“That works,” Armbrand agreed, and Rassmussen nodded.
“Then let’s get in disguise and go,” Ashton decreed.
The three teams worked with Adrian Mott again – they were getting good at undercover disguises, especially Ashton, but given the Throne’s interest, Ashton felt it best to call in Mott, just to make sure they couldn’t be recognized. Meanwhile Ames pulled the files on each perp and pushed them to the respective teams – Bronze to the “Ashton team,” Kaplan for the “Armbrand team,” and Beckham for the “Rassmussen team.”
It was still fairly early in the morning; chances were, their surveillance targets were still at home.
So they headed out.
Armbrand’s team headed into the Imperial Park South district. Susan Kaplan lived in a low-rent area quite some few blocks south of Imperial Park proper. She was a prostitute, and kept a reasonably large apartment for the purpose, since she both lived there and saw her “clients” there. But her clientele tended not to be that rich, because she wasn’t from the higher strata of society, and it showed in her speech and habits. So she lived in an area where she could afford that larger apartment… which meant deep in Park South. Given that the Imperial Police Headquarters on Sintar was in the same general area, it was surprising to no one on the Team that she sometimes worked for them. At this point, it would not have surprised Ashton to find that some of the IPD personnel were among her clientele.
A quick and skillful infiltration of the building’s maintenance staff enabled them to locate her specific apartment – it wasn’t hard, given her “profession” – and determine that she was not awake and about as yet. Some subtle questioning of the maintenance workers – combined with a few palms crossed with several credits in coin – determined that this was normal; since she tended to be up late with the johns, she slept late to help compensate.
So Armbrand, Weyand, and Smith settled in to wait.
“Here she comes,” Smith reported in voice VR, as Kaplan exited the main doors of the apartment building. “Heads up, Rog, she’s headed your way.”
“Okay. Yeah, there she is. Rich, she’s not going in your direction; reset to down the street from me.”
“On my way, Rog,” Weyand’s voice noted.
“Handing off to you, Rog,” Smith said, as Kaplan disappeared from his view, down the street.
“Good. Reset past Rich.”
“Headed out and around,” Smith said, turning and heading one block down. “She headed for the arcade level?”
“Not in this part of town. That’s a sure way to give up what she wants paid for,” Armbrand said. “She’ll stay at street level, most likely.”
They trailed her from north central Imperial Park South nearly all the way to the southern boundary of Imperial Park proper; as she grew nearer Imperial Park, the neighborhood improved, and she eventually went down to the arcade level to use the slidewalks.
A couple of blocks from the Park boundary, not very far from the Imperial Mausoleum, she entered a little diner, the Waffle Stomper. Given the name, it wasn’t surprising it was frequented by the Imperial Navy and Marines, which meant it was a potential source of clientele for Kaplan. She settled down at a table; Armbrand slipped inside and took a table nearby, letting the other two members of his team keep clandestine guard outside, and watching surreptitiously as she ordered two eggs, scrambled hard with Swiss cheese, with oatmeal and a cup of fresh melon on the side, along with water, grapefruit juice, and black coffee.
She took her time, spending nearly an hour and a half noshing on breakfast – or, as Armbrand noted her reference to the waitress, “brunch” – while somewhat absently watching the nearby video screens for the news of the day.
When she was finished, she paid in VR and rose, heading back out the front door. Armbrand stayed where he was, finishing his coffee, while he told Smith and Weyand in VR to follow her, and he’d catch up to them.
From there, Kaplan headed east and slightly closer to Imperial Park, then entered a grocer’s to shop. She spent an hour in there, and this time, Weyand followed her in, shopping nearby, and watched her price-check her various choices; it was obvious she was pinching pennies, but she still got the makings of a large salad, as well as some farm-fresh fish.
A quick check-out, and she made what appeared to be a usual arrangement to have the groceries delivered, so she didn’t have to carry them back to her apartment. Not only would that exhaust her, it would put her in danger of being mugged for the food; it made sense to spend the extra money on delivery.
Then it was off to another store…which turned out to be a very risqué lingerie store.
“Aw shit,” Armbrand grumbled; all three investigators were single men, currently unattached, and none of them were comfortable going into that store. “Nick and Cally shoulda had this one!”
“Hell no,” Weyand said. “They’d both have blushed purple! They don’t even like anybody teasing ‘em about the fact they’re going out! It would have given the whole damn thing away.”
“Well, somebody has to go in there and keep an eye on things,” Smith pointed out.
“Hm. Maybe not. It’s got a nice, big