The Fate Merchant

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

     Jasper sat at a booth near the window.  The all-night coffee shop was clean, empty, and well lit -- too well lit for four o’clock in the morning.  He rubbed his tired eyes and sipped his lukewarm coffee.

     A waitress walked over to him with a coffee pot. 

     “Your coffee sucks,” Jasper said.

     She shrugged.  “Want some more?”

     Jasper pushed his cup toward her.  “Absolutely.”

     The door opened and Frank entered.  Jasper could see the dark circles under his eyes, which grew more pronounced as Frank approached the booth and slid into the seat opposite him.

     “You’re late,” Jasper said.

     “I want to see the picture.”

     He was anxious, jittery, and, to Jasper’s amusement, mildly embarrassed.  Jasper smiled.  He couldn’t help it: he loved seeing doubt in a skeptic’s eyes. 

     Since he’d started dabbling in fate, he’d been ridiculed, punched, hit in the nuts with a purse, chased by dogs, slapped by a nun, had doors slammed in his face, been laughed at, screamed at, cursed at, and spit on.  And he’d only managed two sales in the year since he’d acquired the camera.  But seeing his detractors with their heads slightly bowed, their eyes lowered, asking him for the very thing they’d scoffed at, made up for it. 

     Most people, he’d realized, have at least one thing they want to do or possess before they die: a career,a family, a chance to see the world -- one thing they’d cheat death for if given the opportunity.  And when they came crawling back to Jasper, wearing that look of mild embarrassment, they almost always had dark circles under their eyes. 

     “You enjoying this?” Frank asked.

     “Did you enjoy stepping on my face?”

     Frank did his best to look apologetic and failed in the same way that a pit bull fails to look cuddly.  “I’ sorry about that.  Did you bring the picture?”

     Jasper smiled again.  He was starting to enjoy this.  “I thought you just wanted to talk?”  

     Anger wrestled with embarrassment for control of Frank’s face. 

     Anger was winning.

     Jasper reached into the backpack at his side, and retrieved a large yellow envelope.  He set it on the table, but kept his hand firmly upon it.  “In the interest of full disclosure, sometimes the picture shows exactly how it’s going to happen.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  One picture I took showed a blank wall.  The next one I took was a view of the ground from pretty high up.  If I had to guess, I’d say heart attack while skydiving.  Now if I were that guy, and I saw that picture, you can bet I’d chuck the parachute and take up golf.”

     Frank pointed at the envelope.  “What am I?  Blank wall or skydiver?”

     “Skydiver.”

     Some of the color drained from Frank’s cheeks as he studied the envelope.

     Moment of truth, Jasper thought.  He could almost hear Frank’s inner voice scolding him, ordering him to leave the restaurant and listen to reason. 

     Frank didn’t move. 

     Good sign, Jasper thought again. 

     Frank kept his eyes on the envelope, as though staring at it for a prolonged period of time would make it transparent.

     “Have you taken your picture?” Frank asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

     “This isn’t about me,” Jasper replied.  “Think of all the things you could accomplish if you knew the exact moment you were going to die.  You could tell someone you loved them.  Take that trip you've always wanted to take.  Quit your job.  Tell off your boss.”  He slid the envelope a little closer to Frank.  “Trust me.  Nothing motivates like the thought of impending doom.”

     Frank closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.  “I still think you’re nuts.”

     “No.  Nuts is dragging your ass out of bed at three in the morning to have a conversation that we could’ve easily had eight hours from now over a smoked meat sandwich.”

     Frank opened his eyes.  “Just show me the picture.”

     “I take cash or check.  Preferably cash.”

     “Aren’t you morally obliged to give me this information?”    

     Ah, the old morals debate.  Jasper had run into this before.  After that experience, he’d crossed the religious community off his list of possible clients. 

     “Look at it this way.  You’re sick, you go to a hospital.  The doctor treats you, and then you get a bill.  Is that doctor morally obliged to treat you for free?  Everybody’s got to eat.”

     Frank stood, walked around the table, and brought his face closer to Jasper’s.  The battle for Frank’s face had ended with anger the clear winner.  “You know what I think?  I think this is some sort of sick, weirdo con.  You could have a picture of anything in that envelope.”

     Jasper slid across the bench and leaned his back against the window -- partly in an attempt to look casual, and partly in an attempt to avoid a head-butt.

     “Hey,” Jasper said, “if you want a surprise ending, that’s totally up to you.” 

     Frank balled his fists at his side.  “I’m taking this picture.  If you think you can stop me, go for it.”

     He slammed a hand on the envelope, whisked it off the table, and hurried out the door.    

     Jasper weighed the pros and cons of chasing him and arrived at the conclusion that catching up with Frank also meant catching up with his fists.

     There would be other pictures.

     The waitress arrived with a full pot of coffee.  “Made a new batch.  It’s not any better.”

     Jasper held out his cup and smiled up at her as she filled it.  “Hey.  You mind if I take your picture?”