Longmire: Frames
Chapter 9…..Kicker
Earlier that day:
"Serioulsy? This is the best you could get after the money I've been paying?" the client said, slapping the folder of pictures against the desk. He reached rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and middle finger and sighed in exasperation and disappointment.
"Look, it isn't like what you see in the movies. You don't just run up and snap the 'tell-all' picture unless you want to get punched in the snout, or more likely shot in the ass while you try to get away. The bad thing about taking pictures like this? You can't get them to pose for the pictures, the light is unsteady, it's often hard to get a vantage point, and well… if you get a couple of decent shots of someone as reclusive as Walt Longmire doing something like this? Be glad! The man is damn near a hermit out there, and in public? You won't see displays of affection like that… shit, go ask the news guys how hard it is to get a picture for a story!" The photographer leaned back in his chair a bit, hands folded together at the back of his neck.
"You really didn't think it going to be EASY did you?" He pulled his hands back around and rubbed his chin for a moment. "Look, this will be enough to at least spook them, give you some leverage for...?" his voice trailed off, inquiringly.
The other man shrugged. I guess it won't hurt to tell. I want that land. Barlow Connally was right, we could make a killing off turning it into a golf resort. But hell, I'll take getting rid of that high-plains dickhead and his pain in the ass even if it just runs them out of town. They embarrassed me, and I don't take lightly to that. Personally? If I have any say about it, the Connally estate will get copies too, and a little encouragement to take some more action against our Walt Longmire. Hell, just the embarrassment factor…" he sighed as he wound down.
"Go for it, but keep me out of it. I don't want that son of bitch coming after me, and Vic even less. I'm looking to stay alive." With that he got up and started out of the office, stopping just as his client spoke. "I never thought I'd see you scared Jim."
Sheriff Wilkins turned around and glared. "I'm not scared, I just have a very healthy respect for the fact he hates me as much as I hate him. You better make this shit work! Otherwise…", grasping the door knob, he wrenched open the office door and strode out of the office.
Damn… I do need to get some better evidence if we're gonna pull this off. Maybe…
He opened the door and settled into his cruiser, planning out a trip to an electronics store, and hoping like hell both assholes would never find out.
After Jim Wilkins had left the office, his client pondered the envelope. I should have asked for more than one set… ah! He mused, recalling he had a copier in his office. He got up, scanned and printed each picture. Once he had a second set, he placed them into a folder and scrawled Victoria Moretti's name on the front. The other, he placed on his desk, ready for his own personal use.
Author's note: sorry this one is a little short, but there is one answer in this. LOL