Private Eye
When someone of importance commits an act of nefarious nature, the world of gossip erupts. The worse the act, the better the talk, and, for me? The better the pay.
I fiddle with the settings on my camera. Newly manicured nails strum a nameless tune, reflect my impatience.
“You sure about this, Kenny?”
“Patience,” The bartender assures me. “Can I get you something while you wait?”
“Hopefully I won’t be here that long.”
Nervous energy sends my knee bouncing. I meet Kenny’s gaze. “On second thought…”
My attention shifts as a new patron makes his entrance, his neatly pressed suit and perfectly combed hair more than a little out of place. He flashes straight, white teeth at the female bartender and finds a seat atop a barstool. One crooked finger prompts the delivery of a martini, which he proceeds to down in nearly one throw.
My grip on the camera tightens. Kenny slides a shot glass full of some vibrant green concoction my way, but I no longer have interest in imbibing.
I lift the camera, frame a few shots and then think better of it.
Shots of what? A newly elected senator, sitting at a dive bar gulping down martinis? Who cares?
“Kenny, please tell me there’s more.”
“Just wait,” he promises. “It gets better.”
Time passes. The senator pulls his phone from his jacket, slides his fingers across the screen. Every so often, his eyes scan the room.
At last, they land on the object of interest, and a low whistle escapes my lips.
A blond and boisterous socialite – the queen of scandals and transgressions – approaches, aiming straight for the senator.
The newly elected, newly married senator.
Cleverly framed shots send dollar signs dancing in my head. When a hungry mouth meets lips painted bubblegum pink, I don’t hesitate.
Gotcha, you cheating bastard.
A smirk finds its way to my face. My fingers slide a folded bill across the bar top, into Kenny’s waiting hand.
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Anytime.”
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