I kept a good distance behind him. At least ten different car lengths. And with my bike engine being swallowed up by after-work traffic, I felt comfortable pulling out my camera and snapping pictures of each and every store he dipped into after leaving his office. First stop? The grocery store. What every man thinks of when the love of his life goes missing.
“Maybe he’ll make a good Reuben for dinner just to stick it to them,” I said as a smirk spread across my face.
After groceries, it was a drive-thru. A greasy burger with a double order of fries after spending $102.34 in the store picking up food. Yes, I knew how much his bill had been. After all, what good were stealth movements if you couldn’t put them to practice every once in a while.
I loved tailing that asshole.
He had it coming to him, anyway.
Then, he pulled back out onto the main road. I waited two traffic light sequences before pulling out as well, then relied on my tablet to tell me where in the hell he was going. I cut through a couple of alleyways, only to see him dart down a back road instead of staying on the main road. And as I waited for an opening so I could follow him into the darkness, that little voice in my head came to life.
Go up and around. Box him in.
I turned on my left-hand turn signal and blazed a trail into traffic. Horns honked as I cut off cars, and I did exactly what my gut told me I needed to do. Instead of following behind him, I kept one eye on my mounted tablet and the other on the road in front of me. I went up two entire blocks before taking a right, and something inside of me screamed to stop.
So, not only did I stop, but I scrambled to get my bike hidden behind an abandoned dumpster before I searched for some sort of rooftop fire escape.
“Come on,” I grumbled, “there has to be one somewhere.”
Every time I checked my tablet, the GPS tracker hadn’t moved. Instead of going home, he had parked himself in the middle of a stack of buildings that had been under construction for almost two damn years. For all I knew, he had found the tracker and ditched it. Or, hell, maybe he had abandoned his entire vehicle in the process!
Gordon didn’t strike me as intelligent, though.
In fact, Gordon didn’t strike me as anything other than some ordinary police officer.
So, why were the hairs on the nape of my neck standing on end?
I have to get up onto a rooftop.
After circling the buildings and assessing my best vantage points, I found a rusted-out fire escape. It wasn’t the sturdiest thing on the planet, but I was light on my feet. I leapt up, catching the last rung of the ladder against my palms. And as I hoisted myself up, the entire structure started to creak.
“Come on,” I murmured as I pulled myself up to the second story, “just get me to the roof.”
In a specialty where speed and accuracy needed an even blend, I didn’t like how long it took me to get up to that roof. I wasted damn near six minutes of good surveillance time just trying to get myself up the rusty fire escape. Luckily, the building was ten stories high and had a pretty decent brick retaining wall around the outside of the roof.
Meaning, it wouldn’t take much to hide me from prying eyes.
“There you are,” I hissed as I dropped my backpack. “What the fuck are you doing out here at this time of the evening?”
Gordon was just… waiting there. His car, running. His hand, hanging out the driver’s side window. Just sitting there, in the middle of an alleyway, listening to music. The notes wafted in my general direction, causing my head to bob to the beat. Freddie Mercury, an absolute legend in my book.
At least he’s got decent taste in music.
I took my time getting set up. I placed my tablet down before sliding the headphones over my ears, and I tucked the cone into a worn-out groove in the retaining wall. I pointed it directly at Gordon, using the shadows the other, taller buildings cast in order to conceal me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I screwed the lens back onto my camera, ready to take pictures and listen to any and all incoming communications.
Because those damned hairs on the nape of my neck were giving themselves a fucking workout.
“All right,” I said as I got down onto my knees and used the wall to conceal my position, “let’s see what you’re really up to.”
Minutes turned into hours, and all I heard was Gordon butchering some of my favorite Freddie Mercury songs while chomping his jowls. He ate his dinner, and then busted out chips, and then opened up a jar of pickles, then dove into some jerky.
I was shocked the man’s heart still agreed to pump after listening to him stuff his face for damn near two hours.
Tck, tck, tck, tck, tck.
“Shit,” Gordon hissed.
That perked up my ears and I peered over the retaining wall. The ticking noise that had come out of nowhere seemed to distress the man, and I moved as slowly as possible so as to not attract attention. I held my breath, listening as the ticking sound grew closer. And as I watched Gordon step out of his SUV, he started wiping his hands off on his pants.
