Punitive Stakeout

Content Warning: Language, Violence, Sexual Themes

Punitive Stakeout

A History from the Strength of Old

By Mark VanTassel

Erde Date: 999 (Earth 1979)

The notes of ‘You Could be a Champion’ blared through the walls. Again.

There were three of them trapped in this box. Rickard and Drexler were surveillance specialists. Chun was a senior field agent. At least he had been until last week, when Director Tbela demoted him to surveillance duty and placed Rickard over him.

The apartment was six hundred square feet divided into a pair of tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, and a combination kitchen slash living room. The place smelled old. It also looked old, with curling yellow wallpaper on the kitchen wall, and dirty peach colored paint elsewhere. The floor was brown linoleum pretending to be wood, except the bathroom, which had pee-stained sky blue shag carpet.

Chun had not been outside in five days. Rickard bought brunch, which was always fast food egg muffins with bacon. Drexler bought dinner, which was fried chicken, macaroni, burgers, or spring rolls.

It wasn’t that the food was bad. Chun was willing to eat anything. He’d survived on cockroaches and mice when he was in the prison camp, so this stuff was pretty good. On the other hand, he was used to eating five meals a day, not two. And he liked to cook for himself.

Rickard was adamant that they stay hidden, and equally insistent that Chun was too remarkable to go unnoticed. So. Five days and counting in a stuffy, smelly apartment eating food that gave his teammates gas.

Downstairs someone started ‘You Could be a Champion.’ Now he could hear it from two sources, completely out of sync with each other.

Drexler hummed along with one or the other, seeming immune to the switches in timing, lyrics, and chord patterns. He could be a perfect surveillance officer. Bright enough to recognize when something important was happening, dumb enough to never grow bored.

Their target was Rupert Drier, a smuggler of antiques. He was new to the business, and had made the mistake of moving two magical items. Thus the surveillance team. He had purchased an old mansion just across the property line from unit E6, where Chun was currently sweating out his sentence.

“Oh, my,” Drexler said. Chun glanced his way and found the other agent huddled over their telescope.

“Girlfriend come back?” Chun asked.

“Nope. This is someone new.”

Chun walked over and nudged Drexler aside. The view through the scope showed an attractive blonde washing the windows, sans clothing. Chun stepped back and let Drexler return to the scope. He liked beautiful women, but she was scarcely twenty, by his guess, and he was older than her family tree.

“I wonder if her grandma is single,” Chun said.

“What?” Drexler asked, shooting him a quick grimace before returning to the scope.

“Nothing. Just wishing there were some women my age left in the world.”

“Lots of ‘em,” Drexler said. “Check down at the cemetery.”

“Haha. Why is there a naked woman at Drier’s place?”

“She’s cleaning.”

“She’s distracting you from anything else. What’s Drier up to?”

Drexler panned the scope around, looking at the rest of the house. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“He probably left. Our log should show when.”

“Shit,” Drexler said.

Footsteps and creaking stairs announced Rickard’s return. Keys jingled, then one found the lock. A moment later the door opened.

“Would it kill one of you to help me?” he asked as he wrestled the door shut while trying to hang onto the bag of breakfast sandwiches and retrieve his keys.

“You’d probably get more enthusiasm if you brought something worth eating,” Chun said.

“Very funny. You didn’t get that waistline by being picky. Maybe I’ll eat yours.”

“Go ahead, I’m already starving, and you’re looking pretty tasty,” Chun said.

Rickard set the bag down on their folding card table, then eyed Chun up and down. “You’re not really my type, but head is head.”

Chun sighed. Drexler was young and flush with hormones. He was easily distracted by women. Rickard was middle aged, and a practiced lecher. The two men needed some lessons on manners, and how they mattered even if the subject couldn’t see or hear you. Unfortunately Rickard was the ranking agent, and he wasn’t in the mood to take advice from Chun.

“I might have missed Drier leaving the property,” Drexler said.

“Why?” Rickard asked.

Drexler stepped back and motioned to the scope.

Rickard looked through the scope and dropped his muffin sandwich on the floor. “Holy shit. She’s an eleven.” He went on to describe the woman in detail.

“Professionalism,” Chun said.

“Oh, fuck you,” Rickard said, keeping his eyes glued to the scope. “Your professionalism got you demoted to working for us, so now you get to observe how we get things done.”

Chun ate his muffin sandwiches. Today there were four, instead of the normal three. Twenty would have been about right. He shot a glance at Rickard, who was wrestling Drexler for control of the scope. Chun shrugged and ate Rickard’s remaining breakfast, then helped himself to Drexler’s as well.

Rickard frantically wound up the film in their camera, loaded a new roll, and started taking pictures.

“You gotta make copies,” Drexler said.

“I got your back,” Rickard said.

Someone pounded on the neighbor’s downstairs door, hard enough to shake the building. There was a two second pause, then the sound of a door frame splintering.

“Turn that shit off!” a bass voice shouted.

Chun got up and walked downstairs. The neighbor’s door hung by one hinge, and the frame was cracked. The music hater was a virtual copy of Chun, size wise.

Inside the apartment there was the sound of crying, and when he reached an angle where he could see inside, a woman had collapsed into a shaking, sobbing heap in one of the doorways.

The music cut off.

“Don’t make me come back here,” the music hater said.

He turned and glared at Chun. “You got a problem?”

“No. It will cost them around fifty dollars to repair the damage to their doorway. Please pay them.”

Giant black hands curled into fists, and a pair of impressive eyebrows knitted together. “You sure you want to go down this road?”

Chun whistled the first notes of ‘You Could be a Champion,’ then smiled.

The music hater was young, and clearly a powerlifter. His fighting technique was scarcely better than a child’s. Chun slipped several punches, blocked one, then used his foot to tangle the boy’s, sending him to the pavement.

He sat on the kid, reached into his pocket, and took his wallet. There were only thirty-nine dollars inside.

“Get the fuck off of me.”

“You’re eleven dollars short,” Chun said. “I’m going to spot you, but I expect you to get my money by tomorrow.”

“What you’re gonna get is a call from the police. My uncle is a sergeant.”

Chun patted the kid’s shoulder affectionately. “I would love to meet him. Just don’t forget my money.”

He got up and walked to the neighbor’s door. A slender young man was sitting next to the woman, holding her.

“Sorry about that,” Chun said. “I’ve got fifty bucks for you, so you can get the door fixed without getting into trouble with the landlord.”

The boyfriend--or whatever he was--got up and took a couple of cautious steps toward Chun. “Why are you offering me money?”

Chun motioned behind himself with his thumb. “I took it from that guy.”

The boyfriend shook his head. “I don’t need him coming back here to get his dough.”

Chun glanced over his shoulder. The weightlifter was standing twenty feet away, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Him? He’s a good kid. There won’t be any more trouble.”

He got eleven dollars from his wallet, matched it with the thirty-nine, and pressed the money into the boyfriend’s hand. “Get your door fixed. Try not to worry too much. If he comes back, I’ll talk to him.”

Chun turned and walked a few steps, and then the weightlifter rushed him and threw another punch. Chun stuck his finger up the kid’s nose, guided him around in a circle, and laid him out on the pavement again.

“You’re not used to people standing up to you, because you’re young and strong. I’m old and strong. Experience usually defeats youthful enthusiasm.” He stepped over the kid and went back inside.

“What was that?” Rickard asked as Chun reentered the living room.

“The neighbors were arguing over the music. I mediated.”

“I told you to keep out of sight. People are going to figure out what we’re doing here if they see very much of you.”

Chun scrubbed his face with his hands. “What is the naked lady doing now?”

“She’s still washing the windows,” Drexler said.

“How long would it take you to wash those windows?”

“I don’t know, maybe five minutes.”

“It’s been more than ten minutes. Is she a very slow maid, or is she there to distract you from your job?”

“Shit,” Rickard said. “You think we’re blown?”

Chun nodded.

“Drex, walk around the block. See if you can spot anything useful on the other side of the house.”

“Got it, boss.” Drexler glanced back longingly at the scope as he crossed the room to the stairs.

Rickard went back to the scope and continued taking pictures.

“Don’t you think it’s risky to document your own poor performance when you know the job is a bust?” Chun asked.

“Not that risky,” Rickard said. “You gonna report me?”

Chun snorted. “To the people that just demoted me?”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Get a good closeup of her face,” Chun said. “We’ll want to try and identify her. She may be able to tell us something about who hired her.”

The camera made the telltale sound of the last frame being used. Rickard wound up the roll, then put it in his pocket. Then he loaded a new roll and snapped a handful of additional pictures.

“There’s a nice roll for the office.” He patted his pocket. “And a nice roll for me. Everybody wins.”

Chun walked over to the scope. “Let me have a quick look.”

Rickard chuckled. “Not all dried out with age yet, are you?”

“Not yet,” Chun said. He picked Rickard’s pocket, trading the exposed film for a blank roll. Then he looked through the scope. The woman had started over. Apparently the first pass had streaks or something.

“She just started over,” Chun said. He moved back so Rickard could see.

“You’re right. Good eye,” Rickard said. “Hopefully Drex comes back with something we can use.”

Drexler returned a few minutes later. “There’s a moving van hidden in the garage. They’re definitely on their way out.”

Rickard picked up their phone and dialed the office. “Agent Rickard. Drier stakeout. Drier is getting ready to rabbit. We need a tail. Right. Thanks. We’ll get packed up.”

A heavy knock thudded on their door.

“I’ll get it,” Chun said.

When he opened the door there were four angry looking police officers waiting for him. The weightlifter was behind them.

“That him?” asked a massive black police sergeant.

“That’s him,” the weightlifter said.

“You’re under arrest,” the sergeant said. “Place your hands behind your head and walk out slowly.”

“I’m not allowed to surrender to local authorities right now,” Chun said. “I’m on duty.”

“On duty?” another officer asked.

Chun carefully lifted his jacket by the lapel and retrieved his identification. “Agent Chun Fan, Bureau of Antiquities.”

The sergeant turned to his nephew. “You didn’t mention he was an agent.”

“He didn’t mention it either. And he’s still not allowed to mug me, agent or not.”

The sergeant turned back to Chun. “Anything to add, Agent?”

Chun glanced past the sergeant. “Show your uncle what you did before you assaulted me.”

The boy looked around at Chun and the officers. “Shit.”

The sergeant listened in silence as the boy walked him through events. Several times the boy stopped, glanced at Chun, and rephrased his description. Ultimately they got an acceptable report.

“This is bad, Donis,” the sergeant said. “Breaking and entering, illegal threats, damage to private property, assaulting a federal agent--you might get off on that one, since he didn’t identify himself… But no matter how that turns out, this is a criminal record and jail time for you.”

“Got my eleven dollars?” Chun asked.

The sergeant faced him. “Are you serious?”

“I am serious. We can handle this right here, quietly, or I can run it through channels. You pick.”

They decided to handle it quietly. Donis got an eleven dollar loan from his uncle, which he turned over to Chun.

“I’m sorry I tried to hit you, sir.”

Chun studied him for a few seconds and decided the apology was genuine. “Thank you. Keep hitting the gym. Stop getting in fights. I think you could go to the World Games.”

“Really?”

Chun nodded. “You’ve got a lot of work to do, but the raw material is all there.”

The officers left, and Donis went back to his own unit. Chun walked up to the neighbor’s door and knocked. The young couple opened the door and looked out shyly.

“Everything’s sorted out,” Chun said. “Donis won’t break your door down again. If he does, call this number.” He handed the young man a business card.

The boyfriend studied the card, then looked up. “Thank you, Agent Chun.”

“You’re welcome. Please turn your stereo down. If it’s audible more than fifty feet from your property, it’s a misdemeanor.”

They agreed, and promised to follow his advice. Across the complex ‘You Could be a Champion’ blared from another unit. Chun grimaced.

* * *

Director Tbela’s hair was white. Eyebrows, eye lashes, the works. It looked exactly the right kind of striking against her ebony skin. She was pushing eighty now, and looked formidable.

The stereo behind her desk was playing ‘You Could be a Champion’ at a barely audible level.

“Report, Agent Chun.”

He ignored the song, smiled at her, and took a seat in front of her massive hardwood desk. “Yes, ma’am. Rickard and Drexler are acceptable agents, but not good. They are a bad influence on each other, and should be separated. Both of them need some counseling on professional behavior and tradecraft.

“They failed to recommend a second surveillance team, even though we could only observe one side of the building. They failed to notice when the operation was compromised, and our subject started doing things to distract us.”

He fished the roll of film from his pocket and passed it to her. “They took these pictures, with plans to get a set for each of them. Rickard did bring his own film, so it’s not a theft, per se.”

“I knew something was going wrong with those two,” Tbela said. “Thank you for doing this. I’ll have your rank reinstated soon. Just give me a pretext.”

Chun grinned and continued his report.