Read Anonymity for Free Online

Could she still cobble one together from her failed high school attempt? Maybe she could go out and shoot more.
    He got up off the stool. “Couldn't hurt to take a look.”
    “It's just a hobby,” she said defensively.
    He drained his beer, then patted his pocket—the universal cigarette search. He found the pack, snapped it against his hand and one popped out. He placed it in his mouth. Austin is a no-smoking city, so all her smoking customers congregated on the deck and patio. But the bar was almost empty now, so Emily leaned over with a lighter and flamed his smoke. He inhaled and twisted his lips into a devious grin.
    “All right, then.” Smoke curled out of him as he spoke. “So you want to be a photojournalist. Here's my card. Send me some stuff.”
    When he left, Emily turned to closing out the cash register. Frank sat in his favorite booth, watching the wait staff marry ketchup bottles and fill salt and pepper shakers. Emily locked the door after the last waitress left, then she poured a tall glass of orange juice and drew two beers.
    “So who was that guy?” Frank asked when she joined him in the booth. Frank had never asked Emily if she wanted to be bar manager, he just kept giving her new jobs each time an employee left. People don't show, you cover their shift. It happens a few times, you're suddenly in charge.
    “Just some guy.”
    “Really. ‘Cause you didn't look at him like he was just some guy.”
    She smiled. “It was Travis Roberts from Be Here Now .”
    “Ah,” Frank said, a noncommittal sound. No judgment, which was one of the things Emily liked about him.
    Angel came from the kitchen wiping his hands on the hem of his Keep Austin Weird shirt. He took a seat at their booth and gulped down the orange juice. Widely considered one of the best Tex Mex chefs in Austin, Angel put Group on the map with his equally awesome beef brisket, a dish that had put ten pounds on Emily's scrawny frame over the years.
    “Busy night,” Angel said.
    “People drink in good times and people drink in bad times. That's why I'm in the bar business,” Frank said. He raised his glass and they all clinked.
    Group was more than just a job to Emily. It was her comfort zone. Frank and Angel were big brothers. The bar was a community. She knew her customers and their routines. Lunch regulars were contractors, electricians and plumbers nursing hangovers with Bloody Marys. She usually got a retired group of Town Lake walkers and an array of UT professors, cops, firemen, EMS, bank workers and sales reps. Often, margarita slurping tourists would come south across the Congress Bridge looking for the SoCo shops and art galleries promoted by the “Keep Austin Weird” campaign.
    Most regulars came back in the early evening to play in dart tournaments in hopes of winning enough money to cover their Lone Star and tequila shots. Late at night, Group got spillover from the thousands partying on Sixth and Congress. You never knew exactly what would walk in. Politicians, cowboys, rappers, rednecks, frat boys, punks, street performers, computer geeks, movie stars, musicians and even the occasional cluster of suburbanites in their polo shirts and pressed jeans all wandered in on occasion.
    Emily was never surprised, no matter what came through her door, but this night something unexpected had happened. Travis Roberts had stumbled into her bar and offered her a strange proposition. She'd have to get her camera equipment out and take some shots. Remember how the darned thing worked. Photographing street culture was intriguing and the prospect of doing it with Travis Roberts made it all the more appealing.

Emily
    A BRANCH lashed her cheek.
    “Sorry,” Travis said. She followed him through a wooded area along Shoal Creek. Above the fringe of trees, the tops of million dollar houses stairstepped up the hillside behind Pease Park. Traffic noise had dwindled. The most present sound was the crunch of leaves beneath their hiking boots. The