One Day as PI

The second worse thing about my job is getting to the ‘location’ early enough, before the subject (also known as the mark) decides to get up and head out. Basically, my job is to spy on people. To be called a spy sounds exotic; James Bondish. But to be more accurate; I am a Private Investigator. And if I truly wish to impress someone, that’s all I really have to say. And people; male and female alike; swoon. Literally. I have yet to meet anyone that did not think I had the coolest job ever. I actually hate to bring myself back down to the level of ‘regular’ people by explaining I do not do the “Cheaters” type of PI work that has me filming all sorts of dalliances in city parks, cars and through the occasional cheap motel window. I have never been chased down the street by a guy frantically zipping up his pants trying to snatch my camera away. I still hold out hope though; one day. Would make a great first date story.

No, mine is a more benign sort of investigation. Legitimized by signed contracts from clients; mostly lawyers and corporations, who are protecting their interests from injured parties wanting a kings ransom for stubbing their toe. Workman’s Compensation. In the age of suing a restaurant for having the audacity to serve their coffee hot; everyone is looking for a get rich now angle. If you are so lucky as to be hurt on the job; well then, there you go. I know. Cynical, right? Blame it on becoming de-sensitized after years of following ‘hurt’ people down hiking trails, through shopping malls and even watching mundane yard work. Trust me, if it were my intention to tell the world I was an injured man, I would have no problem leaving the Snapper parked in the garage.

Today it does appear I have met my first goal. Arrival pre-exodus. The next step is deciding where to park. There is a true art form in finding just the right locale. There has to be a clear line of sight, but not close enough to look like I am stopping by for a visit. I try to blend in, casually. It can truly kink up my day to explain to an officer that no, I am not loitering near the playground watching the children or waiting for my drug dealer to show up. The worse are the good Samaritans who are convinced I am having car trouble and feel compelled to offer their assistance. That should actually restore some of my faith in humanity. Should. But any or all of these have cost me valuable hawk eye time while many a mark has driven obliviously by me on their way to somewhere I am being paid to go as well.

I settle in and make note of my surroundings. Quiet neighborhood. Houses neat, but not very close together. Today I am to watch a lady, who based on the description of her car does appear to be home. I am not provided with particular details regarding injuries and/or restrictions. I am just commissioned to document movement or lack thereof from the specified party.  Speaking of mundane yard work, it appears this particular lady shares my sentiment. Whether she could or could not spend an afternoon raking up what appeared to be an entire forest of autumn leaves on her lawn, she has chosen not to.

As the morning hours click by, the number one worse thing about this job comes into play as my two cups of coffee begin screaming to be let out. They don’t tell you about that in PI school. And they certainly don’t show it as an obstacle to Daniel Craig. Since I have not seen any stirrings; human or otherwise for quite a stretch of time I step out of my car and give into the cry of the coffee. As I’m getting back into my car, I notice a vehicle driving on the street towards me. As it passes the house I’m watching, the driver flicks something out of the window. With all the eco-friendly/green discourse coming from all sides, it still amazes me how careless people can be at times. Littering is so yesterday.

It doesn’t take long though to realize that littering is going to be the least of my worries today. The tossed item was in fact a lit cigarette that has promptly found a new home in the layers of dry, crisp leaves. A small smoldering begins; curls of faint smoke rising. I know that I cannot let this woman’s yard go up in flames, but my number one rule is to never be detected. I have a split second to make a decision, and finally I just get out of my car and run towards the house to put out the pending fire. If I had just waited five more minutes, my recycled coffee would have come in real handy. I no sooner reach the glowing leaves when the front door flings open and there stands Ms. Now I’m Gonna Worry About My Leaves. She rushes outside, eyeing me, quite suspiciously in my opinion, for the service I am rendering, and proceeds to drag a water hose to the ever growing burning pile.

Me – Let me help with that.

Her – What are you doing in my yard?

Me – I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw the fire starting.

Her – Nobody just happens to be in this neighborhood. What are you doing in my yard? Did you start this fire?

Me – No Ma’am. I would not do that. (It occurs to me to ask her why I would proceed to start the fire and then immediately begin to extinguish it, but I resist the temptation.)

Her – Well, I called 911 before I came out the door, so the police will be here any minute and you can explain to them why you are in my yard starting fires.

Technically, I’m not worried. I didn’t start the fire. I didn’t do anything illegal. I can show the police my credentials and I’m covered. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I am being paid to perform a specific service. If I am discovered, that service is voided, and so is my paycheck. Not to mention, the mark will then know she is being observed and curb what, if any, bad behavior. I will lose credibility with my client and future jobs with them become uncertain.

Me – I lost my dog.

Her – What?

Me – I lost my dog. I lost my dog and I’ve been driving around for hours looking for him. I’m upset. I love my dog. I smoke when I get upset. I was smoking, threw the cigarette out the window, noticed the smoke coming from the leaves and ran back to help. I’m sorry. Really sorry. Please don’t turn me in to the police. I will pay for any damage to your yard.

Now I don’t smoke. But I was certain it would never occur to her to ask to see my cigarettes or prove I was smoking. And if truly pressed, I was confident I could locate the culprit cigarette lying somewhere beneath our feet.

Her – Where’s your leash?

Me – What?

Her – Where’s your leash? If you lost your dog, and you are looking for your dog, where is the leash you are going to use when you find your dog?

At this point I should assure you that the fire has indeed been put out. The entire conversation has taken place with her applying a steady stream of water onto the leaves. Any lingering embers have been thoroughly baptized.

Me – I guess in the rush to get out of my house, I left it at home. Again, I am willing to pay for any damages and/or I will leave immediately and you will never see me again.

Her – I don’t need your money. I haven’t seen your dog. Just go.

Me – What about the police?

Her – I didn’t call the police. Just go.

So I go back to my car. I have to leave. She has seen me and my car. I believe her about not calling the police, but I also believe she would if I didn’t drive off immediately. I contemplate a few minutes on what my next move should be. The client will want a full report. I really don’t want to give a full report. This will not go down as my best stakeout.

At the end of the day, I did submit a report. It read that the mark was home, alone and inactive for seven full hours. Was that from honest observation? No. Did I believe it was true? Yes. I am highly doubtful that she ever left her house. She probably stood watch for the rest of the day to insure that I, and my non-existent dog, did not show back up on her lawn. 

I did also discover a very useful tool I have used on occasions since then. And I immediately bought a leash.