It isn't often that my job lets me get paid to sit in a bar and sip on a beer, so I didn't mind the opportunity. Cassie Bigley-Thompson hired me to keep an eye on her husband when he went out, which he did four or five nights a week. She wasn't worried about him cheating on her - in fact, she told me that if that was what he was doing, she didn't even want to know. She'd explained that he'd been a thief, working with a few other men, and had been locked up after something went wrong on a job and a guard was killed. He'd started a security consulting business with his old crew after he'd all gotten out, but she was worried he'd slipped back into old habits.
It didn't seem like it would be an exciting job, which suited me fine. The first few days, I sat at the bar in Furguson's Pub, near William Thompson's table and listened in as he and his friends talked about work, which usually wound up with a discussion about how much they'd have made if they were robbing their clients instead of telling them how to tighten up security, until one of them would sigh and point out that they didn't need to worry about being arrested by keeping things legitimate, which generally got a round of agreement from the rest of them. They'd reminisce about their past, then they all went home to their wives and children. They reminded me of old men getting together to talk about the good old days, until they remembered that they weren't always all that good.
Mrs. Bigley-Thompson wanted me to keep watching him, though, so I kept going out, sipping beer and listening to the reformed thieves talk about their old jobs. One day in the second week, though, when I tailed him from his house, he got picked up by a cab before he'd walked two blocks, which didn't seem all that unusual by itself. It was raining that night, so the driver may have just smelled a fair. It wasn't any trouble to keep up with it on the rooftops, and it took him to his usual bar anyway. When he got out and headed inside, though, he was followed by another man, who wore a twill suit and wire rimmed glasses. This man stopped to talk to a woman who was standing outside while Thompson went in, then followed him inside a minute or two later. The woman was wearing a black dress that may as well have been painted on, and she hadn't used the whole can. I can't say I was surprised - a lot of women would be too proud of looking like she did to cover it all up, even in the rain. She stayed outside, playing with an unlit cigarette as she paced and watched the road.
Something about it seemed suspicious, but I couldn't stick around to see what she was up to and do my job watching Thompson at the same time, I climbed down to the street around the corner from where she was waiting and slipped inside. I took a stroll through the crowd, and almost missed Thompson and his crew. They were sitting in a booth, out of the line of sight from the bar, and speaking in tones too hushed for me to hear without making myself obvious. The man in the suit was sitting at the bar and sipping from a glass of water as he watched the door. I was getting more certain that something was going to happen, but I had no idea what. The bar was making money, but not enough for it to be worthwhile to rob the place.
I ordered a beer and stationed myself where I'd be able to see the man in the suit and the woman, through a window. I wouldn't be able to watch Thompson, not directly, but he and his friends wouldn't be able to go anywhere without my being able to see it. Scanning the room occasionally, I drank enough of my beer to fit in, then started just lifting the glass and letting my lips get wet. A watchman passed by the window, and I watched him stop to talk to the woman briefly before he continued on his way. Nothing else happened for about half an hour, which was when his patrol brought him by again. The woman talked to him a bit more, flirtatiously smiling and touching his arm, then he continued on his way and she tossed her unsmoked cigarette on the ground and came inside.
It didn't seem like it would be an exciting job, which suited me fine. The first few days, I sat at the bar in Furguson's Pub, near William Thompson's table and listened in as he and his friends talked about work, which usually wound up with a discussion about how much they'd have made if they were robbing their clients instead of telling them how to tighten up security, until one of them would sigh and point out that they didn't need to worry about being arrested by keeping things legitimate, which generally got a round of agreement from the rest of them. They'd reminisce about their past, then they all went home to their wives and children. They reminded me of old men getting together to talk about the good old days, until they remembered that they weren't always all that good.
Mrs. Bigley-Thompson wanted me to keep watching him, though, so I kept going out, sipping beer and listening to the reformed thieves talk about their old jobs. One day in the second week, though, when I tailed him from his house, he got picked up by a cab before he'd walked two blocks, which didn't seem all that unusual by itself. It was raining that night, so the driver may have just smelled a fair. It wasn't any trouble to keep up with it on the rooftops, and it took him to his usual bar anyway. When he got out and headed inside, though, he was followed by another man, who wore a twill suit and wire rimmed glasses. This man stopped to talk to a woman who was standing outside while Thompson went in, then followed him inside a minute or two later. The woman was wearing a black dress that may as well have been painted on, and she hadn't used the whole can. I can't say I was surprised - a lot of women would be too proud of looking like she did to cover it all up, even in the rain. She stayed outside, playing with an unlit cigarette as she paced and watched the road.
Something about it seemed suspicious, but I couldn't stick around to see what she was up to and do my job watching Thompson at the same time, I climbed down to the street around the corner from where she was waiting and slipped inside. I took a stroll through the crowd, and almost missed Thompson and his crew. They were sitting in a booth, out of the line of sight from the bar, and speaking in tones too hushed for me to hear without making myself obvious. The man in the suit was sitting at the bar and sipping from a glass of water as he watched the door. I was getting more certain that something was going to happen, but I had no idea what. The bar was making money, but not enough for it to be worthwhile to rob the place.
I ordered a beer and stationed myself where I'd be able to see the man in the suit and the woman, through a window. I wouldn't be able to watch Thompson, not directly, but he and his friends wouldn't be able to go anywhere without my being able to see it. Scanning the room occasionally, I drank enough of my beer to fit in, then started just lifting the glass and letting my lips get wet. A watchman passed by the window, and I watched him stop to talk to the woman briefly before he continued on his way. Nothing else happened for about half an hour, which was when his patrol brought him by again. The woman talked to him a bit more, flirtatiously smiling and touching his arm, then he continued on his way and she tossed her unsmoked cigarette on the ground and came inside.