Stuff to Spy For by Don Bruns Page B

with money.”
    “Office Space, 1999. Actually a very funny movie.” It was about working in cubicles for some big, impersonal company. After viewing the film, and laughing our asses off, James and I had sworn to never, ever work for a company like that.
    “Good guess, pard. We okay back there?”
    James had never learned to drive the box truck using the big side mirrors. Every time he tried to maneuver the Chevy one-ton box truck with the mirrors, we ended up having an accident or getting stuck. I leaned out the window and looked back. Five cars back, parked by the curb was a gray Honda Accord. Could have been coincidence, but it was the third time I’d seen one in a very short period of time.
    The car that picked up the Asian man in front of the Red Derby Bar. In our parking lot last night. And now a similar car was five cars away.
    “You’re clear, James.”
    He pulled out.
    “Circle the block.”
    “Why?”
    “There’s a car back there. A gray Honda that looks like the same car that was parked in our lot last night. And the same one that picked up that guy who was checking out Carol Conroy’s Lexus.”
    “Gotcha.” James eased the truck out of the parking space, a stream of brown exhaust blowing from the tailpipe. With the noisy muffler, the brown exhaust, and the coughing engine we’d be hard pressed to ever sneak up on someone.
    Down the street and to the left, down by the big tennis pavilion with its fourteen clay courts, seven hard courts, and big stadium that seats over eight thousand people. How do I know? Em plays there. I couldn’t afford the place. I mean they’ve had the Fed Cup, the Davis Cup, and who knows what else there. Out of my league.
    James turned left at the next street. We got an angry look from an old lady who was crossing the street. Not because James almost hit her, which he almost did, but because as we passed her I could see another blast of brown exhaust that shot right at her.
    Now he drove two streets down, and then left on the street where we’d parked. As we slowed down and creeped slowly up the street I could see the spot was empty.
    “How many gray Honda Accords do you figure are in Delray Beach? Or Miami for that matter?”
    Knowing James, he already had the answer. “How would I have any clue?”
    “Just wondered. I’m guessing thousands.”
    “You’re probably right.”
    “So, let’s not get too paranoid.”
    A horn honked and I checked my sideview mirror. A long line of cars and small trucks stretched out behind us.
    “You might pick up the pace, James. There are quite a few people lined up back there.”
    James glanced in his side mirror. “Yeah. I see them.”
    He could use the mirror when he needed to.
    “And, Skip, about six cars back there’s another one of those bastards. It’s a gray Honda Accord.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    “Are you sure you’ve got it installed properly?”
    “Hey, you want to try it?”
    James already knew that was the worst suggestion in the world. While my roommate was no whiz at the technology of computers, he could at least use the machine once it was hooked up. I’ve already pointed out that he was a whiz at Google, and the boy could kill at about a dozen online games. Texas Hold ’Em wasn’t one of them, however. He’d gotten into some real cash games, and I had to help bail him out once or twice.
    “No. But if you followed all of the directions, we should be able to pick up Em’s car.”
    “Don’t call her yet.”
    James wanted to call Em and announce her location. I already knew her location. She was almost assuredly home. Probably working on Daddy’s books, and listening to the Flight of the Concords album.
    “I’ll figure this out.” He punched in some numbers, referring again to the directions. “Okay, I’ll bet this does it.”
    “Anything?” I was on the couch, my feet up, watching a Jerry Springer rerun.
    “No.”
    “You did something wrong.” Two heavy blonde women were trying to tackle each other as