty car parts and old blurry price tags for items that were probably inoperable or belonged to vintage vehicles that were not around anymore.

  Barbara stepped back. “Iggy,” she said, “is anyone here?” She walked through the small narrow hallway that led to the back office that had a back door for the entrance to the house. She thought about turning the doorknob, but retreated back to the reception area, bumping into the open shelves stocked with equipment and tools.

  “Iggy, where the fuck are you?” she yelled.

  She looked around, expecting to find something valuable to take. But as always there wasn’t anything. He must keep the valuables in the house attached to his shop, she thought.

  She knew that in her line of work you had to be careful and maybe that’s why Iggy kept the valuables out of sight. She figured you’re either a dumb amateur thief, a savvy amateur thief, or somewhere in between. She liked to consider herself savvy because let’s face it, being a thief is never consistent and the jobs are never predictable. You’d have to be a fool to believe you were an expert at being a thief every time you took a job. Especially if that job came from Iggy. She believed that he was in a league of his own. He didn’t fit the thief parameters and maybe that’s why he preferred to be the “job distributor”—the middleman.

  “Iggy, you oversized fuck. Come out!” she said.

  Iggy breathed heavily and his feet slid across the floor, which sounded like he had been running a marathon, when in fact he had only walked a few steps from the back of the shop. Iggy’s brows rose as if he’d seen a ghost. He appeared stunned to see her alive.

  Iggy looked like he weighed roughly three hundred pounds. He was always sweaty, and his short brown hair was plastered to his head. His sloppiness appalled her. He resembled a massive mound of dough ready to be molded.

  Barbara’s left fist collided with his meaty unshaved face. He staggered backward as his fat fingers caught the door frame, avoiding a fall.

  He adjusted himself. “Goddammit. Why you do that for?” He spoke as if he had an eternal cold, but she knew it was his nasal congestion that gave him that nasty sound effect.

  “You thought I died, huh?” Barbara said, staring at him and clenching her jaw.

  His blood squirted out of his mouth onto the floor. He snorted and dragged his forearm across his busted lips, smearing the remainder of blood across his face. He looked at his forearm, unsure of what to say, and swiped it on his dark work pants.

  “Barbara, I was worried when you didn’t show up to collect the last payment,” he said.

  “You sick fuck. You set me up! The first time I thought it was coincidental but the second time…” she stopped herself from continuing the sentence raising her fist but instead of causing him more pain she stepped back staring intently at him. “You fucking owe me.” Her voice was low as she spoke through her clenched jaw.

  “I ain’t do shit. You know I need you. Check yo’ other buddies. You lucky you the best out there ’cause I would’ve thrown you out for that.”

  “You wouldn’t do shit! You said it yourself, you need me.” She was the best all right, the best at fucking up. The best at being a small-time thief.

  Barbara knew deep down that he hadn’t done anything, but she needed to prove a point. Although she felt sorry for him, she didn’t like to be made a fool. She knew that his ex-wife was sabotaging him with his four kids and his current wife was with him for his money and that softened her annoyance a little.

  A high-pitched voice resonated as it approached them. “Iggy, baby, what’s going on?” his wife said from the entrance.

  Speak of the devil.

  “Get back inside. We’re busy handling business,” he said, diverting his gaze from her view, trying to shield his face from her.

  Lauren Setina, that nosy-ass slut. He was fifty years old, eighteen years her senior. Everyone in the neighborhood knew she wanted him for his money. The moment he’d left his ex-wife they moved in together. She’d gotten double-D implants, which were a stark contrast to her flat ass and misshapen and disproportionate body. She was always wearing clothing two sizes too small for her flabby shape in every shade of pink. Her face looked like a two-year-old had experimented with colors for the first time. There were various shades of pink on her eyelids and bright pink lipstick stained the outside borders of her lips, trying to enhance their small shape. Her blonde hair looked like she had been struck by lightning, thanks to the heavy
hairspray she used to keep her hair coiffed that high on her head.

  She peeked, trying to see past his obese frame. “Okay, baby, but call me if you need me,” she said as she popped her gum and chewed extremely loud. Lauren clicked her heels on the tile floor as she headed back inside.

  Iggy leaned forward onto the glass counter and checked his reflection to see if the punch Barbara had delivered had done any damage.

  “My fist didn’t hurt anything, so stop looking,” she lied.

  The splotches of dried smeared blood across his face were a distraction to her but she didn’t let him know they were there; it kind of brought out the green specks in his eyes.

  He looked at her suspiciously and considered her words. “Anyway, I have a bigger job for you, and I will have a team set up to help you.”

  “I only came for my money. I woke up nearly dead in a warehouse and at your cause and you expect me to work for you again?”

  He leaned against the glass counter. “Look, Barbara, I had nothin’ to do with the job details. I’m only hired to find a person for it. You’re responsible for anythin’ you agree to with them.”

  She stared at him, trying to believe him, but the coincidences were piling and his credibility was getting slimmer. “What makes you think I’ll work for you?” she said.

  “Because you desperately want to leave here, and this job will do that for you. It’s not those measly little jobs you’re used to doin’, it’s way bigger than ever,” he said.

  She cursed at the fact that she’d slipped once and told him how she despised both her living situation and Huntersville in the hopes that he would give her a bigger job to do. But that was years ago and he hadn’t forgotten and he used it against her every time to reel her in for the next shitty job. She wondered about life outside of that dilapidated crime-ridden place she had lived all her life.

  “One last job is all you need and that’s it, Barbara. Think of it as your ticket to freedom,” he added.

  One last job.

  One last job.

  One last job… your ticket to freedom, echoed in her mind. Barbara was desperate but didn’t want Iggy to know.

  She diverted her attention back to Iggy as he reached for a rusted tin can on the top shelf, removed a roll of bills, and tossed it toward her. She caught it midair, counted it, and stuffed it in her leather jacket. So that’s where he kept the money hidden in plain sight, camouflaged within the depth of old tools and car parts. Whatever transpired a few days ago from that job Iggy recommended her for was not worth the chump change she received.

  The new job offer sounded tempting and too good to be true. Barbara was desperate but not stupid. She crossed her arms across her chest, squaring herself to meet his sunken dark green eyes. “Just in case I’m interested, what’s this job about?” Her skeptic gaze never faltered.

  “I need assurance that you’ll be discreet and will accept if I tell you,” he said, trying not to break eye contact to increase the importance of his new job.

  Barbara turned and stomped toward the door and before she stepped outside, she looked back at him. “This is assurance enough. Don’t fucking insult me, Iggy. I’m not a fucking squealer, never been, never will be. I thought we were better than that.”

  He placed his thick calloused hands on her shoulders to stop her, but she instinctively jammed her elbow into his sternum.

  “Fuck, Barbara, you’ve hit me more today than my ex-wife done in years,” he said, rubbing his chest as he stared at her, mumbling curses under his breath.

  She jabbed her finger into his meaty shoulder. “That was a mistake, but in my line of work, I gotta watch my back. You know that better than anyone. So don’t touch me without my consent.” She stepped back, proving her point.

  He raised his short arms in defeat. “Okay, okay, I got it. Don’t be like that, Barbara. We go way back. I stopped you ’cause I want you for this job.” His voice was a low whisper as if the tone would lure her to accept. “It can make us a lot of money.”

  He walked toward the door, scanned the street, and locked them inside, closing the shades. Goosebumps rippled through her skin like an ocean wave. She was alert and ready to strike him if he tried anything.

  She squinted her brows and spoke through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to hide her alarmed tone.

  “I’m making sure that no one hears our conversation or sees what I’m about to give you. What I gotta say is serious and I had strict instructions to share it with you and the ones I choose for this job,” he said.

  Barbara became more alarmed and suspicious. He was revealing more tension than usual with his nervous demeanor. His eyes were wild, scanning, not her in particular, but rather the room, the windows, and the door. His eyebrows furrowed not in confusion but with suspicion. Barbara didn’t like that; in fact, she felt uneasy looking at his mannerisms.

  The room was filled with tools to use to her advantage if he tried something toward her. She moved closer to the wall, placed her hand inside her jacket, and felt the comforting grip of her knife. Her father had given her that pocketknife on a camping trip once. He said it was the best tactical folding knife he ever had. It was a broad drop point knife with a straight spine that sloped down to meet its sharp tip. She remembered he mentioned that it was perfect for piercing through anything and especially for gutting fish. But at this moment it would assist in gutting something other than fish.

  “Spill it, Iggy.”

  He handed her a note with terrible penmanship. She grabbed the note and deciphered the hieroglyphic writing. She realized that the job was in fact greater than expected. One million dollars was the total for completing it. She remained calm even though she wanted to rejoice in her good fortune. She was making a name for herself and now this was her opportunity.

  She folded the note and squeezed it inside her front jean pocket.

  “I’m going to need that back,” he said. He opened his palm, shoving it in front of Barbara so she could place it there.

  For a few seconds she looked at his sweaty palms and when she wouldn’t budge, he tried to reach for the note back, but Barbara stopped him. She snapped her knife open, releasing its 3.5 inch blade as she gripped the gun-metal-textured handles and raised it in his face, threatening to use it as she looked at him and he stared back.

  “Negative. It’s mine. When did you get this?” she asked.

  “Yesterday,” he said. “Ain’t you going to put that down?” His eyes fixated on the silver blade as the light glimmered at the tips of it.

  Barbara ignored his plea but lowered her arm. Iggy’s gaze moved with the blade. “Good, which means you didn’t have time to let your other incompetent goons know of the deal. I’m doing it alone. Considering the extent of the job I’m going to need an advance on payment.”

  “I didn’t get anything yet,” he said. He quickly glanced at her and then diverted his attention back to the blade.

  “Bullshit.” She raised the knife once more. “Stealing this amount of jewels without an advance is a joke.”

  Iggy was focused on the knife, speaking to it as if the inanimate object would listen to his pleas. His voice and body trembled as he spoke. “I swear, Barbara, I didn’t get a dime. They wanted to make sure I had the team before they gave me the money.”

  He was a sneaky man and Barbara had no other choice but to take his word, for now.

  “By the way, when everything is ready to go, they want the job done in two days,” he managed to say, trying to deflect her attention and ease the tension between them.

  Barbara lowered the knife and placed it in her pocket. Although two days was enough time to get the jewels she needed to set things in place. “Tell them three days or no deal.”

  “Aight, Barbara. That shouldn’t be a problem.” He seemed relieved and she saw the rise and fall of his chest slow.

  “I’ll be back in two days for the advance. I want half deposited in my account and the rest in cash once the job is done.
But for the advance I will need ten thousand dollars. If I don’t get it then the deal’s off,” she told him.

  At the sound of her agreed deal, Iggy forgot about the knife and how his life had been threatened just a few seconds ago. He flashed his overcrowded, yellow-stained teeth.

  “We’re going to be rich!” he said.

  Walking back toward the door, she unlocked it and quickly left.

  Goosebumps emerged from her skin once more when she stepped out into the streets. Memories from her childhood flashed in her mind. She remembered when she used to sit in the back seat of her old pale yellow school bus with Sam, her best friend, and watch as some streets were closed due to police activity. Her school bus would have to make several detours to pick up the remaining kids. She’d hear Mrs. Browning, the bus driver, say in her harsh voice that someone else had joined the angels in heaven. Barbara would notice the not so secretive exchange of guns for money or drugs for money from young people her age to older adults. Although nothing had ever happened to her, the gruesome scenes she saw on the nightly news with her mother—when she was around—about her neighborhood were enough to scare any kid.

  The thought of this month being the last she stayed in that basement and the last time she walked this street brought a sense of relief. This job better get me out of here, she thought as she walked briskly to the corner store.

  The bell above the door chimed as soon as Barbara entered the small store. She approached the cashier who sat higher than eye level behind a thick glass enclosure. The counter was on top of a high platform and aside from the glass enclosure it was also protected by metal bars around him. Evidence of hollow punctures was scattered throughout the glass, indicating that the store was robbed a few times before and bullets tried to penetrate the bulletproof glass to no avail.

  She stood on the tips of her sneakers to get at eye level and slipped the roll of bills underneath the small opening. His round black eyes stared at her and then went back to checking his four surveillance monitors above the register as he twirled his black mustache between his fingertips.