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And if that wasn't a fucking depressing thought, I didn't know what was.
The thoughts nagged me through my shower, through my quick change, during my drive toward Michael's office building, knowing he said he typically worked until seven before heading out for the night.
They even clung to the corners of my mind as I sat there, scanning the road, looking for anything suspicious.
Michael worked in an upscale district a few towns from my Navesink Bank office. Which meant that the buildings were colossal, blanking out any bit of the setting sun. The lamps lighting the streets cast most of the cars in shadow, making it impossible to see what--or who--might be inside any of them.
It was a long, frustrating twenty minutes with my thoughts racing around uncharacteristically until the client finally moved out the front doors, pausing there to check his phone for a solid five minutes, giving me just enough ammunition to call him a clueless idiot.
If you thought you were being stalked, you got your ass out of and into safe spaces as quickly as possible. He was practically asking to be shot if that was what his supposed stalker had in mind.
He finally got into his Porsche, turned it over, and pulled out without so much as looking. As though the rest of the word should cater to his whims.
I figured that was it, that I was going to call this a night.
And then another car shot out of its spot with a similar carelessness, but hung back several car lengths until Michael turned the corner, then carefully followed along after another car had moved between them.
That that looked suspiciously like a tail.
A bad one, since the whole point of tailing someone was to do it without anyone suspecting you.
Maybe the client wasn't so paranoid after all.
I followed suit several cars back, keeping an eye on the tail more than Michael since their moves were what mattered most. No turn signals. Rushing through yellow lights.
In ten minutes, I was sure of it, sure enough to jot down a hasty, nearly illegible note on an envelope balanced on my dash.
The final turn I knew to be the client's one.
Back to his house.
There was a pause from the other car--another black car but one that stood out because not many people drove a Tesla Model X's with their ridiculous Falcon Wing doors and uppity hybrid motors, and 100 grand price tags--long enough that it was suspicious since there was no stop sign or light in sight. And then it swerved suddenly to the opposite side, racing down the side street in the other direction.
I didn't see much save for very blonde--almost white--hair.
So long as they didn't spot me tailing them, then I would easily be able to pick out a Tesla X driven by someone with white-blonde hair the next time I staked out Michael's work.
I expected to be on a wild goose chase for at least a week.
Having a lead almost immediately was going to make this a whole lot easier. Which would lead to a paycheck much sooner. And then I could wash my hands of the asshole once and for all.
So I needed to set my mind to more important problems.
Like who the hell I was going to bring to Sunday dinner next week.TWOReaganIt's not like I ever had any intentions of becoming a stalker.
I don't think it is a profession or hobby any of us start out dreaming about. Okay, well maybe those creepy guys with the cut out words from the newspapers were always a bit inclined to sit in their cars for hours on end waiting for someone to move around.
For me, though, I felt like cops were going to storm me when I went to buy my set of binoculars. In my anxiousness, I had prattled on endlessly to the poor cashier about my newfound love of bird watching. I even asked if she knew of any good places to find said birds. To which she mumbled something about the local park as I jabbed my credit card into the machine so hard, I nearly snapped it. Then grabbed the binoculars out of her hand without waiting for a bag and rushing out the door.
It wasn't suspicious at all.
Luckily, no one came storming after me, demanding to know what my true intentions were with the binoculars.
A criminal mastermind, I was not.
But this was a one-time thing for me anyway, so I figured I could get away with not being the best at it.
Hell, I didn't even rent a car or anything for my stakeouts. And, let's face it, my car wasn't one most people saw very often. Especially in Jersey, where charging stations were nearly nonexistent. I figured I would get away with it, though, seeing as Michael worked in an area where expensive cars were a dime a dozen. And where my Tesla likely wasn't even in the top ten most luxurious cars parked on the street at any given time.
