Grant McKinlay was thirty, solid and short, however his mundane appearance, coupled with his sharp mind made him a natural at stalking. Tonight had been his turn to choose the people in the street that the group would stalk, while he stayed behind and waited for their return. He had filled in his time by becoming lubricated with several beers and trying a few well rehearsed pickup lines on some of the ladies in the bar who passed him by and then passed him up.
“You first Nat. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The group of five looked to Natalie Bassett. She was small and petite, with wavey brown hair - for today at least - small upturned nose and easy on the eye. She was dressed in a dark blue tailored suit that hugged the curves of her body like a dirty uncle. As he did every time he saw her, Grant mentally shook his head, wondering how on earth his brother, Bryce, who sat attentively beside her, had managed to snag such a girl. Not that his brother didn’t have his good points, but at one hundred and seventy-two centimetres tall, a body shaped like a pudgy beer can, receding hairline and a relatively low paying job, he had never been mistaken for Matt Damon.
Natalie sat on her hands, grimacing. “Well it’s a bit embarrassing really. I lost my guy after only a few minutes and then spent the next two hours trying to find him again.”
“You’re kidding? How?” responded Bryce.
“I followed him for a few blocks towards Darling Harbour, but then he ducked into an office block and jumped into an elevator. There was security in the foyer and I couldn’t get past them. So, to cut a short story even shorter, I got zip tonight.”
“You must be losing your touch princess,” laughed Craig, pleased that he had one person less to compete with for the opportunity to again abuse his liver free of charge. Craig Thoms was six feet tall and possessed a wide and strong set of shoulders that tapered down to slim legs. His blue eyes were set in an open and expressive face which was normally decorated by a smirk of some kind. His hair was straight brown and overdue for a cut.
“Kiss my arse Craig“, replied Natalie
Craig was about to add
“Alright kids, that’s enough. How’d you go little bro?”
“Not much better than Nats I’m afraid. You didn’t do me any favours tonight.”
“Really? Your guy looked like a serial killer to me. So what happened?”
“Ok, my guy got on a bus so I jumped on too, but made the mistake of sitting next to a small but incredibly pungent old woman. I didn’t ask, but I got the strong impression that she wasn’t overly keen on regular showering,” he said with a straight face.
Craig let out a raucous laugh. It was one of the reasons he liked Bryce. Bryce was a self-admitted pain in the arse sometimes, but in small doses he was one of the funniest guys Craig had ever known.
“Finally, after a thirty minute ride out into the burbs, he got off the bus and went into his house. By this stage I was very excited, not. I could see him through his window and although he might have looked like a serial killer, all he did tonight was switch on the TV, grab a beer, put his feet up and scratch his crotch. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry so I decided to cut my losses and try and find a bus back here. I didn’t even find out what his name was.”
“That’s too bad Bryce. How about I go next,” said Craig magnanimously. “That way you guys can concede defeat and not bore me with more of your pathetic efforts.”
“Here we go,” sighed Natalie, rolling her eyes theatrically.
Craig plugged his handicam into the USB port of Bryce’s laptop, which was sitting on the table in front of them. Grant turned it to the wall and the group crowded in behind it so no-one else could see what was on the screen, not that anyone nearby seemed to notice or care. There were several other groups in the bar crowded around their tablets, checking out their Facebook accounts. Craig focused his attention on the viewfinder of his handicam as he commenced playback of his footage on the laptop. The image of a man walking down the street came on the screen.
“Meet Mr. Jeffrey Quinn.” narrated Craig. “He’s a little strange looking, which is no doubt why you chose him Grant.”
Grant nodded. The man in the footage was paper thin, wearing olive coloured outdated pants which fitted him snuggly and a bright orange shirt which screamed in silent outrage at his lime green tie. The footage showed him walking, with briefcase in hand, thirty metres ahead of the camera.
A new image of a small apartment complex surrounded by a large security fence came up on the screen.
“Mr. Quinn lives in a swanky apartment complex in Darlinghurst, apartment seven.”
Craig again fast-forwarded the footage. When he stopped he was indoors, in an entryway of a brightly lit and expensively outfitted apartment.”
“You didn’t!” cried Natalie aghast.
“I did,” said Craig, grinning in return. “I followed him to his door and waited outside. I thought I could hear the shower running so I tested the doorknob. It was unlocked so I invited myself in. I think he was probably expecting someone.”
The others were silent, with mouths agape and eyes glued to the footage.
“Craig, why do you do this stuff?” asked Bryce. “It’s against the rules, you know, that rule about not breaking any laws?”
“Hey, we’re all law-breakers here, stalking is against the law.” Craig looked back to the laptop screen, fascinated by his own footage. “Here is his wallet with all his credit cards and licence. Geoffrey Quinn, aged fifty- two, organ donor. And here you can see where I go into his bedroom,” he added excitedly as he relived the moment. The sound of running water could be heard as Craig entered the bedroom. He had pointed the video camera through the open door of the ensuite bathroom where the blurry apparition of someone showering could be seen through the fogged glass. “I could have gone through his sock drawer if I’d wanted to.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t,” said Natalie with a mild look of distaste on her face, although she too was riveted to the screen.
“You took some crazy risks here. I mean, what if you’d got caught?” asked Grant.
“No-one can catch me. I’m too fast and too smart. Anyway, it was all worth it if you guys have to buy me drinks for the rest of the night,” he replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.”
“Not so fast buddy,” countered Grant. “We haven’t heard from Jen yet.”
The group turned to Jen who smiled. Jennifer Nolan had clear blue eyes, small straight nose and curvaceous lips that turned down appealingly at their corners. She was the newest and normally the quietest member of the group and had only joined a couple of months previously as a friend and room-mate of Natalie’s.
“Ok. Well my stalk was bad, but for different reasons than Natalie’s. For the first hour I sat and watched the woman Grant chose down several Daiquiris with her friends.” Jen went on to tell the group how she had followed the woman to a quiet laneway where she had been spotted and had to dive behind a dumpster to hide. “I was so scared, I wasn’t sure if I should give up and just get the hell out of there, but I decided to keep going.”
“So what happened then,” asked Natalie becoming increasingly intrigued.
“Well I followed her up the laneway at a discrete distance, but then I think she got a little freaked out. She started running in her high heels, but then tripped over and fell flat on her face. I didn’t know what the hell to do, but I felt so sorry for her that I went up to her to try and help her up.”
“You didn’t?” asked an incredulous Craig with mouth agape.
“Yeah I did. I tried to help her get to her feet but she started screaming and then tried to spray me with mace or something. Some people from the street ahead heard her and came towards us, so I took off back down the laneway and barely stopped running until I got back here. My heart still hasn’t recovered!”
By this stage Craig was laughing so hard that he had to wipe away tears from his eyes. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages. You are the shittest stalker ever,” he said between gasps for air.
Chapter 4
Manuel Torres was late, which was unusual for him because for the past seven years he had lived his life like clockwork. What made his being late even worse was that he was meeting with someone who he would always make time for, whatever the circumstance. It was someone who he owed his life to, someone who for no apparent
