Blackmail

PROMPT: After picking up some pictures you had developed, you realize you captured a crime being committed.
Word Count: 795
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How much is a man willing to pay for freedom?

I asked myself this as I sat behind the steering wheel of my worn out, beaten up black Ford Escort. Seventy-Five thousand was little to ask from a man who is worth millions. To me it meant a second chance at a life I burned out too quickly. I stared out of dirty windshield at the apartment complex and tried to ignore the asinine argument coming from the backseat. Kelly and John, my reluctant back ups, debated the logic of calling an apartment an apartment, when there was nothing "apart" about it. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. My nerves caused the entire car to shake. Until today, I was not in the business of blackmail.

He showed up at noon, an expensive briefcase in his hand, and took his seat on the passenger side. The rusty door squealed defiantly as he pulled it shut. I shoved my foot on the gas and turned into traffic, my eyes darting to the rear view mirror to search for followers. Although my pulse raced quicker than my old car could drive, we eventually reached our destination. I made awkward conversation along the way to cover up the incessant thumping of my heart.

This never happens to blackmailers on the television - they were relaxed, as if ruining another's life was all in a day's work. But this was real, and reality has a way of turning perfectly normal people into a psychiatric case study.

Parked. I pulled out the incriminating photo that was about to earn me my fortune. The murderer beside me seemed to enjoy my inability to hold it steady. Kelly's inebriated face stared back at me as I looked at the photo. I thought she looked like a model who just survived a tornado. She hated the picture. The man beside me hated it more. The lights were dim in the club where Kelly posed with her thumb pointing upward and tongue poking outward; but it was not dim enough to hide him in the background. A glare caught the sparkle of the knife in his hand. The girl beside him was found dead in the corner with her throat slit a couple hours after the photo was snapped. He had gone on record stating he couldn't believe this would happen in his club.

I couldn't believe my luck in capturing the evidence on film.

The man in the passenger seat snapped open his briefcase to reveal stacks of hundreds, all nicely bundled. I felt faint. I was not in the business of blackmail, but I'd consider blackmailing my own mother for this many Benjamin Franklins.

Money does strange things to people.

"It's all here," he said.

"Pass it to her," I said, nodding in Kelly's direction. He closed the case and hefted it into the backseat.

I stashed the photo back in its envelope and handed it over. I wanted to get out of there. It was a smooth transaction. Time inevitably invites its co-conspirator, fate, to ruin a perfectly good time. Fate is pleased to oblige.

Today would be no exception.

"We're cool." My voice was scratchy. Dry. The man pocketed the envelope. He did not look nervous. I envied him.

I turned the key of my old Escort, and the engine coughed and sputtered and came to life hesitantly. That is when I heard the unmistakable click of a pistol from the backseat.

"I told you I hated that photo." I turned to see Kelly with a gun pointing in my face, her other arm would tightly around my briefcase. "Selfish bitch!"

She looked scared. I felt my breakfast quickly resurfacing. It became lodged in my throat along with my voice as I stared down the cold steel of her gun.

Money does strange things to people.

"What the-" John was quick on the draw, his gun pointed at Kelly. Sweet. I reached for my gun. My passenger had found his own first. He pointed it at me. Two guns aimed for my head - and my hand shook too badly to lift my gun. It hung limply between my damn, useless fingers like a tail tucked between my legs.

Let it be known that when fate crashes the party, it crashes it hard. At least it was polite enough to knock on the window. All our guns turned quickly to greet the cop waiting at the door. I would have worn the same dumbfounded expression if it had been me stumbling across this scene.

From the movies, I knew exactly what came next. We all had the right to remain silent...