As I step out of the house, spinning the key ring around my finger, my senses prickle. I look toward the porch next door. A scarred man with aviator sunglasses sits in an old rocking chair, looking slightly bored as he slips his hand underneath a mildly dingy T-shirt and scratches his belly. His shorts are denim so faded they’re almost white.
He’s the guy I saw walking around the block before, the one with the limp. Seems completely uninterested, but something about him leaves me unsettled. He’s projecting harmlessness, but there’s something lurking underneath. Something dangerous, like a sea snake hiding under the calm ocean surface. It reminds me of all the human trash I’ve had to take out.
Bobbi never had a neighbor that raised my hackles before. I checked all of them out when she inherited this place. Besides, the house whose porch he’s occupying used to belong to Mr. and Mrs. Park. The Korean immigrant couple sold their home to another Korean immigrant family, and I’d bet my left nut that man isn’t a Korean national. A black Subaru Forester sits there, the bottom half of the SUV mottled with dried specks of mud and dirt.
He looks over, noticing me. “Hey.”
I paste on my usual vapid rich-boy face. “Hi. You new?”
He smiles, flashing perfect white teeth. “Yeah. Just moved in not too long ago. You Bobbi’s boyfriend or something? I thought I heard her go to work this morning.” His eyes slide to Bobbi’s driveway, my gleaming Bugatti the sole occupant of the pale concrete.
“Fiancé,” I say with an innocent grin.
The man’s smile widens, but lacks genuine affability. Bet if I yank those sunglasses off, his eyes will be cold and flat. Does he have the hots for my woman?
“Oh. Well, congratulations. Didn’t realize she was engaged.” Conversational, inviting me to share details.
My mask doesn’t falter. The grin I give him is full of amiableness, which he matches. We might as well be in a competition to see who has the cheesiest smile.
“Yup. Now you know.” Even my voice is congenial. I should get a medal.
“Where are my manners?” he says. “I’m Trey.”
“Noah.”
“Nice to meet you.” He shrugs like he’s slightly self-conscious. “Probably noticed the scars. Got ’em in Afghanistan.”
Slid that little nugget in, did you?“Oh, wow.” I feign being impressed. “Thank you for your service.”Assuming you served. Guys sometimes lie about things like that. You immediately get some respect and cred, and how many people will actually check your service record?
“Second tour. Didn’t go as well as I hoped.”
“Sorry to hear that. Why can’t the bad guys just surrender when we show up, huh? It’s so stupid we have to actually fight.”
“Seems like some folks are just plain stubborn.”
I nod. “There’s gotta be an easier way. I say press the button and turn the whole region into a sea of glass. Then punch a hole in it and drain off the oil.” I flash him my best simple-minded-rich-moron grin. “I mean, why have all those nukes if we aren’t going to use ’em, right? It’s like living on a ranch and refusing to eat beef.”
“You might have a point there.”
“Sure. It’s a waste, is what it is. We need to use what we’ve got. I’m not paying taxes so they can sit on stuff while good men like you get hurt.”
“Well, I appreciate that.” But he can’t quite hide a slight sneer.
I shake my head. “Yeah. Welp, time to go see my fiancée.” I give him an oblivious wave and head to my car.
Then, pretending to fiddle with the sound system, I pull out my phone and hit one of the “social media” apps. I enter a few strings to verify that it’s me and look up the property details of the house next door. Still owned by that immigrant family. This guy must be renting. Trey is too common a name to get a decent hit. I raise my phone as though checking my texts, then take a shot of his face and upload it to the app.
I drive to the florist, which should have a magnificent bouquet of pink peonies ready, while face recognition AI does its magic. The technology is scarily accurate now. People think a pair of shades or a mask can hide your identity, but that’s not the case. There are billions of people running around with their phones, snapping shots of you without you realizing. You could be in the background of some stranger’s picture, and it’s fed into the system that scours the Internet.
The AI returns six possible matches in SoCal. The scars on his face are problematic. Isn’t that convenient?
Two served in the military. Both did a tour in Afghanistan and got injured there. So he checks out…sort of. But why does he give me the vibe I get whenever I first see a target in person?
As I pay for the flowers and return to my car, a text from Mom pops up.
–Mom: Are you stalking Bobbi’s new neighbor? If you have time for that, shouldn’t you take the job?
–Me: Are YOU stalking ME?
