the walls but a calendar showing the wrong month under a picture of a sailboat—no framed licenses or degrees, which may have answered my doubts about Curtis being a lawyer. He hadn’t said hewas, not strictly speaking. He had said he practiced law.
Curtis looked up when he heard the door close.
“Ah, good. Glad you could make it,” he greeted me, closing the lid of the computer. Then, gesturing, “Take a seat.”
I dragged a wooden chair over to the desk and sat down. Curtis started in right away.
“Know how to use a cellphone camera?”
“I guess I could figure it out if I thought about it long enough.”
He ignored my sarcasm and rummaged in his desk, coming up with a cell. He powered it up and held it so, if I leaned forward, I could see the keypad and screen. “Push this button to bring up the camera function, and this one”—there was an electronic click—“to take the picture. Simple, see? Just be sure whatever you’re taking is in the centre of the screen so the camera knows what to focus on. Think you can do that?”
I felt my jaw tighten. “I guess.”
“Here, try it.”
He handed me the cell. I took a photo of the radio and showed him the image on the screen, then put the cell on the desktop.
“Okay,” he said, picking it up. “Now, you push this button to call up the photo library and this one to scroll through the pics. You can practice later. Take a few shots, then erase the pics like this.”
The photo of the radio disappeared. He pushed the phone across the desk toward me. I left it there.
“So you want me to take pictures for you. Of what?”
He sat back and, with his thumb and index finger, smoothed his moustache and goatee.
“Not what. Who. I’d like you to follow a certain person, unobserved of course. Anyone she meets, anywhere she goes, take a picture. For people I want the face, for places the address—a photo that will identify the place. Digital pictures are always time- and date-stamped, so you don’t need to write anything down. With me so far?”
I’m not a moron, I wanted to say, but instead I nodded.
“If she gets in a car, photograph the license plate. If it’s a taxi don’t bother. If that happens or if you lose her, call me. Use the cell; it’s a prepaid unit. No need to use your own.”
No problem there. I didn’t have a cell. Chang hadn’t come across with the one he’d promised, and I figured he wouldn’t want me to use it for this stuff anyway.
“Who is it you want me to follow, and why?”
“The who is just someone we’ll call the subject. The why is nothing for you to worry about. I can’t divulge that. It’s privileged info.”
I must have looked doubtful.
“Don’t worry; I’ll make it worth your while. Keep track of your hours and any expenses—transit tickets, whatever—and you’ll be reimbursed. If this works out, there’ll be more work for you.”
“The same kind of work? Following people?”
“That, and other things. Look, why not give it a try? You have nothing to lose, right? Do this one job, then if it’s not for you we let it go. No harm, no foul. What do you say?”
“How do I find and recognize the, er, subject?”
“So you’re in?”
I nodded.
He slipped a photo from one of the file folders on his desk and handed it over. It showed a well-dressed womanabout Curtis’s age emerging from a revolving door in an office building, looking toward something in the street. The brass sheathing around the door frame indicated that it was an upscale place. The woman carried a briefcase in her hand and a purse hung from the opposite shoulder. She was pretty, with fair hair and an open face.
“She leaves this address,” the lawyer informed me, jotting some words on a sticky-note and pressing it onto the back of the picture, “every day at one o’clock. Give her until one-thirty, and if she doesn’t show, break it off and call me.”
I stood up, slipping the photo and note into my shirt pocket. “I’ll
Curtis looked up when he heard the door close.
“Ah, good. Glad you could make it,” he greeted me, closing the lid of the computer. Then, gesturing, “Take a seat.”
I dragged a wooden chair over to the desk and sat down. Curtis started in right away.
“Know how to use a cellphone camera?”
“I guess I could figure it out if I thought about it long enough.”
He ignored my sarcasm and rummaged in his desk, coming up with a cell. He powered it up and held it so, if I leaned forward, I could see the keypad and screen. “Push this button to bring up the camera function, and this one”—there was an electronic click—“to take the picture. Simple, see? Just be sure whatever you’re taking is in the centre of the screen so the camera knows what to focus on. Think you can do that?”
I felt my jaw tighten. “I guess.”
“Here, try it.”
He handed me the cell. I took a photo of the radio and showed him the image on the screen, then put the cell on the desktop.
“Okay,” he said, picking it up. “Now, you push this button to call up the photo library and this one to scroll through the pics. You can practice later. Take a few shots, then erase the pics like this.”
The photo of the radio disappeared. He pushed the phone across the desk toward me. I left it there.
“So you want me to take pictures for you. Of what?”
He sat back and, with his thumb and index finger, smoothed his moustache and goatee.
“Not what. Who. I’d like you to follow a certain person, unobserved of course. Anyone she meets, anywhere she goes, take a picture. For people I want the face, for places the address—a photo that will identify the place. Digital pictures are always time- and date-stamped, so you don’t need to write anything down. With me so far?”
I’m not a moron, I wanted to say, but instead I nodded.
“If she gets in a car, photograph the license plate. If it’s a taxi don’t bother. If that happens or if you lose her, call me. Use the cell; it’s a prepaid unit. No need to use your own.”
No problem there. I didn’t have a cell. Chang hadn’t come across with the one he’d promised, and I figured he wouldn’t want me to use it for this stuff anyway.
“Who is it you want me to follow, and why?”
“The who is just someone we’ll call the subject. The why is nothing for you to worry about. I can’t divulge that. It’s privileged info.”
I must have looked doubtful.
“Don’t worry; I’ll make it worth your while. Keep track of your hours and any expenses—transit tickets, whatever—and you’ll be reimbursed. If this works out, there’ll be more work for you.”
“The same kind of work? Following people?”
“That, and other things. Look, why not give it a try? You have nothing to lose, right? Do this one job, then if it’s not for you we let it go. No harm, no foul. What do you say?”
“How do I find and recognize the, er, subject?”
“So you’re in?”
I nodded.
He slipped a photo from one of the file folders on his desk and handed it over. It showed a well-dressed womanabout Curtis’s age emerging from a revolving door in an office building, looking toward something in the street. The brass sheathing around the door frame indicated that it was an upscale place. The woman carried a briefcase in her hand and a purse hung from the opposite shoulder. She was pretty, with fair hair and an open face.
“She leaves this address,” the lawyer informed me, jotting some words on a sticky-note and pressing it onto the back of the picture, “every day at one o’clock. Give her until one-thirty, and if she doesn’t show, break it off and call me.”
I stood up, slipping the photo and note into my shirt pocket. “I’ll
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