Read Online You've Been Warned by James Patterson - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson
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weighing that last possibility when the phone rings.
It’s awfully early for someone to be calling. The caller ID says “Operator.” Strange.
I pick up. “Hello?”
The operator sounds close to being a recording without actually being one. “I have a collect call from Kristin Burns. Will you accept the charges?”
Clearly the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet because I could’ve sworn she said a collect call
from
Kristin Burns.
“I’m sorry,
who’s
calling?”
“This is the operator.”
That part I got.
“No, I mean, who’s trying to call me?” I ask.
“Hold on a second, please.” There’s a click on the line, and she’s gone for a few seconds before returning. “It’s Kristin Burns,” she says.
Is this some type of joke?
“Michael, is that you?” I ask.
There’s another click, and I wait.
But the operator doesn’t come back.
No one does.
The line goes dead.
I guess Kristin Burns doesn’t want to talk to me after all.
Chapter 29
I’M NOT SURE WHAT to think after that phone call except that I
really
don’t feel like hanging around my apartment. Maybe because I’m shaking and I can’t make it stop.
As for the word
weirdness
to describe what’s going on, it’s officially far too mild a term.
At times like this,
as if there’s ever been a time like this before in my life,
I try to think of a bigger picture. For example. One second the whole universe was smaller than the head of a pin. The next second it was billions of times larger than the Earth. And the lesson to be learned from the big picture is exactly
what?
Thankfully, there’s an errand I have to run. Errands are good when you think you might be going stark-raving mad. So after showering and getting dressed, I hail a cab for Gotham Photo over in Chelsea. I’ve got a camera that needs a new lens.
“Hi. Is Javier here today?” I ask, walking up to the counter at Gotham. I notice that my shaking has finally stopped. Hey, the song in my head is gone too.
“He’s in the back,” says the clerk. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait for him.”
“Sure, I’ll let him know,” he says. “You’re Kristin, right?”
“Yep. Hi.”
The entire staff at Gotham Photo is friendly and they all know their stuff, but Javier’s my favorite. He’s always able to explain some of the more technical aspects of lenses and film without making me feel like an amateur. Truly, he’s as nice as can be.
“How are you, Kristin? It’s good to see you,” he greets me, smiling. He’s tall and thin and cultured, with a very gentle way about him.
We chat for a bit about anything and everything — so long as it has to do with photography. This isn’t merely a job for Javier; it’s more like a calling. He loves cameras that much. “My mother bought me my first, a Rollei Thirty-five when I was six years old,” he once told me.
I believe it.
“So when am I going to read about you in
Blind Spot
?” he asks. That’s the hip magazine that covers the famous as well as up-and-coming photographers.
“Just as soon as I get a new lens,” I answer.
I tell him about breaking mine, and we get busy choosing a replacement. After discussing a few, we settle on the latest Leica, which he highly recommends.
“It’s lighter and shoots cleaner,” he says. “And the best part is that I can give it to you for over a hundred dollars less than the one you had.”
Twist my arm, Javier.
As he writes up the sales slip, I casually tell him about the transparent-like effect happening with the pictures I developed from the hotel. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to bring the shots with me. I do my best to describe the glitch, but without Javier’s being able to see it, he can offer only educated guesses. Most I’ve thought of, a few I haven’t.
“Of course, if it had anything to do with your old lens,” he says with a grin, “your problem is solved.”
I’m anxious to find out, so I start
It’s awfully early for someone to be calling. The caller ID says “Operator.” Strange.
I pick up. “Hello?”
The operator sounds close to being a recording without actually being one. “I have a collect call from Kristin Burns. Will you accept the charges?”
Clearly the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet because I could’ve sworn she said a collect call
from
Kristin Burns.
“I’m sorry,
who’s
calling?”
“This is the operator.”
That part I got.
“No, I mean, who’s trying to call me?” I ask.
“Hold on a second, please.” There’s a click on the line, and she’s gone for a few seconds before returning. “It’s Kristin Burns,” she says.
Is this some type of joke?
“Michael, is that you?” I ask.
There’s another click, and I wait.
But the operator doesn’t come back.
No one does.
The line goes dead.
I guess Kristin Burns doesn’t want to talk to me after all.
Chapter 29
I’M NOT SURE WHAT to think after that phone call except that I
really
don’t feel like hanging around my apartment. Maybe because I’m shaking and I can’t make it stop.
As for the word
weirdness
to describe what’s going on, it’s officially far too mild a term.
At times like this,
as if there’s ever been a time like this before in my life,
I try to think of a bigger picture. For example. One second the whole universe was smaller than the head of a pin. The next second it was billions of times larger than the Earth. And the lesson to be learned from the big picture is exactly
what?
Thankfully, there’s an errand I have to run. Errands are good when you think you might be going stark-raving mad. So after showering and getting dressed, I hail a cab for Gotham Photo over in Chelsea. I’ve got a camera that needs a new lens.
“Hi. Is Javier here today?” I ask, walking up to the counter at Gotham. I notice that my shaking has finally stopped. Hey, the song in my head is gone too.
“He’s in the back,” says the clerk. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait for him.”
“Sure, I’ll let him know,” he says. “You’re Kristin, right?”
“Yep. Hi.”
The entire staff at Gotham Photo is friendly and they all know their stuff, but Javier’s my favorite. He’s always able to explain some of the more technical aspects of lenses and film without making me feel like an amateur. Truly, he’s as nice as can be.
“How are you, Kristin? It’s good to see you,” he greets me, smiling. He’s tall and thin and cultured, with a very gentle way about him.
We chat for a bit about anything and everything — so long as it has to do with photography. This isn’t merely a job for Javier; it’s more like a calling. He loves cameras that much. “My mother bought me my first, a Rollei Thirty-five when I was six years old,” he once told me.
I believe it.
“So when am I going to read about you in
Blind Spot
?” he asks. That’s the hip magazine that covers the famous as well as up-and-coming photographers.
“Just as soon as I get a new lens,” I answer.
I tell him about breaking mine, and we get busy choosing a replacement. After discussing a few, we settle on the latest Leica, which he highly recommends.
“It’s lighter and shoots cleaner,” he says. “And the best part is that I can give it to you for over a hundred dollars less than the one you had.”
Twist my arm, Javier.
As he writes up the sales slip, I casually tell him about the transparent-like effect happening with the pictures I developed from the hotel. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to bring the shots with me. I do my best to describe the glitch, but without Javier’s being able to see it, he can offer only educated guesses. Most I’ve thought of, a few I haven’t.
“Of course, if it had anything to do with your old lens,” he says with a grin, “your problem is solved.”
I’m anxious to find out, so I start
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