[download for PDF file]

Part 1: ( to get you hooked )
As I step inside, the small shop's cool breeze hits me. I welcome the glad relief it gives me from the suffocating heat radiating outside. Surveying the scene as I let my eyes adjust to the lighting, I spot a nifty little place in the corner. Large enough for me to conduct my business, but out of the way and small enough not to be noticed. I don't like getting caught in the hustle and bustle of things. Particularly people things.

Without any extra effort I pull my bag to the top of the table, take out my pencil and crossword puzzle and dump the bag back on the floor. It's then that the smell of coffee seduces my weak stomach. I resist the urge to buy now; besides, my wallet is in pain. I haven't had a square meal in a week. On top of that, I don't know where I'm sleeping tonight. That's beside the point, anyway.

The real reason I stepped into this dimly lit haven is because so will my friend. He's not really my friend, but that's what I call him. We've known each other for two weeks and 3 days. I like to keep track. Really he doesn't know that I exist at all, let alone that I'm being paid to follow his every step. I decided to skip getting acquainted formally; I prefer to watch and learn.

He lives down on the corner of Aken and Bulge, third house from the left. Nice modern style house, hard to miss. Of course, the black Lexus out front adds to the view. Everyday he wakes up at 7 AM, eats buttered toast, finishes half a crossword puzzle, then drives the 10 minute commute to work.

Surveillance is amazingly boring, and it's even worse when you're watching a mundane person. Calling my friend monotonous might be an overstatement, but he's also predictable, and that helps in surveillance. For instance, I know that in exactly 30 seconds my friend will walk through the door, order a pastry and iced coffee, then sit down in the cozy chair not but 15 feet from me. Today I'm in luck, because it's a Friday. On Fridays, my friend stays an extra 15 minutes longer because he has an extended lunch break. What does that mean for me? An extra 15 minutes with an air conditioner.

In he walks, brief case in hand, as he prepares his wallet for the $5.67 he's about to choke up for that pastry and iced coffee. My mind wanders for a second, down to his half finished crossword puzzle that I steal daily from his car. I never can finish them. He takes all the easy words anyway. I flip the page over and try my hand at Sudoku, until something catches my eye. My friend is taking the order to go. In anyone's life a little spontaneousness can be good. For Mr. Friend, this is very bad.

This means two things. One, for the first time in a long time, I might be on to something. Two, I have to go back into the summer's heat of Los Angeles. If I was good at anything else I'd be doing it, believe me. I hate this job. Duty calls though, and I put my self pity on pause as I follow him out the door, slipping on my sunglasses. I heave a sigh and head to my '95 Honda Civic, pull out into the street and follow the gleam of my friend's black Lexus.

--

I would love it if you downloaded it and read it to leave feedback and comments. Positive or negative, I won't take either too heavily since I'm not really a writer.