somewhere in a hurry. That was pretty
sneaky, I thought. Then I went by a second time and pretended I was having a
conversation on my shit phone, all the while taking pictures through the
windows of her office. Then I had to find a place to look at the photos. I
couldn't just stand in the parking lot and do that because there was a security
guy walking around, and every time he saw some punk in a hooded sweatshirt, he
was on top of them telling them not to touch any cars. If I stood around long
enough, he'd probably come harass me, too. So I went over to the Starbucks,
because if there's one thing I'd learned, it's that nobody ever suspects you of
anything as long as you're drinking coffee. I went inside and waited in line.
“Hey, you got anything that someone
who normally doesn't come here would like?” I asked the teenager behind the
counter.
“Do you mean do we have anything
that people who don't like coming here would like? Because if they liked
coming here, they'd definitely like something , but if they don't like
coming here, it's because they don't like anything here,” he said. “And how
could we give someone who doesn't like coming here anything other than
something he doesn't like?”
This guy was trying to confuse me
with some sort of logic. I didn't have time for this crap.
“Here's what I mean smart guy. Can
you imagine Magnum P.I. coming in here and ordering something?”
“Yes, I can. We've got lots of
customers who wear Hawaiian shirts and drive Ferraris. We get people from Sony
Studios in here every day, so I've pretty much seen it all.”
“Well, imagine what you would give
those guys, and give me one of them. Make it really big.”
He went back and fooled around with
some gadgets. I thought he was screwing around back there, but it turns out
everything he was doing was for my coffee. He came back with a big cup and
handed it to me.
“Caramel Macchiato,” he said.
I paid the kid and went outside. I
sat down at one of the tables that had a sun umbrella and made sure I could see
the door to Gertie's office. This location seemed a little less cool than
waiting in a dark street in the Charger, but that's life I guess.
For a while I just let the coffee
sit there on the table. I'd never actually taken a sip of coffee from this
place before. Whenever I'd bought a cup of it in the past, I'd just waited for
it to get cold and thrown it away. I had never thought of myself as a coffee
guy, and since I had only needed it to blend in occasionally, there had never
been a reason to actually taste it. But now there I was with no booze around,
so I took the cup and gave it a try. Almost immediately, my heart rate
increased. I had the impression that my metabolism was speeding up, that I was
digesting faster, that if I wanted to, I could actually run for almost a
minute. The warmth that was normally just in my hand now spread out all over my
body. It was like someone had invented an anti-booze. I was thinking that now
I'd be able to get really wasted and then switch gears whenever I wanted. I
took some bigger swigs and almost burned my mouth, but I didn't care because I
was feeling ready for anything.
I started going through the pictures
I'd taken of the real-estate office. Most of my photos were blurry versions of
the photos of houses and condos that were posted up on the window. But
occasionally I could see behind them into the office. No one was there. It was
a small room with a desk and a couple of chairs for the customers. She had a
big computer monitor on her desk, but not much else. In the back of the room
there were some filing cabinets and shelves.
It was a little after four o'clock,
and I was starting to get bored. Normally when you're on a stakeout, you're in
a car and you have a partner who is in love with you who starts telling you all
sorts of secret love-confession stuff while you're looking at something
important in your binoculars. And then you answer something like, “hey, you
know when
sneaky, I thought. Then I went by a second time and pretended I was having a
conversation on my shit phone, all the while taking pictures through the
windows of her office. Then I had to find a place to look at the photos. I
couldn't just stand in the parking lot and do that because there was a security
guy walking around, and every time he saw some punk in a hooded sweatshirt, he
was on top of them telling them not to touch any cars. If I stood around long
enough, he'd probably come harass me, too. So I went over to the Starbucks,
because if there's one thing I'd learned, it's that nobody ever suspects you of
anything as long as you're drinking coffee. I went inside and waited in line.
“Hey, you got anything that someone
who normally doesn't come here would like?” I asked the teenager behind the
counter.
“Do you mean do we have anything
that people who don't like coming here would like? Because if they liked
coming here, they'd definitely like something , but if they don't like
coming here, it's because they don't like anything here,” he said. “And how
could we give someone who doesn't like coming here anything other than
something he doesn't like?”
This guy was trying to confuse me
with some sort of logic. I didn't have time for this crap.
“Here's what I mean smart guy. Can
you imagine Magnum P.I. coming in here and ordering something?”
“Yes, I can. We've got lots of
customers who wear Hawaiian shirts and drive Ferraris. We get people from Sony
Studios in here every day, so I've pretty much seen it all.”
“Well, imagine what you would give
those guys, and give me one of them. Make it really big.”
He went back and fooled around with
some gadgets. I thought he was screwing around back there, but it turns out
everything he was doing was for my coffee. He came back with a big cup and
handed it to me.
“Caramel Macchiato,” he said.
I paid the kid and went outside. I
sat down at one of the tables that had a sun umbrella and made sure I could see
the door to Gertie's office. This location seemed a little less cool than
waiting in a dark street in the Charger, but that's life I guess.
For a while I just let the coffee
sit there on the table. I'd never actually taken a sip of coffee from this
place before. Whenever I'd bought a cup of it in the past, I'd just waited for
it to get cold and thrown it away. I had never thought of myself as a coffee
guy, and since I had only needed it to blend in occasionally, there had never
been a reason to actually taste it. But now there I was with no booze around,
so I took the cup and gave it a try. Almost immediately, my heart rate
increased. I had the impression that my metabolism was speeding up, that I was
digesting faster, that if I wanted to, I could actually run for almost a
minute. The warmth that was normally just in my hand now spread out all over my
body. It was like someone had invented an anti-booze. I was thinking that now
I'd be able to get really wasted and then switch gears whenever I wanted. I
took some bigger swigs and almost burned my mouth, but I didn't care because I
was feeling ready for anything.
I started going through the pictures
I'd taken of the real-estate office. Most of my photos were blurry versions of
the photos of houses and condos that were posted up on the window. But
occasionally I could see behind them into the office. No one was there. It was
a small room with a desk and a couple of chairs for the customers. She had a
big computer monitor on her desk, but not much else. In the back of the room
there were some filing cabinets and shelves.
It was a little after four o'clock,
and I was starting to get bored. Normally when you're on a stakeout, you're in
a car and you have a partner who is in love with you who starts telling you all
sorts of secret love-confession stuff while you're looking at something
important in your binoculars. And then you answer something like, “hey, you
know when
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