Wild Storm

CHAPTER 24

HERCULES, California

The man with the wine stain was loving this job, mostly because he was charging by the hour.

It was going on four weeks now. Four weeks of 24-7 surveillance, billing out at a hundred and twenty-five dollars an hour, and his employer hadn’t even blinked at the money. It was being deposited in his account weekly, without hesitation and without a sign of cessation.

And, yeah, it was a little boring, watching this old lady, Alida McWhatshername, shuffle around. But for that kind of money, who cared? He hoped the job never ended. As long as no realtors decided to show the empty house he was using, he could stay here forever.

He had his Buck knife out and was using it to dig some dirt out from under his fingernails. It was the most work the knife had gotten.

Whenever it ended — and all good things did, right? — he was going to go out and buy himself a new truck. His truck now was fine. But it was a little wimpy. He wanted something big. Something nice. A half ton, for sure. Maybe three-quarter ton. With leather seats. And a bitchin’ stereo system.

Hell, if this job kept up, he could have whatever truck he wanted. He could even jack up the suspension and…

His phone was ringing in his pocket. He took it out and looked down. It was his employer, the man William McRae called Alpha.

“Hey,” the man with the wine stain said.

“Anything to report?”

“Not really. She’s just doing her thing. She goes to bed at the same time, wakes up at the same time, goes out in her garden. The usual. Most exciting thing she’s done is go to the grocery store.”

“Have you seen the large visitor again?”

“Naw. He ain’t been back.”

“Good. What about any other signs of law enforcement?”

“Nothing. She ain’t gone to the sheriff in a few days now.”

“Excellent,” Alpha said. “And is she aware of your presence?”

“Nuh-uh. I don’t have to leave the house. Most of the time, she don’t know whether to wind her ass or scratch her watch.”

“Ah, you southerners and your colloquialisms. They are so amusing. But what I am dealing with is not. Dr. McRae is getting a little testy. He’s showing the first signs of balking at his work, giving us a little trouble.”

“Oh, yeah?” the man with the wine stain said, sitting up a little. This was the most interesting thing that had happened since the big guy had left. “You want me to, I don’t know, rough her up a bit? Put a little scare into her?”

He looked over at the Bushmaster propped against the wall. The .45 was in its holster. Not that he’d need that kind of firepower to scare an old lady. He could knock her around a little bit, hold the knife under her nose, make a big show out of it.

“No, we don’t want you making contact until it’s necessary. She might try to run if she knows she’s being watched. Or she might attract more law enforcement attention.”

“Okay.”

“At this point, we just need some more pictures,” Alpha said. “In case Dr. McRae gets more ideas.”

“You sure that’s all?” he asked. “I could mark her up a bit and then take pictures. You know, two birds with one stone and all that.”

Alpha paused like he was considering this. “No,” he said, eventually. “Just pictures for now.”

“All right,” the man with the wine stain said. “I’ll upload some more in a bit. She don’t lower her blinds at night. I can shoot some of her eating supper. When I get the angle right, there’s this calendar in the background that shows the date.”

“Perfect. Talk to you soon.”

The man with the wine stain put his phone back in his pocket, lifted the 300-millimeter lens, and went to work.