text: "He needs the new set of photos by midnight." It's not my problem. How did it get this way? He used to shoot photos for high school graduations and weddings. The porn business just paid really well. Too well. Too well to quit his job. He walked up the narrow staircase muttering to himself all the while, trying to compensate for his nerves he began humming a little tune. He was supposed to meet this woman at 2pm at her studio apartment to take some pictures, and she didn't come to the door. Someone let him in, and now he was walking up the stairs feeling like a criminal about to be caught for missing a deadline. A porn magazine deadline... There was a brief but very noise of breaking glass and then absolute silence. What the hell was that?! Room 202 That was the apartment he was supposed to be in. Jeremy edged closer when he was knocked on side of the head by the door and dropped the camera as the door swung wide open, he fell back wheezing, clutching his chest having a panic attack. Someone ran out the door entrance and down the stair. “They’re watching” "Its broken." “Be Ready” Jeremy looked down at his shoes. The photo shoot was a failure "It can never be fixed." I'll never be able to prove it. Ghost would not be pleased. Ghost was his manager. Ghost ran a porn magazine business that scored the income and he was past his deadline, and he was underperforming and now, he had a broken camera. Jeremy collected himself and peered inside the entrance. Bad idea said his brain, good idea said his legs. He was already inside seeing if there was anyone in there. There was no sign of life. Everything was a mess, and the place had been turned inside out. He was relieved to discover the source of the noise was the chaos of this destruction, and not someone being murdered or hurt and hopefully his model/now potential robbery victim was ok. He thought to call her or text, but the next idea came to him. “I’m in her apartment. I’m a potential suspect.” His legs began to take life of their own when he saw it. One just like he had in his youth. A film camera in the corner of the room. He decided that’s all he would take - justice for the thief who broke his--and he would hide it come down to any pending investigation, after all he witnessed the real thief and he wasn’t the one who ransacked the place. He took the camera, barely touching the thing as to preserve its identity until it was safely stowed away and hidden. When he got home, he realized the camera also contained an old used roll of film still intact. He could take the film roll without the camera to be developed without drawing any suspicion. The next day was Tuesday, Ghost was emailing, texting about the importance of regular photo-shoots and how he had missed quota for the month. On Thursday there was a call that his film roll had been developed and the pictures were ready to be picked up. He was too busy that day with three photo shoots and on Friday he went to the store to retrieve his pictures. Well, they weren’t really his. And that was the problem. They were glamorous. Haunting. Surreal. They were pornography meets romance, desire and beauty. A woman with shadowy eyes holding flowers in a seductive way during a light rain, with the background of the rainforest. A hippie tanning on a nude beach, three friends naked in a sunflower field dancing, A threesome in a tree house with blacklights painting each other’s bodies in neon glow in the dark finger paint. A woman in a bathtub where you see only the bottom half of her and not the top. A man and a woman in a hot spring who both of long hair and look gothic. A gothic chic with tons of piercings on a motorcycle in the desert smiling. A lady with deep maroon lipstick, eagle spread on a white feather bed, dangling a cherry over her breasts, kissing a diamond, fully nude mounting another woman loosely dressed in satin, draping a scarf across the room words could not describe or do these images justice for the beauty of these women, their curves and bodies. Four thick curvy women and one heavier man pillow fighting in a hotel room. Pornography as it should be fun seductive happy flirtatious. A woman sipping a martini on a beach somewhere in only her sandals wearing a pearl necklace. Another image shows a man fully nude, with a woman. The content was explicit yet exotic. Jeremy did exactly what he thought he could and wanted to do, he sent them off to Ghost. Ghost liked the content and approved and published them in a magazine. There was instant praise, and then Jeremy found himself getting a knock on the door by the FBI. He was now the centerpiece of a sex-trafficking porn smuggling criminal investigation. Since Ghost was Ghost, of course Jeremy’s name was on the copyright, also giving him sudden full right to the royalties of the magazine he bought and hiring a lawyer before it would be seized by the FBI. As for porn smuggling, “it’s the internet” so a few images got sold on the dark web, that’s not porn smuggling, that’s inability for someone to protect data. And immigration laws should be changed so that women don’t have to resort to porn to make a living, or to live a better life in another country. Since money talks and Jeremy’s fingerprints were only on the camera, unlinking him to the model- --Jeremy’s defense worked--and since his accusers used the photos copyright ownership in order to pin the crime on Jeremy, he was able have the camera and retain the magazine royalties since no one else claimed them. Jeremy won the case and is now a millionaire. Ghost lived happily ever after too as ghost, where he may be.... probably living it up in Tijuana. The End