For The Camera

Five

Eli

Los Angeles greets me with the acrid scent of floor cleaner and a bustling crowd surging through the hallways. Liz and I let it sweep us along, all the way to baggage claim.

She's grown more quiet now, her different-coloured eyes -one brown, one blue- darting around, taking in our surroundings.

We wait for our suitcases together and when they finally appear on the belt, I help her wrestle them onto a luggage cart. It squeaks obnoxiously as we walk together, me walking slowly so that she can keep up.

When the arrivals area comes into view, I pull Liz aside. "I think we should separate here."

Liz nods, straightening her back a little. "Alright. Are you good for now? Is there anything I can do?"

I shake my head, the hint of a smile tugging at my lips. "I'm fine, Liz. Don't worry about me."

"You'll call if anything happens, right?"

"Of course."

"Okay... Well, I guess this is good-bye for now," she says and pulls me into a tight hug.

Even though I'm not big on affections, I return it, rubbing a reassuring hand over the small of her back. "It'll be fine, you'll see. And we'll probably see each other again in a few days."

Nodding, she takes a step back. "Yeah, let's hope so." Her eyes search my face for a moment. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay? You should just try to lay low and get accustomed to everything for the first few days, don't just dive head-first into danger."

"Of course not," I lie. Then I grab my suitcase and start walking, only turning around once more to jokingly salute her with two fingers.

As expected, the arrivals area is just as packed as the rest of the airport, dozens of people standing behind the barrier, waving signs with names, holding bouquets and waiting for loved ones. My gaze glides over them, searching for a sign with my name on it, but I can't find it anywhere.

Only when I make it to the end of the aisle, I spot a short man in a suit and walk up to him. "Mr. Scott?" he asks.

"Yes."

"May I see your ID please?"

I slowly take off my backpack and retrieve my wallet, careful to turn away from the man so he doesn't see my camera equipment glinting in the bright light from the neon lamps above. Under his scrutinizing gaze, I pull out my ID and hand it to him. "Here you go."

He studies it for a moment, then he gives it back and grabs my suitcase. "Follow me."

+++

The drive to Nathan Lowe's home takes around thirty minutes. The car is a black Porsche, gliding soundlessly and smoothly over the pavement. The inside smells new, like leather and vinyl.

"Does Lowe own this car?" I ask, unable to hide a tinge of admiration from my voice, and run a finger across the shiny dashboard.

The chauffeur nods. "Yes. He owns two, but he rarely drives them. Too busy of a schedule, as you can probably imagine."

"Sure," I snort. "Must be awful to constantly have to go to parties and events. I can't imagine how stressed he must be."

He doesn't reply, but if the furrow between his brows is anything to go by, he isn't pleased with that statement.

Neither of us says anything after that. I look outside instead, watching the fences grow higher and the houses grow bigger the longer we drive. Palm trees line the street, gently swaying in the breeze. There are only a few cars driving around here, and each of them looks more expensive than the other; Beverly Hills is quieter than I imagined, but even flashier than I thought.