Longmire: Frames
Chapter 6….Blur
He woke up the next morning, went to the kitchen and started making coffee. It was impossible to navigate a morning with out the juice rendered from burnt beans. Scooping up fresh grounds, he placed them in the filter, added one more scoop for good measure, then pinched a good dollop to chew on as he walked over to his computer and hit the power buttons for both monitor and PC.
While the coffee maker worked its early morning voodoo, he picked up the camera and extracted the memory card. He held it up in front of his eyes, contemplating the evidence on it. It would sink the "Honesty" and "Integrity" of Walt Longmire, and his deputy.
Walking back into the kitchen, he saw that the coffee maker had worked its magic of running hot water through ground up burnt beans and rendering the fuel so many human bodies craved. He reached up into the cupboard and pulled down his favorite cup. Heavy ceramic, wide, large handle he could hook four fingers through.
Sipping his coffee, wishing he could gulp, he went over to the PC, and inserted the SD card. He navigated to the card, selected all of the pictures and copied them over to a new file. He then fired up his copy of Lightroom and imported the new images.
A quick run-through confirmed his thoughts. Movies and TV made it seem so simple to get that one picture. And if the people involved were models posing for a photographer… even then most of the pictures shot were discarded. Lighting, motion… a thousand different variables could ruin even a well-planned shoot moot.
Considering that his prey had been in the throws of passion, at night, with a constantly changing light source, he'd be happy if he got more than a couple of decent shots. At least digital was better than film in the fact that he didn't have to waste time and money on buying film then developing it. Although… that first 110 camera he'd bought with his hard-earned chore money had led to the near two-thousand-dollar camera he'd used last night. He breathed in deeply and went to the first picture and started scanning for the one or two that would put "paid in full" to Walt Longmire and Victoria Moretti.
A couple of hours later, he rubbed his eyes. As he'd suspected, most pictures weren't useable because of all the "action" going on. And several others were sharp enough, but Vic's hair obscured both of their faces. In a few others, the lighting was shitty because the camera couldn't adjust to the flickering flames as fast as it needed to. And several that should show some great detail were blurred.
He wasn't sure what kind of artifact it was, but in some primitive part of his mind the blur seemed to be a human hand waving in front of the lens.
He continued to look through the pictures, finally finding a couple that showed what was needed. In one, Vic was bent over Walt's body, looking into his eyes. Her hair, which had obscured many otherwise good shots, was swept over her right shoulder exposing both of their faces, although some lens flare had obscured both of their bodies.
The second picture showed Walt, holding Vic in a post coital embrace, his arms wrapped around her as they lay on one blanket, the other on top of them covering them. It wasn't the dirty he'd hoped to capture, but he knew it was enough to start seeding doubt about the two. His employer would be a bit disappointed that there was no "hard" evidence, but… he felt they could start working with these pictures.
Standing up from the picture, thankful for the God-given "Juice of Life", he finished dressing. The last thing he put on was his Sam Browne, the cuffs, and pistol snugged comfortably about his hips, printed pictures in hand. Tall cliff, sharp rocks, Walt Longmire and Vic Moretti fucked over, over sex. He laughed.