03.6 Photographer

Jamal returned to his lodge and poured a vodka orange as he ran out of tomato juice. He felt those itches heavy on his nape. He had not worn a buttoned-up shirt in years. He took it off and hung on a hook on the toilet door in a way out of sight. This door opened to the lee of the wall.

He lay in bed thinking how she cheated. Evil intent, no fear, the raven, the wolf…

He worked on a plan that was too risky and dangerous. He got up from bed and began to develop the colour film that Lopez exposed at Malibet.

He climbed the Dodge and drove at fast speed to Bernal. It was late. Somewhere on the road, he came across a truck pulling back and blocking his path. Jamal drove the Dodge right between the truck and a wall strongminded to make his way through. He got stuck. He could not even open the door. Jamal cursed, “Get the hell out of my way!”

The truck driver glanced below, “Idiot!” In his next move, he stepped on gas and rolled the wheels on reverse, inch by inch cramming the van against the wall, scratching paint and bending metal.

Jamal blasted his horn in exchange of angry words. Eventually, the truck driver gave way. Jamal sped on, perhaps learning a lesson. His Dodge making noises as he drove the extra mile to arrive at a garage next to a bistro.

“Ahoy! Roco!” he called tapping on the fender, “Are you there?”

A man appeared under the streetlight, rubbing off grease from his fingers on a piece of cloth, “Who is there?”

“Fish here,” he stepped into the light.

This average height fellow reached the van, “Oh! What happened to your van?”

“I ran into a truck,” said Jamal.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Roco asked.

“Leave it. I didn’t come for that.”

“I can fix it, Mr Fish.”

“Forget it! I come here to talk to you on a very serious matter. Can I buy you a drink?” he offered.

“Okay,” agreed Roco, “I will join you in a minute at Asado.”

Jamal crossed the road to the bistro by the corner.

Few minutes later, he was showing one of the colour photographs taken by Lopez. “I want to dig this girl. She’s an Arab. Her name’s Marina, staying at the Silverside. She is going out with a guy who drives a Ferrari.”

“Do you want me to kidnap her?” asked the mechanic.

“No,” chuckled Jamal, “I am not talking ransom. ‘They drop…we drop!’ I can’t do that. I want to find this guy.”

“What’s your interest in this woman?”

“Nothing,” he frowned.

“Any connection to you?”

“No, no,” Jamal denied.

“What is in it for me?” asked Roco.

“She is married to a very rich Arab.”

“How rich do you mean?”

“Maybe, we could make a few thousand dollars.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Blackmail. Take photographs with this guy. I can negotiate with her or her husband. He is abroad. I’d know when he comes.”

“I don’t buy it,” sighed Roco.

“Listen! They bought the entire facility at the Silverside Club for this group to stay.”

“Really!”

“If you pick her up, it’s worth a million. I just want to find out this guy she’s going out with,” said Jamal Carreon.

“You want to blackmail this guy?”

“No, Roco, I don’t know him.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Honestly.”

“Alright! Let’s dine!”