SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 60

SO COLD

*ONE MONTH LATER*

I loved photography. The camera shutter noise, the feel of the bulky camera, the arty scene. It was all so ostentatious and talks of flowers against a white backdrop or a bowl of fruit were so grandiloquent. It was the student-hipster movement and I blended right in. Backwards cap, baggy mom-jeans, overpriced Starbucks coffee cup placed carefully beside an Apple laptop and a single earbud in my ear.

I raised the camera to my right eye and squinted my left, pressing on the T button to zoom in, closer and closer to a man across the street. He wore a baby-blue shirt and black trousers. Glasses. Unruly, curly brown hair, looked like sheep's wool. He had an unfortunate chin that slid down into his neck although he was by no means fat, there was just no definition to his jaw line. I captured his image as he scoffed down his Lemon Tart cake and medium latte – extra foamy just the way he liked it.

His name was Arnold Pearce. He worked nine till four, five days a week. An office job which he robotically went about doing. At quarter to one almost each day, he heads down to the cafeteria to buy an egg and cress sandwich and a lemon muffin. He drove a second-hand, dirt-silver Nissan Micra. On Sundays, he picks out a striped tie and irons his shirt and stops by a florist before visiting his greying haired mother who snaps and barks at him like it's her favourite hobby. He sits quietly while she nags and moans and then when an hour passes, he leaves and goes home. His daily routine was easy to memorise.

I glanced down at my watch on my wrist. It was cheap, plastic but it sure as hell did the job: tell the damn time. I quickly packed my things up in a messenger bag, pulled the strap over my shoulder and thanked the barista who came my way to pick up my half-empty coffee cup.

I drove away from the scene in a black inconspicuous Audi Q7. The keys belonged to Irvin. Parked at the end of a quiet street, I waited. While I did so, my phone rang. I picked up, cheerful tone. "Hey, Seth. What's up?"

"Have you seen my kit? I've got rugby in half an hour with Keith."

"I'm not in town."

"I know, I know," he said. "I would ask Isiah but he's been called away for an emergency."

"Have you tried the laundry room? Under your bed?"

"Yeah, I've checked twice. Didn't find shit."

"Don't curse. How about your wardrobe? Maybe Isiah hung it up there."

"Wait," silence on his end and then he exclaimed. "Found it! Thanks, love you, bye!" He was about to hang up when he asked. "Hold on. Are you still coming 'round this weekend? Are we still on for the movies?"

"Yeah. I'll pay for the tickets, you can pay for the popcorn."

"Cool. Bye." He cut the call.

It was three minutes and twenty-seven seconds later when the silver Nissan Micra came around a corner up ahead. Arnold Pearce headed past me at a steady pace, leaned forward in his seat like he was anxious, face slack and eyes unmoving. He didn't look to the side where I had my back to him and he didn't glance around as he got out, shut the door and walked up the short pathway to his front door. He unlocked the door, walked in, and closed the door. Like always.

**

"Honey, I'm home!" I slammed the front door, kicked off my boots and yelled for Irvin. "What room are you in?"

Irvin, with his wild black curls and boyish face, came skidding out of the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist and an awkward grimace plastered on his face.