Bring your camera, I said. 20 minutes later we were set up across the street like the world's most dysfunctional surveillance team. Tyler had brought some high-tech equipment that I didn't ask about. And Tank had a laptop that could apparently stream video to social media platforms in real time. You sure about this?
Tyler asked. Once this goes online, there's no taking it back. They made their choice public in my driveway. I'm just returning the favor. We waited.
At 3:47 p.m., Curtis emerged from the room followed by Amber. They were laughing about something, completely oblivious to the fact that their afternoon delight was about to become evening entertainment. Rolling, Tank said quietly. The video quality was surprisingly good. You could clearly see Curtis's face, Amber's distinctive red hair, the motel room door with its peeling paint and broken number.
They kissed goodbye like teenagers, all hands and desperate passion. "Dirty laundry live," Tyler announced to his followers. "Broadcasting from scenic Riverside Motel, where love goes to die and marriages go to get buried. " The viewer count started climbing immediately. 50, then 100, then 500. The comment section exploded with recognition gossip and the kind of moral outrage that only comes from people watching someone else's life fall apart.
Curtis got in his BMW and drove away. Amber stood there for a moment, checking her phone, probably texting him about their next rendezvous. She had no idea that half the town was watching her adjust her skirt and fix her hair. "Stream's over," Tank announced. "But it's been saved to about 15 different platforms. " I felt a cold satisfaction settle in my chest.
It wasn't revenge yet. That would come later. This was just the opening act. That night my phone started ringing. Friends, neighbors, people I hadn't talked to in years.
Word was spreading faster than a wildfire in August. The last call came at midnight. It was Amber. "How could you? " she screamed into the phone. "How could you do something so cruel? " "I didn't do anything," I said calmly.
"I just watched you do it. " "You ruined everything! " "Curtis is furious! His wife saw the video. " "Curtis has a wife? I asked. Huh. Guess you're not as special as you thought. " The line went dead.
I poured myself a whiskey and sat on my front porch looking out at the neighborhood where I'd lived for two decades. Tomorrow the real work would begin. Monday morning arrived with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. I was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, an old habit that made me feel connected to a world that still printed news on paper, when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. "You think you're smart?