Metsy Hingle - Flash Point

Kelly clicked off several shots in succession, then zoomed in on the driver’s face. She loved studying a person’s face. It was like a road map, she thought, as she noted the man’s weathered skin. Skin that she guessed had seen more than a half century of sun, wind and cold. A river of lines bracketed soft brown eyes, and given the smile on his face, she suspected a great many of those wrinkles were the result of laughter. The bushy brows and salt-and-pepper hair gave him a dramatic flair. She’d always heard that the carriage drivers tended to embellish history a bit in order to make the rides more exciting and their tips more hefty. Since it was Halloween, she imagined tonight’s passengers were in for some ghoulish retelling of the city’s already colorful history. When the driver sat down, flicked the reins and drove away, Kelly recapped the lens of her camera and returned it to her bag.

The place was growing more crowded by the minute, she realized, and a flicker of uneasiness went through her. For a moment, she debated leaving. Just as quickly, Kelly nixed the idea. She was being ridiculous. She could handle this, she assured herself. It wasn’t as though she was trapped in a crowd with no means of escape. No one was bothering her. Everyone was wrapped up in their own little dramas. And although she didn’t want to eavesdrop, the close proximity of the tables made it impossible for her not to overhear bits and pieces of the conversations going on around her.

“Come on, Joey,” the tallest of a trio of boys at the table to her left began. “We put on these monster masks and that dude at the door ain’t gonna be asking us for no IDs.”

While at the next table, a petite brunette declared, “I swear, Sara Beth. I must have been out of my mind to let you talk me into going on that ghost tour with you. I’m not going to be able to close my eyes tonight.”

“You’re drunk, Mark,” the woman at the table directly behind her snapped. “You made an ass of yourself at the party. Now, drink the damn coffee so we can go home.”

Trying her best to ignore them, Kelly drummed her fingers on the tabletop and cast an anxious glance in the direction of the kitchen. Unable to see past the steady stream of patrons and waiters, she sighed and focused her attention on her own table once more. She was about to pick up her camera again when she noted the newspaper lying on the chair next to her. It had been days since she’d even looked at a newspaper or listened to the news. Picking it up, Kelly gasped as the vision hit her.

“It’s about damn time you showed up. I’ve been waiting in this alley for twenty minutes and nearly got mugged twice.”

“I was detained,” she told him.

“Well, you’re damn lucky I waited. Another two minutes and I’d have been gone.”

“Then I guess it’s fortunate that I showed up when I did.”

Smart-mouthed, stuck-up bitch, just like her mother, he thought as he climbed into the car. Too bad he needed the money, because he’d like nothing better than to tell her he’d changed his mind and watch the bitch stew.

“Then let’s not waste any more of each other’s time, Doctor. Did you bring the document?”

“Of course I brought it. But first I want to see the money.”

She opened the bag and his mouth watered at the sight of all that cash. To hell with the casinos on the Gulf Coast, he’d rent himself a suite at that fancy new hotel they’d just opened and try his luck at Harrah’s. Maybe he’d even find himself a lady or two. Already anticipating the night ahead, he reached for the cash.

“Not so fast, Doctor,” she said, snapping the bag shut. “First, I want the birth certificate.”

He hesitated a moment, wondered whether he should have asked for more money for the damn thing. “You know, your daddy sure loved that little girl. Used to call her his princess. I imagine he’d have paid a lot of money to find out she didn’t die in that fire after all.”

“Unfortunately for you, my father’s dead. And I can assure you I don’t place the same value on her that he did. My one concern is protecting my family’s good name. It’s the only reason I agreed to pay you for that birth certificate.”

He tapped the envelope against his palm, gave her a measuring look. “I imagine your sister would be willing to pay a great deal to learn who her daddy was. Of course, if you was to—”

“I don’t have a sister,” she snapped. “And I suggest you quit trying to shake me down for more money, Doctor. Otherwise, I might reconsider whether or not I’ve made a mistake by not going to the police and telling them about your offer.”

“Now, hang on a second. There’s no need to go dragging the police into a little business transaction between friends.”

“You and I are not friends, Doctor. And I doubt that the police would see your proposal as a simple business transaction.”

“We had a deal and it’s too late for you to try to back out now,” he said, and shoved the envelope at her.

While he dug through the bag of cash, she stared at the paper a moment before crushing it in her fist. “You’re sure this is the only copy?”

“What? Yeah, it’s the only one,” he lied. The bitch would find out soon enough that he’d kept another copy, he thought. Eager to get to the casino, he began stuffing the money back into the bag.

“Then I guess this is goodbye, Doctor.”

Something in her voice—a cold amusement—alerted him. He looked up and saw the gun. But it was too late. Before he could say a word, she pulled the trigger.

“Lady? Lady, are you all right?”

Kelly dropped the newspaper and came spinning back from the dark alley to the table in the Café du Monde. Her heart still racing, she looked up at the worried face of her waiter.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” he asked again.

“I…yes,” she told him, although it wasn’t true.

“You sure? You look kind of…strange.”

“I’m all right,” she assured him.

Looking skeptical, he placed her beignets and coffee in front of her. “That’ll be $4.75.”

Still reeling from the vision, Kelly grabbed her camera bag and dug out her wallet. She retrieved a five-dollar bill and one-dollar bill and slapped them on the table. “There was a man who was sitting at this table earlier, the one who left that newspaper. Do you happen to know who he was?”

The waiter shrugged. “Beats me. When I came on duty at ten o’clock, the paper was already there. Figured I’d leave it in case somebody wanted to read it. But if it’s in your way, I can toss it.”

“That’s all right,” she said, while in truth she wished to God she’d never touched the thing. She didn’t want to get involved. All she wanted was to see the Mother Superior at the convent and satisfy herself that Sister Grace’s death had been a peaceful one, sign any paperwork the attorneys had for her regarding the nun’s bequest and go back to New York. But how could she ignore what she’d just seen in the vision? What if the murder hadn’t happened yet? If she did nothing, that man was going to be killed.

And what if he’s already dead? Do you really want to be the butt of all those jokes and whispers again?

Oh, God, she didn’t want to get involved. But what choice did she have? As unpleasant as it would be to open herself to the speculation and talk, she couldn’t honestly live with herself if he died because she’d done nothing. She had to do it. She had to go to the police.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” she replied, already feeling the weight of her decision settle upon her. She pushed the six dollars across the table at the waiter. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” he said, and shoved the money into his pocket.