Snapshot

Chaz squeezed him on the shoulder. “It’s better this way. He’ll be able to enjoy what’s left of his life, you know?” He dug in his pocket, then dropped a handful of change onto the windowsill. “Here. From the burrito stand.”


Chaz wandered off to dig out an India Pale Ale. Davis stewed, then checked his mission parameters. Again. Two cases today. The one out on the street corner, then another near Warsaw Street at 20:17. Deviation percentage might be high by then, particularly if Chaz was in a mood today, but they could still do some good. Help cases going on in the real world. Get information to the real cops.

And Warsaw Street. 20:17.

Davis finally took the handful of coins and began sifting through them, holding each up to the morning sunlight coming through the window, checking the date. Chaz sauntered back over, then shook his head at Davis. “We could go to a bank, you know. Ask them for an entire bucket of coins.”

“Wouldn’t count,” Davis said, frowning at the quarter he was holding. Did he have 2002, Philadelphia mint? He pulled out his phone, scrolling down.

“Wouldn’t count?” Chaz asked. “By whose rules?”

“My own rules.”

“Then change them.”

“Can’t,” Davis said. Yeah, he’d found a 2002 already. It was 2003 he needed. Hard to find a place that used coins these days. The street vendors, the occasional convenience store.

“You do realize,” Chaz said, “how much more difficult you make your life, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Davis admitted. “But I can’t cheat, or the collection will lose all meaning. Besides, Hal knows the rules.” Davis had gotten an email from his son last week; the kid had almost finished a complete set of the 2000s. There was a soda machine in Hal’s school that gave real-money change.

“Let’s say you find one in here,” Chaz said. “Some little bit of metal that happens to have the right stamp on it, to make you all freaked out or whatever. What would you do? We can’t take anything out of the Snapshot.”

“Unless it’s inside us,” Davis said, nodding to Chaz’s beer.

“You’d—”

“Eat the coin? Sure. Why not? What are the precinct bean counters going to do? Search my stool?”

Chaz took a long drink of beer. “You’re a strange little dude, Davis.”

“You’re only now figuring this out?”

“I’m slow,” Chaz said. “And you, you’re like subtly weird, Davis. Stealth weird.”

Davis’s watch buzzed, and he checked the time. Five minutes. He leaned in, watching the building across the street. A bar with some apartments on top.

Chaz reached for the holster under his arm.

“You won’t need that,” Davis said.

“A man can dream, can’t he?” But he did let go of the gun. “What makes this guy special anyway? A thousand murders a year in the city, and this one gets a Snapshot?”

Davis didn’t answer. Seriously, couldn’t Chaz be bothered to check the news once in a while? Or at least read the case notes?

They barely heard the shot across the street. Standing where they were, the little pop could have been almost anything. Someone flinging a bottle at a dumpster, a window breaking, even a door slamming. Davis jumped anyway.

Their perp, Enrique Estevez, hurried out of the building’s stairwell a minute later, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked around nervously, then set off down the street. Not quite at a run, but still obviously agitated.

“I’m off,” Chaz said.

“Don’t let him see you.”

Chaz gave him the look that meant, What, you think it’s my first day? Then he was out the door tailing Estevez, phone in hand.

Davis ducked out a moment later and turned down an alley, following the map on his phone toward Sixth. He would wait at the last point Estevez had been seen on the real day, in case Chaz lost the trail.

Davis called Chaz on the phone. “How’s he looking?”

“Nervous,” Chaz said over the line. “Street’s gone empty. Only a handful of people here. Should I take pictures of anyone, so the IRL cops can seek out witnesses?”

“No,” Davis said. “Too suspicious. And what would they witness? That Estevez was on the street? Just tail him.”

“Right,” Chaz said. “Hold up. He turned toward Eighth.”

Davis stopped in place. It was the wrong direction. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Is this a problem?”

“He was seen on Sixth in a few minutes,” Davis said. “Is he turning back?”

“No, we’re heading east, crossing avenues. Seems determined now. Not looking around as much.”

Davis cursed quietly, turning on his heels and heading back along the alleyway at a swift pace. The eyewitness who claimed to have seen Estevez on Sixth was wrong—either that or a Deviation had sent their subject in the wrong direction. If the percentage was that high already, this entire Snapshot would be a wash.

“I’m moving parallel to you,” Davis said, trying to keep himself from getting nervous. “You at Eighth yet?”

“Just passed it,” Chaz said. “Damn, Davis. He ducked into an alleyway, heading south. It’s going to be really hard to follow without looking suspicious.”

They couldn’t risk that. If Estevez got suspicious, it could create a ton of Deviations in his behavior. That was one type of Deviation they could do something about.

“I’m to the south on Twenty-First now,” Davis said. “I’ll bet I can intercept him.”

He stopped on the corner at Eighth Avenue, trying to hide the fact that he was puffing from the short jog. He’d have never passed fitness requirements for IRL fieldwork. Not anymore.

Still, he’d gotten into position fast enough to catch sight of Estevez leaving an alleyway ahead. Estevez turned east along Twenty-First Street, and Davis followed.

“I’ve got him,” Davis said, strolling along, trying to look nonchalant. Just another guy talking on his phone. Nothing to notice or worry about.

Damn. He was already feeling nervous. Stupid. This was a simple chase. He could do this without becoming a wreck.

“Nice work,” Chaz said. “I’m heading east on Twenty-Second, parallel to you.”