The Voyeur Mafioso, Part 9 (Final Installment)

Part 8 here.

I may have lost a bit of privacy, but they can’t get much from me. Should I arrive home to find my apartment ransacked, I’d find it a trifling annoyance, entirely wasted effort. I keep no records and I wipe clean where I’ve been the instant my work is done.

The FBI is far more dramatic in its dealings. The tend to ambush a person from four sides at once. No, this is not law enforcement, nor is it the auspices of the United States government. This is someone who knows a little more than he or she should. I’m going to need another phone, because this one has clearly been compromised. In fact, it’d be best if we adopted new phones for everyone.

My invisible superiors have no doubt formed these conclusions well before I have. My phone beeps, comfortingly.

RETURN TO SAFE HAVEN. ASSUME YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED. TAKE A ROUTE YOU NORMALLY WOULD NOT.  

I’ve always been the sort to cut my losses. It seems we’ve been infiltrated by someone who has hacked into the personal information of everyone on payroll. They know our names now, but their motives are difficult to gauge. Some people do it only to prove that they can. I suspect simple revenge as a motive.

Nothing links me to the videos. Should we need to dissolve our business endeavor, it does make me sad that my best work will be destroyed. What was at first only a job became over time a labor of love. I recall the book Fahrenheit 451, whereby a totalitarian state burns books to control information. A secret society becomes the keeper of literature. Once a book has been memorized, it is burned to prevent incriminating its owner.

If only I could condition my brain in the same general way. Visuals are ephemeral, though I do remember a few details here and there. I mostly remember middle school study hall, the way girls only had to run their fingers through their hair to produce desire and longing. It seems silly in hindsight, but that’s the way it was for most of us.

I don’t dare return home for several hours. My main concern is whether or not someone’s trashed the place to find evidence. Like I’ve said, it would be a waste of time and effort. I’ve never made copies of any of my work and I’m too careful to resort to rookie mistakes. Being sentimental is a liability to too many. I officially do not exist beyond my nondescript title of pornographer, my physical address, and my pseudonym.

Today is a brand new ball game. Every last ounce of me is telling me to flee, to get the hell out of here before it gets nastier. I travel light and have few possessions. My work computer may already be in the hands of someone else. The only other tools I use regularly are the camera and my adjustable lens. I should probably smash both to bits.

I won’t be the one holding the bag at the end of this. Having disposed of all potential evidence, I’m going to the airport immediately. I’m going to get out of the country while I still can, and wait for all of this to die down. From now, I’m off the grid at an undisclosed location. It was fun while it lasted, but I have too much to lose. Now I feel a new terror that goes well beyond documenting a middle aged woman trying on lingerie. What do I do next?