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The two Shepherd Security vehicles drove the short distance to the townhouse complex. It was a new townhouse community consisting of twenty, six-unit, two-story buildings. All the units had two-car garages. The mailboxes were in centralized locations that housed the mailboxes of four of the buildings.
The Traverse pulled into the garage as the Suburban went to the guest parking lot around the corner. It was a short walk on the path to the sliding glass door of Sergeant Gibson’s unit. Through the front windows, they peered at the target unit. All its windows were covered with curtains or blinds.
The first thing they did was cover the inside of all the windows with a one-way privacy window film. It was a contact paper-like product that from the outside made it look as though the windows were tinted. No one could see in. From the inside, one could clearly see out. They set up their surveillance equipment in the upstairs loft area, pointing cameras and recording equipment directly at their target’s residence and at the park next door, just in case he went over there. This would also give them a good view of the mailboxes.
“Let’s start out with four-hour shifts watching Woods’ unit. Mother, the first one is yours,” Lambchop said. “Wilson and Burke, you’re with me. We’ll take the Suburban to rent two sedans to use for surveillance. We’ll station one in that parking lot of the strip mall that anyone coming or going from this complex has to pass. The second we’ll stash in the guest parking lot until we catch Woods on the move to follow. Roth, get that mic on, be on the ready to head out to the mailbox if we see him head out there. Tessman, take a walk and check out all lines of sight from his place.”
Everyone headed out. Roth went upstairs to sit with Mother as he watched the target’s place from the window. This was the boring part of the job, hours of fruitless surveillance. They chatted for nearly an hour before they saw movement from Cameron Woods’ residence. The mail person had just filled the boxes and drove away when his front door opened.
“Go,” Mother said.
Roth ran down the stairs and grabbed the mailbox key. Then he headed out the front door. At the same time Woods reached the large mailbox that housed the individual boxes for the units. Roth came up beside him as he relocked his mailbox after removing a couple of envelopes from it.
“Hey,” Roth said with a nod. “I’m your new neighbor.” He nodded towards the unit he’d just exited.
“What happened to the cop who lived there?” Woods asked.
“That would be my brother. I’m staying with him for a few months.” He inserted the mailbox key and opened the door. He pulled out a stack of mail. It appeared Gibson didn’t get his mail daily. He presented his hand. “Sebastian Gibson.”
“Cam Woods,” he said, shaking his hand.
“Which unit do you live in?” Roth asked.
Woods pointed across the street.
“Are there any decent bars nearby? Maybe one that plays country music and has some good beer on tap.”
“Your brother can probably help you with that,” Woods said, taking a step back in preparation for ending the conversation.
“Naw, all Scott will tell me is not to go to any of them. He’s straighter-laced than a church-going spinster,” Roth said with a laugh. Although Woods went to a Christian High School, there was no sign he attended church services anywhere now. And his social media sites showed no sign of a Christian mindset.
Woods laughed too. He stopped backing away. “There’s a place just a few streets over you might like, Kickstarter. It’s a decent bar. It’s nothing fancy, just country music, beer, and burgers. And you can walk to it if you think you’re going to drink over the limit. The cops watch it and follow patrons, so watch it.”
“Thanks for the heads up on that,” Roth said. “Is there any night their burgers are on special? Until I find a job, I need to watch it.”
“Tuesday nights they have two-dollar drafts and half price burgers. What kind of work you looking for?” Woods asked.
“Anything that will give me a good enough paycheck so I can get my own place within a month or so. I worked for the water department in Tampa and did road construction when I lived in Pensacola. I even worked as a maintenance mechanic at an independent living apartment building in Alabama. That was a trip working near all those grandmas.”
“Sounds like you move around a lot,” Woods remarked.
Roth laughed. “Yeah, I like to move around. I get bored in one place and doing the same work.”
“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know. There’s a temporary personnel place in that strip mall on the road into this subdivision that you should check out. I’ve gotten a few short-term gigs through them in the past,” Woods said.
“Thanks, man,” Roth said. “You’ve been more helpful in two minutes than my brother has been in two days.” He offered his hand again. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names. What did you say yours was?”
“Cam, Cam Woods,” he said.
“Cam Woods,” Roth repeated. “I’ll remember that. Catch you later.”
“Yeah, maybe tomorrow night at The Kickstarter,” Woods said.
The men separated and headed back to their respective homes.
“That was good. Short. You made the connection,” Lambchop said after Roth re-entered the townhouse.
A few minutes later, Tessman returned and made his report. Everyone sat in the upstairs loft area except for Burke, who was stationed in the strip mall’s parking lot, waiting. Another boring part of the job.
