Page 91 of Someone Just Followed You

‘Hey, what’s on that?’ A woman crawls out of a makeshift tent made of tarpaulin and plastic bags. She’s wearing a denim skirt and stars and stripes T-shirt. Her dark hair is hanging loose on her shoulders and there’s a yellowing bruise on her cheek. She might be in her thirties, but she looks about fifty.

‘A guy I’m trying to track down,’ he answers. Keep it simple.

‘A fucking pedo,’ Todd adds. ‘Taken a kid.’

‘Let me see,’ the woman says.

He lifts his phone. She leans over until her nose is only an inch from the screen.

‘You know, he looks kinda familiar,’ she says. Then she turns toward her tent. ‘Hey, kiddo, come out here!’

A face appears out of the shadows, and jeez, she looks so young. He pushes his palms together, rubs them. The girl’s wearing pink velvet yoga pants and a silver cropped top, like she’s ready for a night out. Except the outfit’s filthy and frayed, and her face is grubby and gaunt. ‘What?’ she says.

‘Come look at this.’

The girl stumbles over.

‘This guy,’ the older woman says, pointing at the screen. ‘I feel like I know him, but I don’t know why.’

The girl barely hesitates before answering. ‘Yeah, he’s that photographer,’ she says, her voice monotone but certain. ‘Remember, he took pictures of me for a thing he was doing about Vegas streets or something.’

‘Ah, yeah, course it is.’ The older woman smiles like she’s won a prize. ‘He couldn’t stop staring at your tits. Fucking creep, I remember now.’

A jolt of anger surges through him – this fucking freak has got his Maple – but it must also jump-start his brain, because a flash of something rips through his mind. A memory maybe.

The girl said he was a photographer. That he took pictures of her.

Why does that make sense to him? Why, on some level, was it not a surprise to hear her say that?

‘Did he tell you his name?’ he demands, everything more urgent now.

‘What? No.’ The older woman shrugs, defensive. ‘He gave us twenty bucks.’

‘He said he made good money from his photos,’ the girl pitches in. ‘And he had a fancy camera. Big boxy thing. Said it cost him fifteen grand.’

A fancy, boxy, expensive camera.

Fuck, that’s it! That’s where he’s seen him before!

‘Gotta go,’ he shouts, even though these people don’t give a shit what he does. Then he runs back down Fremont, toward the bus station, toward his truck. But as he’s running, he takes his phone out and calls his ex-boss, the grumpy fucker who fired him for dropping one diffuser.

‘Paul,’ he says, breathing heavy. ‘It’s Brandon.’

Chapter 107

Him

‘Brandon? What the fuck do you want?’

Brandon feels that spike of anger again, of injustice. But he needs to find some self-discipline, a skill he’s never excelled at, so he slows to a walk, sucks in a long breath. ‘That last gig I worked on with you,’ he says finally, cool as ice, because it really matters now. ‘The Azione photoshoot. You had an assistant with you.’

‘No I didn’t. I never work with anyone else; Christ, have you forgotten that already?’

Brandon closes his eyes, tries again. ‘A guy taking photos then, stood right next to you. He was shooting with a Fujifilm GFX 100 so he must be a pro.’

‘Oh him,’ Paul mutters. ‘Like a handheld could ever outperform a Hasselblad. He was nothing to do with me, part of Maple Clark’s crew, filming content for her socials.’

Brandon frowns. ‘You’re sure?’