Paparazzi

The metal rings on Tony’s right hand clack together as he pushes his greasy blonde hair off his forehead. His left hand, also covered in rings, holds his cell phone to his ear while Miriam chews him out.

“If you’re right, that’s two weeks she’s been in there. That’s one helluva binge.” Miriam had disapproved of Tony’s choice to stake out this building from the beginning. She didn’t trust Tony’s sources. Not that Tony trusted them either, most of them were junkies or about to be junkies. The rest were DJs, varying in popularity, but rich in access to the Scene. That’s Tony’s bread and butter, the Scene. All the best, or the worst, depending on where you stood, photos of celebrities major and minor were popped while they were going in or out of the Scene. Nightclubs, strip clubs, hostess bars, mansion parties, warehouse parties, undisclosed-until-midnight raves, secret dinner clubs, secret sex clubs, all of it was the Scene. Miriam mostly bought the kind of paparazzi photos where the reality star is shopping in a department store shut down just for them, or the actor is walking down the street with his actress wife as they push their newest kid in a stroller. Because that’s what most paparazzi shot. Daytime bullshit. So, Miriam was generally pretty patient with Tony. He delivered the spicy shit people actually wanted to see. And he was willing to sleep in his car for a few days if that’s what it took to get the shot.

        Tony coughs, snorts, and spits a loogie out the open window of his merlot-colored Camry. He gazed over to the three-story dilapidated building across the street. It was dark but, city street dark, so he could see the front stoop and the neon-orange-hoodie-wearing meathead standing on it just fine. All of the windows were boarded up. They gave him no sign of activity. The streetlight in front of the building sputters, briefly casting intermittent darkness over the door. “Your princess is in there. These fucking kids have their Instagram accounts private, but their TikTok’s running wild. That one I sent you a few days ago where you see Kira stumbling out of the Clown Room, one of the roid’d jerks that was holding her up has been standing outside this building since before I got here.”

        “It’s been six days. Six. You sent me that video on Sunday morning.” Tony flips down his visor and takes a look at himself in the poorly lit mirror. Not as handsome as he was in thirties, if it weren’t for his expensive camera and silver rings on almost every finger he could look homeless. Technically he is homeless, but he has a few hotels that he likes to crash at when his back starts hurting from taking cat naps in the driver seat of the Camry. “I’m gonna tell Dean to meet you. Go get a shower, Tony.”

        “Don’t send that little creep over here. Fuck, Miriam, I’m gonna get this shot. I’ll call you after.” He hangs up as she protests on the other side of the phone.

--

There’s movement across the street. Orange hoodie holds the door open for a pale, waifish twenty-year-old girl wearing an oversized black coat. Tony grabs his camera from the passenger seat. It’s heavy with its brand new telephoto lens and perfect for these sort of stakeout jobs. He was looking forward to using it for the first time.

Tony peers through the camera, focusing on Kira’s face, her pixie haircut poking out from the jacket like a used cotton swab. She looks paler than usual or maybe it’s the dark red lipstick she’s wearing. Tony clicks the shutter.

        The streetlight buzzes with one last high pitch just before the bulb goes dark. Tony spits out a whispered “fuck” and quickly removes the telephoto lens, swapping it out with a wide lens. He flips on the camera's flash and jams his phone and car keys into his front pocket.

        Kira glides slowly down the 5-step stoop. She looks high. It’s gonna be a good photo for Miriam.

        Tony hops out of the Camry and jogs around the car to the sidewalk on his side of the street. He jogs up the sidewalk, getting well ahead of Kira, then crosses the street to her side. He carries the camera on his side, staying casual as he gets closer. Kira looks aimless, but she’s coming up the sidewalk right towards him. Tony starts to get that rush that he gets right before any picture, a smirk edges into the corners of his mouth as the gap closes between them.

        “Hey Kira. Chasing that dragon?” He pops away. POP. POP. POP. POP. The flash is so blinding that he can barely make out the scene in front of him. But he’s good at his job, he knows she’s lined up and looking like shit on a seedy street in a rough part of town.

        She screams. Piercing. Tony almost drops his camera as he throws his hands up over his ears. Kira sprints back to the now empty stoop bangs on the door, just once, before it opens and she falls inside. The door slams behind her.

        Ears still ringing, Tony cradles his camera as he walks back to his car and flips it into review mode. “It’s gonna be so fucking good. Up and coming starlet already corrupted by Hollywood.” He snorts, coughs, and spits a loogie on to the street as he settles into his car and waits for the display to show his handiwork.

        “What the fuck?” There’s nothing there. An empty sidewalk. But no Kira. “Goddammit. I shot her straight on!”

        “Tony the Terror!” Chubby fingers slap on to the Camry’s driver side door.

        “Get the hell outta here, Dean.”

        “Miriam told me you were out here strugglin’. Let me help you out. Get that Princess Kira snap together!” Wearing his camera around his neck with a flame-patterned strap, Dean beams down at Tony.

        Tony finally looks up from his camera and bends his neck past Dean, trying to get a look at the building Kira disappeared back into.

        “What’d you fuck something up? What are these shots of the empty street? You practicing your angles?”

        “I said get the fuck outta here!” Tony pushes the car door open, Dean jumps back with a smile on his face, undeterred. Tony shuts the door and leans against the car as his eyes dart from his traitorous camera to the three-story building. Dean’s eyes track Tony’s gaze.

        “She’s in there, huh? Okay. I’ll go around the back, see if there’s another exit.” Dean shuffles across the street. “Or maybe we get lucky and there’s a big, beautiful bay window, right!”

        Tony ignores Dean, but keeps his eye on the stoop.

--

        “Yes, I sent Dean down there. But I haven’t heard back from him since I told him to go last night. What did you do to him?”

        “I didn’t do shit. The fat fuck probably found a dumpster of old donuts and choked on one.” Tony shields his eyes from the early morning sun.

        “So no Kira, no Dean. It’s a waste of time Tony! We’re both losing money while you sit on your ass waiting for this unicorn and now my creepy cousin is missing. This does not make me want to let you in next time you text for a bootycall.”

        “Calm down. I’ll go get your shot. But I do hope Dean is dead.”

--

        Tony tucks his camera inside his zipped up jacket and treads carefully down the dirty alley. It stinks, he hadn’t noticed the smell from across the street, but it’s strong here. Probably a dead rat bloating nearby.

        Rounding the corner of the building, his cowboy boot steps in something wet and warm.

        “Motherfucker.”

        “No, you’re the motherfucker.” Tony looks up just in time to see orange hoodie swinging a bat at Tony’s head.

--

        Head pounding, Tony finally opens his eyes. On the dirty floor across from him is a whimpering Dean. They’re both bound and gagged. Not going anywhere.

        Six figures enter, one of them is Kira. They all look dopesick and crazed. One figure leans over to dangle Tony’s camera in front of his face. Tony tries to speak through the gag, call them all fuckers. Nothing audible comes out. SMASH. Tony’s camera hits the ground. The group chuckles.

        Tony screams in anger through the gag.

        Kira steps forward and kneels down in front of Tony. She really is pretty, and a great actress. So young. Tony softens looking at her. She could have been big. Now she’s another junkie. Kira tilts her head, intrigued by Tony’s sudden lessened rage.

        Dean manages to spit his gag out. “Please let us go!”

        Kira turns to Dean. He blubbers up at her, desperate. She smiles sweetly back at him. Deans breathing slows looking at Kira’s gentle features. “Just let us out of here and we won’t press charges.”

“Don’t even worry about the camera. We can always buy another one.”

        Kira’s face darkens. With a SNAP, her mouth opens, three times as wide as it should, every one of her teeth two inch long and sharp. She lunges for Dean’s throat.

        Tony watches Dean kick and twitch as Kira drains the life from him. The other figures glide closer to Tony, bound and helpless. And pissed that he never got to use his telephoto lens