Treasa and I went to the Philadelphia Boat Show yesterday. Unlike the Baltimore Boat Show, I wasn’t there on behalf of Mother, or any other official business. Instead, we just went up to look at what we’d spend money on if we had a spare hundred grand, which we don’t.
On the way there, though, we encountered multiple sirens from police, fire response personnel and emergency medics. The short cut I wanted to take to the highway was blocked off. Nothing incriminating was in my truck, so I wasn’t concerned if we got stopped, but because we were forced to take an alternate route, I was glad I knew the area well enough not to get lost.
The road we took wasn’t something I was familiar with because I knew the area, but rather a series of side streets I learned because they were an additional way for me to get to work when I need to get to the downtown office. Every so often, I’d take the extra ten minutes to wind my way through these neighborhoods to see if I could recognize a car that I sometimes saw on my typical commute. The chances that someone was taking the same route on the same day as me would be slim. It’s a good way to see if you’ve picked up a tail.
Yesterday, however, I was less concerned with that. Instead, it showed how preparation for one thing can pay off greatly for another.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Showing posts with label tails. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tails. Show all posts
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Instead Of A Good Dinner
There are times when your job calls you to take something that you otherwise wouldn’t dream of possessing. Lot’s of times you will be asked to be the middleman, the information/material conduit from one person to the next, because you can be trusted. Today was one of those times where it was made clear to me that ignoring this request wasn’t an option.
After work I meandered through rush hour traffic to avoid catching a tail and picked up some goods that I’ll need to drop off later tonight. Without knowing exactly what was in the sack, I was pretty sure that possessing them puts my health and wellbeing in jeopardy. Of course, with it being a second trip out late at night, the drop is going to stink, but it has to be done.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
After work I meandered through rush hour traffic to avoid catching a tail and picked up some goods that I’ll need to drop off later tonight. Without knowing exactly what was in the sack, I was pretty sure that possessing them puts my health and wellbeing in jeopardy. Of course, with it being a second trip out late at night, the drop is going to stink, but it has to be done.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Going My Way?
What to do when you have to transport a body? Well, there are a few different types of bodies to transport.
First, you have a dead body. They’re easy to conceal in the trunk of a car and don’t make much noise. But, they are quite hard to explain if you’re talking to a customs agent who decides it would be a good idea to take a peak in your trunk.
Second are the alive but hostile bodies. The best part about this type is that they’re alive. When sitting in a car they don’t look dead and when given the proper motivation, or threat of physical violence to either them or someone they care about, they will generally sit still and can even say helpful things like, “No officer, there isn’t a problem here at all.” The worst part about the alive but hostiles is, well, they’re alive. They’re under duress and can be total wildcards. They can be a complete pain in the neck, alert law enforcement and get stressed enough to think that exiting a vehicle while bound at eighty five miles per hour on a busy highway is a good, safe way to attempt an escape.
Lastly are the alive and friendly type. For this kind, you can set up an arranged meeting time and place. Around lunch works well because it is a common time to leave the office. You get to the parking lot, pick up your friend Carson, take him to where he needs to go, acquire what information you need, and avoid information you don’t, like what is in that backpack, make sure you’re not being followed and return to work just in time to make that enthralling conference call you were scared you might miss.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
First, you have a dead body. They’re easy to conceal in the trunk of a car and don’t make much noise. But, they are quite hard to explain if you’re talking to a customs agent who decides it would be a good idea to take a peak in your trunk.
Second are the alive but hostile bodies. The best part about this type is that they’re alive. When sitting in a car they don’t look dead and when given the proper motivation, or threat of physical violence to either them or someone they care about, they will generally sit still and can even say helpful things like, “No officer, there isn’t a problem here at all.” The worst part about the alive but hostiles is, well, they’re alive. They’re under duress and can be total wildcards. They can be a complete pain in the neck, alert law enforcement and get stressed enough to think that exiting a vehicle while bound at eighty five miles per hour on a busy highway is a good, safe way to attempt an escape.
Lastly are the alive and friendly type. For this kind, you can set up an arranged meeting time and place. Around lunch works well because it is a common time to leave the office. You get to the parking lot, pick up your friend Carson, take him to where he needs to go, acquire what information you need, and avoid information you don’t, like what is in that backpack, make sure you’re not being followed and return to work just in time to make that enthralling conference call you were scared you might miss.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Good Things Come In...
This is certainly not the sight you want to see as soon as you wake up, and before your first cup of coffee.
Treasa and the dogs stayed over last night. I, being the first to rise, went downstairs, started the coffee and took the dogs outside. At the end of the cul-de-sac were two SUVs and a truck. Given the ice/snow covered roads, I’m more concerned about being attacked by vehicles with four wheel drive than some tinted out performance sedan.
The engines were cold and there wasn’t anyone inside the vehicles. Should I come under attack this morning, I have an extra layer of security; Brogan, the canine door bell.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thank You, Come Again
After work I went over to a small strip mall to meet someone on Mother’s behalf. This was the kind of place that was busy enough so that two people arriving at the same time wouldn’t be the only thing to watch, but not so congested that you had a hard time keeping track of who was coming in and out.
The strip mall had two ways in and out, one on each end of the parking lot. I entered from the west side. As I was pulling into my isolated parking spot, I observed a loading truck pull up on the east end, partially obstructing the exit. That way out now pinched the flow of traffic to one lane. It could still be used for a quick escape unless some innocent was entering as I tried to speed away. Or, of course, it could be by design.
Either way, the meet had to take place now. With the parking lot sparsely populated, sitting in a parked car for the truck to depart, if in fact the truck was there for legitimate reasons, was not an option. It would draw too much attention.
When I saw someone matching the rough description of the person I was waiting for walk into the convenience store, I followed. To even a fairly well trained eye, as well as the security cameras, our contact looked polite and casual. After my contact grabbed a bottle of Pepsi (blech) from the refrigerator, he held the door open for me so I could select a Coke Zero. Holding the door open gave the window just enough time to collect some condensation to further obstruct what our aligned bodies could not. Two electronic monitors were now inside my jacket. They were equipped with both a GPS and a satellite enabled recorder. We walked to the counter without any additional interaction, paid, and went our separate ways.
With the east end still partially blocked, and no sign of an ambush coming from the west, I exited where I entered and made my way back home.
What were the two devices for, you ask? Well, Mother’s intelligence places someone of interest at the Baltimore Boat Show tomorrow. Should they purchase a boat, it’s my job to make sure one of these devices is concealed inside. Why two? Well, in case they buy two boats.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
The strip mall had two ways in and out, one on each end of the parking lot. I entered from the west side. As I was pulling into my isolated parking spot, I observed a loading truck pull up on the east end, partially obstructing the exit. That way out now pinched the flow of traffic to one lane. It could still be used for a quick escape unless some innocent was entering as I tried to speed away. Or, of course, it could be by design.
Either way, the meet had to take place now. With the parking lot sparsely populated, sitting in a parked car for the truck to depart, if in fact the truck was there for legitimate reasons, was not an option. It would draw too much attention.
When I saw someone matching the rough description of the person I was waiting for walk into the convenience store, I followed. To even a fairly well trained eye, as well as the security cameras, our contact looked polite and casual. After my contact grabbed a bottle of Pepsi (blech) from the refrigerator, he held the door open for me so I could select a Coke Zero. Holding the door open gave the window just enough time to collect some condensation to further obstruct what our aligned bodies could not. Two electronic monitors were now inside my jacket. They were equipped with both a GPS and a satellite enabled recorder. We walked to the counter without any additional interaction, paid, and went our separate ways.
With the east end still partially blocked, and no sign of an ambush coming from the west, I exited where I entered and made my way back home.
What were the two devices for, you ask? Well, Mother’s intelligence places someone of interest at the Baltimore Boat Show tomorrow. Should they purchase a boat, it’s my job to make sure one of these devices is concealed inside. Why two? Well, in case they buy two boats.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
What Time Do We Checkout?
Hotels are interesting in my business. On one hand, the anonymity offered can be of great use. It’s fairly easy to reserve a room under an alias and move about a city without leaving a paper trail. It’s very easy to enter a hotel and meet someone, whether it is in their room or at the hotel bar, without raising the slightest suspicion. But because of the transient nature of these establishments, picking up a tail can be extremely difficult.
Such was my concern when I accompanied Treasa to a Country Yard hotel this evening. She was looking book an allotment of rooms for an upcoming event and wanted to see the amenities. We had an appointment with the sales manager at 6 PM. I left work right at 5 PM and sat in the parking lot scouting traffic and staff movements for just under an hour. At roughly 17:47 I called Treasa and told her that I had arrived. She would be pulling in shortly.
By this time I was pretty sure I didn’t have anyone following me, but given the fact that I hadn’t set of the meeting ahead of time and placed an ally on the inside, my alertness was on overdrive.
As I sat in the lobby and waited for Treasa, I was continuously monitoring staff and patrons for any sign that they recognized me. I’m not sure how anyone would know I would be at the Country Yard this evening, but if they did, there’s a chance my photo would be circulated ahead of time. Either a glance lasting a second too long or the opposite, blatant recognition avoidance, can be tell tale signs that someone could be on to me.
I took advantage of the complimentary coffee while I waited. A scalding cup of joe is quite good at disorientating an assailant when flung in their face.
Treasa arrived and we met with the sales manager. The meeting went well. She received the information she needed. Twenty minutes later, we left the hotel. I took a few extra turns on the way home to make sure I wasn’t followed.
A grilled jalapeno and pepper jack cheese burger, a la the Burger From Hell, for dinner, a few more episodes of 24, and hopefully an early night to bed.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Such was my concern when I accompanied Treasa to a Country Yard hotel this evening. She was looking book an allotment of rooms for an upcoming event and wanted to see the amenities. We had an appointment with the sales manager at 6 PM. I left work right at 5 PM and sat in the parking lot scouting traffic and staff movements for just under an hour. At roughly 17:47 I called Treasa and told her that I had arrived. She would be pulling in shortly.
By this time I was pretty sure I didn’t have anyone following me, but given the fact that I hadn’t set of the meeting ahead of time and placed an ally on the inside, my alertness was on overdrive.
As I sat in the lobby and waited for Treasa, I was continuously monitoring staff and patrons for any sign that they recognized me. I’m not sure how anyone would know I would be at the Country Yard this evening, but if they did, there’s a chance my photo would be circulated ahead of time. Either a glance lasting a second too long or the opposite, blatant recognition avoidance, can be tell tale signs that someone could be on to me.
I took advantage of the complimentary coffee while I waited. A scalding cup of joe is quite good at disorientating an assailant when flung in their face.
Treasa arrived and we met with the sales manager. The meeting went well. She received the information she needed. Twenty minutes later, we left the hotel. I took a few extra turns on the way home to make sure I wasn’t followed.
A grilled jalapeno and pepper jack cheese burger, a la the Burger From Hell, for dinner, a few more episodes of 24, and hopefully an early night to bed.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Monday, January 11, 2010
Didn't Shake Me, Didn't Even Stir Me One Bit
I had to stop at the grocery store on the way home. I was out of Coke Zero. Come about 1 PM, sometime a man’s just has to get his caffeine fix to make it through another meeting. In order pinch pennies where I can, I’ll buy cases of it at a time and bring it in to work instead of frequenting the vending machines.
As I was making my way through a busy aisle, a man suddenly stopped and started to count the items in his cart. He was waaaay over the limit for the express line, so I had no idea what he was doing. When you’re in a tight area with a lot of unknown subjects moving about and suddenly your mobility is hindered, you prepare for an ambush or you ready yourself to die.
Instinctively I grabbed a can of tuna fish off of the shelf. This, or any other canned item, can either be used as a bludgeoning device or as something to hurl at your attacker’s brow in close quarters. With the blocker ahead of me, I backed up against the right side of the aisle and checked back down to my left. This was previously my 6 o’clock. I did this for two reasons. The first, the attack would probably come from behind me. Secondly, the stupid old blocker caused enough congestion so that if the assailant was coming from that direction, they’d be impeded for long enough for me to recognize the attack.
There was no threat. As it was, I needed some tuna anyway. I exchanged the one I had in my hand for another brand that was on sale, proceeded to check out, and made my way back home.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Are We There Yet?
Today ended up being fairly uneventful. It did start with a bit of a scare though. When I arrived at work, I noticed a Verizon maintenance van backed into the corner spot in the corner of the parking lot, providing a full view of the area. Two men were inside. The driver was talking on his cell phone. When I see a van, I immediately think surveillance. Name brand company vehicles aren’t typically used, but you don’t stay alive by dismissing possible threats.
Pretending to fend off the cold morning, I hastened my pace and headed towards the office entrance. I always carry a pen. Usually it’s for jotting down information, but this morning I was ready to impale a retina or four if the situation dictated it. Once inside, I knew I was out of the van’s sightline so I relaxed a little. I swiped my badge on the card reader, and as I entered the revolving door, a buzzer went off and the door reversed its turn, pushing me back into the lobby.
Apparently the “Oh shit” I mumbled under by breath was audible to the brunette behind me. She laughed and said that this happens all the time. Another swipe of my badge, and I entered the office without a problem.
I was able to confirm from multiple people that security door gives everyone problems from time to time. I wasn’t able to determine anything about the maintenance van though. It’ll be something to keep an eye on.
The rest of the day dragged on unbearably. I knew it was bad when I laughed to myself thinking that I was “bored as a two-by-four.” At least tomorrow’s Friday.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Pretending to fend off the cold morning, I hastened my pace and headed towards the office entrance. I always carry a pen. Usually it’s for jotting down information, but this morning I was ready to impale a retina or four if the situation dictated it. Once inside, I knew I was out of the van’s sightline so I relaxed a little. I swiped my badge on the card reader, and as I entered the revolving door, a buzzer went off and the door reversed its turn, pushing me back into the lobby.
Apparently the “Oh shit” I mumbled under by breath was audible to the brunette behind me. She laughed and said that this happens all the time. Another swipe of my badge, and I entered the office without a problem.
I was able to confirm from multiple people that security door gives everyone problems from time to time. I wasn’t able to determine anything about the maintenance van though. It’ll be something to keep an eye on.
The rest of the day dragged on unbearably. I knew it was bad when I laughed to myself thinking that I was “bored as a two-by-four.” At least tomorrow’s Friday.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Man's Best Friend
Treasa and I met at her friend’s house around 4 PM. She left me on the porch as she went in. The dogs obviously recognized her and immediately sat and awaited their leashes. We took them for a short walk and let them reiterate that the corner of the garden was in fact their territory. The stroll gave me a chance to earn enough trust for Treasa to invite me into her friend’s house.
While Treasa ensured that the dogs hadn’t left of made a mess in the house, I took a minute to take mental note of all exits. Treasa’s friends had hired a dog walker, yet we couldn’t determine if they had stopped by yet. The payment was still on the dining room table. It’s possible that they wouldn’t take the check until the three day assignment was completed, but unlikely.
We decided to stay a bit longer and give the dogs some attention. They appreciated the companionship and took to me quickly. The best way to get a woman to like you is to get her dog to like you. Though these weren’t Treasa’s pets, wagging tails were definitely a step in the right direction.
When it was time to go, we still hadn’t figured out if the dog walker had been there previously. It was a few minutes after 5 PM, so it was conceivable that her scheduled arrival was later in the evening.
I walked over to the leashes that we had hung behind the front door. After explaining to the dogs that they weren’t getting another walk, I twisted the leashes so that the clasps were all facing in the same direction. That way, I explained, that even if the walker didn’t inspect the check, between the order of the leashes and the direction of the clasps, we’d be able to tell if the dogs had been taken for a walk.
She smiled and said that dogs would really enjoy having us check on them tomorrow morning.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
While Treasa ensured that the dogs hadn’t left of made a mess in the house, I took a minute to take mental note of all exits. Treasa’s friends had hired a dog walker, yet we couldn’t determine if they had stopped by yet. The payment was still on the dining room table. It’s possible that they wouldn’t take the check until the three day assignment was completed, but unlikely.
We decided to stay a bit longer and give the dogs some attention. They appreciated the companionship and took to me quickly. The best way to get a woman to like you is to get her dog to like you. Though these weren’t Treasa’s pets, wagging tails were definitely a step in the right direction.
When it was time to go, we still hadn’t figured out if the dog walker had been there previously. It was a few minutes after 5 PM, so it was conceivable that her scheduled arrival was later in the evening.
I walked over to the leashes that we had hung behind the front door. After explaining to the dogs that they weren’t getting another walk, I twisted the leashes so that the clasps were all facing in the same direction. That way, I explained, that even if the walker didn’t inspect the check, between the order of the leashes and the direction of the clasps, we’d be able to tell if the dogs had been taken for a walk.
She smiled and said that dogs would really enjoy having us check on them tomorrow morning.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Thursday, December 31, 2009
A New Resolution
Here’s the thing about Delaware. It’s far enough north so people think they can drive in the snow…but far enough south so they really can’t. What scares me more are the fearless SUV’ers with four wheel drive. Four wheel drive helps you get going. It doesn’t help you stop. It’s hard enough to stay alive in this business. I really don’t need Chevy S-10’s on thirty four inch tires fish-tailing all over the road.
I always pick a place in a parking lot that’s far away from other vehicles. This serves two purposes. First, I hate door dings. Also note that I never park downhill from a shopping cart return corral. Secondly, choosing a parking spot without anyone else near you eliminates the cover necessary for someone to place an incendiary device on your vehicle. It’s not preventative, but it’s precautionary. In addition, on a day like this, when leaving your vehicle, take note of the footprints in the snow. When you return, if you see the snow disturbed within reach of your starter, find another way to get home.
Using these safety measures, I entered Blockbuster. There’s nothing better to do on a day like this than to watch the first season of 24. Walking through the aisles, I make my selection, turn the corner and bump into Treasa Joyce.
Coincidence? No. I followed her here.
It’s not stalking, it’s surveillance.
She noticed my clean shaven appearance.
“I clean up well.”
I asked a few open ended questions and learned that she’s dog sitting tomorrow for a few friends that are out of town. After I pointed out that it’s possible, if not preferable, for two people, instead of one, to walk two golden retrievers, I have myself a date.
New Year’s dinner is still a solo event though:
Seared ahi tuna salad over bed of baby spinach.
Bacon wrapped filet mignon, topped with crab imperial and a lobster tail.
Grilled asparagus with balsamic vinaigrette.
Twice baked potato with smoked cheddar bacon cheese.
One bottle of 2006 Greg Norman petite sirah.
One bottle of extra dry champagne – at this point in the evening, quality won’t be paramount.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
I always pick a place in a parking lot that’s far away from other vehicles. This serves two purposes. First, I hate door dings. Also note that I never park downhill from a shopping cart return corral. Secondly, choosing a parking spot without anyone else near you eliminates the cover necessary for someone to place an incendiary device on your vehicle. It’s not preventative, but it’s precautionary. In addition, on a day like this, when leaving your vehicle, take note of the footprints in the snow. When you return, if you see the snow disturbed within reach of your starter, find another way to get home.
Using these safety measures, I entered Blockbuster. There’s nothing better to do on a day like this than to watch the first season of 24. Walking through the aisles, I make my selection, turn the corner and bump into Treasa Joyce.
Coincidence? No. I followed her here.
It’s not stalking, it’s surveillance.
She noticed my clean shaven appearance.
“I clean up well.”
I asked a few open ended questions and learned that she’s dog sitting tomorrow for a few friends that are out of town. After I pointed out that it’s possible, if not preferable, for two people, instead of one, to walk two golden retrievers, I have myself a date.
New Year’s dinner is still a solo event though:
Seared ahi tuna salad over bed of baby spinach.
Bacon wrapped filet mignon, topped with crab imperial and a lobster tail.
Grilled asparagus with balsamic vinaigrette.
Twice baked potato with smoked cheddar bacon cheese.
One bottle of 2006 Greg Norman petite sirah.
One bottle of extra dry champagne – at this point in the evening, quality won’t be paramount.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Each One is Unique
I was ill prepared for the snow this morning. One to two inches. I didn’t expect it. I should have known that snow was forecasted. In addition, there are footprints running through the far edge of my back yard. Could be nothing. Both of these facts leave me unsettled.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Wrong Facade
Yesterday’s wind was wreaking havoc with my security cameras. Monitoring outside was like watching an earthquake. The black and white screens did not prepare me for Treasa Joyce.
Treasa, the real estate broker, had radiant red hair and stunning blue eyes.
I, unfortunately, had my moustache. Here’s a situation where I wanted to be remembered by her most favorably. Not for official business, but more so for off the clock exploits.
Given my Mc-Creepster appearance, our meeting was painfully proper. She left me a packet containing information on a variety of properties and left.
I retreated upstairs to shave and shower. I didn’t miss a spot this time.
Taking a circuitous route, I settled in at Buffalo Wild Wings for a platter of their traditional mango habanero wings.
Nothing to report, no progress made.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Treasa, the real estate broker, had radiant red hair and stunning blue eyes.
I, unfortunately, had my moustache. Here’s a situation where I wanted to be remembered by her most favorably. Not for official business, but more so for off the clock exploits.
Given my Mc-Creepster appearance, our meeting was painfully proper. She left me a packet containing information on a variety of properties and left.
I retreated upstairs to shave and shower. I didn’t miss a spot this time.
Taking a circuitous route, I settled in at Buffalo Wild Wings for a platter of their traditional mango habanero wings.
Nothing to report, no progress made.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Sunday, December 27, 2009
NJ Turnpike: "What exit are you from?"
The truck is packed and loaded. Based on intelligence, I still have time to pick up a coffee from the corner deli before I head back down the Jersey Turnpike. Traffic on the Sunday following Christmas is bad. After Exit 8 the lanes converge from five to three resulting in a parking lot where a highway once stood. This isn’t good.
I need a visual on an unknown foreign diplomat and I can’t see past the eighteen wheeler three vehicles ahead. When the GPS says you’re almost a five miles behind your target but forward progress is impossible, you start to go a little crazy. At this point, I think I’m singing better than the guy on my Ipod.
When traffic breaks, it’s time to focus on some mental math. It’s about 90 miles from here to the Delaware Memorial Bridge. Assuming no rest stops, at an average estimated speed of 70 mph the diplomat will reach the bridge in about an hour twenty minutes. After the bridge, the roads diverge and there are too many exits to monitor alone.
So I want give myself a 15 mile safety net. I can only let the diplomat get 75 miles before I catch up. So I have to go 80 miles in the same amount of time it takes the diplomat to go 75 miles at 70 mph. If I go 74.67 mph, I should reach the diplomat in about 63 minutes.
63 minutes driving about 10 mph over the speed limit on the Sunday after Christmas with out of state plates in a state that has quite the hefty deficit. Nice. At this point, I’m thinking that coffee wasn’t worth the risk of meeting a sworn representative of the New Jersey State Troopers.
Visual contact achieved.
Diplomatic plates, after the prefix “D”, have a two digit code that signifies what nation the diplomat represents. This provides some anonymity. My target’s plate starts with “DQM.” Bulgaria. I snap a few pictures of the license plates and a profile shot of the driver as discretely as possible.
Before I can begin to figure how Bulgaria fits into everything, the non-descript dark colored American made SUV seven vehicles back is now only four. ‘As possible’ must not have been good enough. It is occupied by two thirty something white males.
I use an RV in the adjacent lane to create a block in traffic and proceed the last nine miles to the bridge. Keeping with my cover, I used EZ Pass to pay my exit toll. The SUV picks a cash lane. I take the exit for Rt. 13 N into Wilmington. The tarp covered luggage in the bed allows me to enter parts of town where a clean SUV driven by two white guys would attract some attention.
Satisfied the combination of the space created at the toll and the city detour sufficiently evaded my tail, I head home and contact Mother to let her know I made it back safely.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Friday, December 18, 2009
Beginning of the Storm
There’s a storm rolling in tonight on the East Coast. People tend to freak out when a few inches of snow are expected. They bull rush the grocery store to stock up on non-perishable items lest they get snowed in for a week’s worth of On-Demand. I avoid this scene like the plague.
Public places demand vigilance and attention to detail. I commit multiple rows of license plates to memory to check for a tail. I memorize what hand people use to lock their car or pick up a can of soup so I know what side is dominant in case they come at me with a weapon. Too many cars, too many people, too many chances to make a mistake. Even awesomeness is cognizant of its limits.
I steer clear of the mega-food-brouhaha and head out to Gary’s Tree and Limb Service. I have a package to pickup.
Gary clears fallen trees, splits the wood and sells someone’s nuisance as another’s treasure. His office is a converted trailer sitting amongst piles of mulch, sand, gravel and mixed hardwood—all for sale.
I enter through the front. To my right is Gary, smoking behind some reclaimed Salvation Army office desk. To my right is an extremely large black man. He’s too clean cut to be working on the machinery; he’s employed for other purposes.
“How much to fill the back of my truck with split oak?”
“Hundred. Go ‘round back, away from the road. The wood there is more seasoned.”
The five twenties I hand him ignore the register completely and instead delve straight into his vest pocket. It’s not like I work for the IRS. Without another word, I leave and make my way back towards a pile of wood. A month ago these logs probably crashed through someone’s shed during a storm.
After filling my truck bed, I walk over to the vending machine near the back maintenance shed. I make my selection, but instead of just grabbing my soda from the bottom tray, I reach up and retrieve an envelope taped to the inside wall.
It’s begun.
I get in my truck and head back. My thoughts are both focused and excited as I know I’m back in the game. Closer to revenge. Excited to the point of...mother fucker! I’m out of bourbon.
If I’m going to be snowed in for a day, I can brave the chaos of a pre-snow storm liquor store to make it tolerable.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Public places demand vigilance and attention to detail. I commit multiple rows of license plates to memory to check for a tail. I memorize what hand people use to lock their car or pick up a can of soup so I know what side is dominant in case they come at me with a weapon. Too many cars, too many people, too many chances to make a mistake. Even awesomeness is cognizant of its limits.
I steer clear of the mega-food-brouhaha and head out to Gary’s Tree and Limb Service. I have a package to pickup.
Gary clears fallen trees, splits the wood and sells someone’s nuisance as another’s treasure. His office is a converted trailer sitting amongst piles of mulch, sand, gravel and mixed hardwood—all for sale.
I enter through the front. To my right is Gary, smoking behind some reclaimed Salvation Army office desk. To my right is an extremely large black man. He’s too clean cut to be working on the machinery; he’s employed for other purposes.
“How much to fill the back of my truck with split oak?”
“Hundred. Go ‘round back, away from the road. The wood there is more seasoned.”
The five twenties I hand him ignore the register completely and instead delve straight into his vest pocket. It’s not like I work for the IRS. Without another word, I leave and make my way back towards a pile of wood. A month ago these logs probably crashed through someone’s shed during a storm.
After filling my truck bed, I walk over to the vending machine near the back maintenance shed. I make my selection, but instead of just grabbing my soda from the bottom tray, I reach up and retrieve an envelope taped to the inside wall.
It’s begun.
I get in my truck and head back. My thoughts are both focused and excited as I know I’m back in the game. Closer to revenge. Excited to the point of...mother fucker! I’m out of bourbon.
If I’m going to be snowed in for a day, I can brave the chaos of a pre-snow storm liquor store to make it tolerable.
.-. . ... ..- .-.. - ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
