I was really starting to get too familiar with crawling around unobserved, and it was beginning to bother me. I'm a man of action, not dirty shirt fronts. When Tabby called me to tell me about the harassment that morning from the cops, I added another stop on my list of night visits.
Thankfully, in neither of the two visits I had on tap for that night did I plan on having to use anything other than my stealth and observation skills. Of course, that didn't mean things couldn't change on a moment's notice, so I went prepared.
"Be careful," Sophie said to me as she lay back on the bean bag chair. Her stomach bulged like a soccer ball was under her shirt, and yet she was still beautiful to me. We'd even experimented on ways that we could still be intimate even after the doctors had told us that regular sex was not a good idea until about a month after the delivery. "Tabby's getting home late, so I'm going to be cold."
"She and Patrick will be home by ten," I said, giving her a quick peck. "You'll be fine until then. By the way, after the baby, I was thinking, maybe Patrick's ready for a patrol with me?"
"We can talk about it after the baby," Sophie said, "but I'm fine with it. He's better than I was when I started with you."
"Don't sell yourself short beautiful," I countered, kissing her again. "See you soon. I'll have coms up if you need to get in touch. And go to bed early, no need to try and stay up until I get home. Remember what's most important."
My first stop was Pressman Contracting. After the last time we'd spoken, Scott Pressman had apparently tried to turn over a new leaf, at least until his long nursed hatred against Tabby came out in the lawsuit. He'd worked hard when I checked in, and had even used his illicit bankroll to finance the expansion of his family's business. His little brother was now in college as well, studying business out west at UCLA.
I had thought Scott had finally let things go until the lawsuit. Thankfully, The Squid had kept his lawyers from digging too deeply into MJT, while at the same time stalling the system. He knew me from my previous life, and knew that going to court was the last thing I wanted. I'd be willing to pay a settlement first.
Still, civil law is a lot like poker in situations like this. We weren't playing the facts, we were playing the man. I knew Scott Pressman, and I knew some about Francine Berkowitz. The one advantage I had was that they didn't know me very well. Hopefully it was all the advantage I needed.
Setting up across the street, I waited while Scott closed up shop for the night. He'd gained about twenty pounds since I'd last seen him, most of it muscle. I guess when your dick doesn't work any longer, and your wife is accustomed to what he was, you did what you could to keep interest where you could. He finished up a chunk of computer work, nothing that I could see, then closed the top on his laptop, leaving it behind. Not a good idea in my opinion, but I only noted it for future reference. Tonight was about observation of Scott himself.
He locked up the shop and got into a used pickup truck, driving off. I quickly followed, keeping enough distance between us that I was able to hopefully remain undetected. I was surprised when Pressman left the city and headed towards the suburb town of Kingsville, about a half hour outside of town. Kingsville was mostly upper middle class, not quite gated subdivision level, but it was the sort of town where you could let your kids play outside without fearing for their lives.
Pressman drove to a rather routine looking ranch style house and parked. I stopped my bike a block back and watched him go inside before I followed, stashing my bike in between two SUV's that were parked on the street.
I'd learned stealth by practicing in urban environments, and of course growing up as a country boy, in the extreme rural confines of the woods. This suburban stuff was totally different to me. I decided to go with the old standby, just walk up like I was part of the neighborhood, hoping my hood would cover my face enough to prevent people from wondering what a masked man was doing walking through their neighborhood at nine o'clock at night.
I listened carefully as I vaulted the fence to his backyard. It was only a short little chain link fence, so I wasn't expecting a dog or anything, but you never knew. Pressman could have had one of those little anklebiters, a Schnauzer or terrier or something. It paid to be careful.
Going around back, I saw Scott sitting down with what I assumed was his wife. She was beautiful, I had to admit, but in a way that was also ugly. Let me explain. I've told Sophie that she's the most beautiful woman in the world But it's not just her looks. It's her spirit, her heart, that coupled with, yes, a nice build that makes Sophie beautiful to me. Sophie could be bald and two hundred pounds and I'd still think her beautiful.