The Fate Merchant

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

     The early morning sky over Roy Harper’s Colonial was pink and gold by the time Roy stepped onto his front porch.  He was six-feet tall with blond hair that had just lost a battle with a pillow.

     “’Bout time,” Frank said, stifling a yawn.

     They’d parked one house up from Roy’s on the opposite side of the street.

     Jasper stared through the camera’s viewfinder and watched Roy tighten the belt on his bathrobe before bending down to pick up his newspaper.

     He pressed the shutter release, and then lowered the camera.  “Done.”

     “Let me see.”

     “Are you going to pay me for your picture?”

     “How about I don’t take the truck up to eighty and then shove you out the door.”

     Jasper nodded.  “That works, too.” He activated the camera’s display and turned it around so Frank could see it. 

     The screen was black.

     “That’s it?”

     Jasper glanced at the screen.  “I get these sometimes.  My guess: the person dies in their sleep.” He paused and cocked his head to one side as though only just realizing something.  “Or in a really dark closet.”

     Frank chuckled.  It was a particular type of chuckle that Jasper had heard before, an I-can’t-believe-I’m-listening-to-this-moron type of chuckle that was usually followed by some head shaking.

     Frank shook his head.  “Your proof stinks.”

     “I didn’t say it would be great.”

     “I still think you’re trying to play me.”

     “Trust me,” Jasper said.  “I’m not that brave.”

     Across the street, Roy, still wearing his bathrobe, re-emerged from the house and walked toward his BMW.

     “Give me the camera,” Frank said.

     “Sorry.  I don’t let clients handle the gear.”

     Frank ripped it out of Jasper’s hands, and it was at that moment that Jasper decided to sign up for those martial arts lessons he’d thought might be a good idea to take, yet had consistently put off taking as they involved his top three least favorite activities: exercise, sweating, and trips to the hospital.

     Frank quickly hefted the camera and pressed his eye to the viewfinder as Roy opened his trunk and pulled out a briefcase.

     Jasper heard the beep and the click. 

     Frank lowered the camera and checked the display.  He didn’t blink.  He stared at the screen with the stunned, uncomprehending expression of man whose dog has just jumped onto his lap and stated in perfect English: “Listen, what I really want for supper tonight is a steak.  I want it thick, I want it rare, and I want you to make it snappy ‘cause in fifteen minutes you’re taking me out for a shit.”

     Frank handed him the camera, but continued to stare blankly at the empty patch of air where the camera had been.  “Okay.  I believe you.  I don’t understand it, but I believe you.”

     Jasper flipped the camera around.  On the display, Frank pointed a gun directly at the lens.  “Well that’s never happened before.” 

     He’d tried in the past to see what would happen if he photographed the same person twice.  The pictures had never varied.

     “You know what?” Jasper continued, tapping the display.  “I don’t think this is a good thing.”

     Frank started the truck.  “Is a check okay?”