A friend texts me
today. She lives about seven states away
from me, and she needs a favor. It’s a
secret spy mission, the kind that is right up my alley, and I jump on the
request without even thinking it through.
After all, I have another pal, J, who is as experienced in spy missions
like this as am I. To us, this is just
another joy ride in the car.
The first time my pal J
and I went on a reconnaissance mission like this years ago, we took all kinds
of precautions, like wearing disguises.
Okay, helmets. One of us wore a
helmet (J). A bicycle helmet. A kid’s bicycle helmet. Since then we’ve upgraded to dark sunglasses,
hats, and changing up cars.
Today, though, our prey
has no idea who we are. We are going
into a part of a nearby town where being noticed is a crapshoot. It’s a very congested neighborhood, but it’s
also an area where strangers casing a parking lot might be noticed and
remembered. I decide to take my car
because it’s sporty (like many in this neighborhood), it hasn’t been washed in
a while (like many in this neighborhood), and it has some bird crap on it (like
many in this neighborhood).
Honestly, we don’t really
hold much hope that our recon mission will pay off on day #1, trip #1. We are searching for a car, the make, model,
and year of which is uncertain. We have
a vague idea, and we are reasonably certain of the address where it is supposed
to be located. Our objective is to find
the car, confirm its location, and see if it appears to have been recently
driven (ie: no pollen on its windshield).
I should go buy a lottery
ticket, because not only do we find the address, but we also find the vehicle
exactly where it is supposed to be.
Normally this would be where the disguises and discretion come in. Unfortunately, we throw caution to the wind
and start taking pictures with my phone.
We get really close. We park
almost next to the car.
I’m thinking this may not
be my brightest idea yet. J says she’s
getting out of my car to take pictures of the target vehicle. I’m thinking this is even less of a bright
idea. I mean, seriously. I don’t know who might own a gun in this
neighborhood, and someone might mistake us for repo women. Bang.
In the end, we accomplish
our mission easily … almost too easily. After
all, we don’t even need helmets this time.
