In the movies, following someone is very hard but getting into a house is easy. In reality, the opposite is true. I spent the entire drive not more than three car lengths behind Marie and practically followed her right into her driveway, totally confident that she didn't notice me at all. Now the tough part was going to be getting inside. Again, in the movies its easy...the guy with the dark ski cap pulls out his lock picks and gets inside in five seconds. In a suburban neighborhood, even on a cul-de-sac, you would be seen by a dozen people if you stood outside a door trying to jimmy your way in. No...something else would be needed.
Noting the house number, I took out my cell phone and pulled up the White Pages website. Doing a reverse listing search entering the address, I quickly found Marie's telephone number. Dialing the number, I mentally rehearsed my pitch while the phone rang three times. On the fourth ring, she picked up.
"Hi! Is this Marie?" I asked in my best flustered Regular Guy voice. "Yeah...this is Stan over at Ridgewood Grocery. Hi!"
I hesitate for a brief moment, trying to remember the fat guy's name. Ed. His name was Ed. "Yeah...Ed asked me to call you. You left a bag here at the store."
I knew you would ask what was in the bag. I was counting on you being a bit distracted, so I didn't have to make up anything. Instead, I simply responded, "I'm not sure. Cold cuts, maybe? He didn't say...just that you left it."
I hear the exasperation in your voice and pounce quickly. "I'll be glad to swing by," I say. "Sure...no problem at all. Give me about fifteen minutes. Okay...see you then!"
I hang up and drive to the convenience store up the block to kill a few minutes and make preparations for the evening.
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