‘What are you doing here?’ she asks.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m in the middle of a stake-out.’ Sometimes it stuns me how slow she is on the uptake. Has this woman even seen the Emilio Estevez and Richard Dreyfuss movie?
‘And,’ she says, sighing, ‘who exactly is the subject of your stake-out?’
‘The kid I cut from my team, the one you told me might have cut my new soccer net.’ As if she wouldn’t know that.
‘I was only joking when I said that,’ she says.
‘Well, I’m not. This is very serious. I want that boy in jail for criminal damage.’
‘Firstly honey, I don’t think any court will put a nine or ten year old in prison for cutting a net.’
‘We’ll see about that. Or at least we might if you get away and stop blowing my cover.’
‘Do you mind me asking how you propose to prove he did this?’
‘I have my phone ready to record his confession,’ I say, stunned at her lack of awareness at how these things work. She’s living proof of the unfortunate side-effects of not watching enough TV.
‘And how will you get him to confess?’
‘I figure once he sees me he’ll be so scared that he’ll blurt it right out.’
‘Okay, honey,’ she says, pausing as if going to deliver some advice on how best to get a crook to cop a plea. No, just more negativity from her. ‘Please come home now. It’s almost eight o’clock. I doubt that the kid will be out and about much for the rest of the night.’
‘No way. I’m here until it’s dark and I’m going to be here every evening after work, apart from when I’m running a practice or am too tired. I’m not giving up. Remember, I only have to be lucky once. He has to be lucky all the time.’
She walks away and I check the passenger seat to make sure my binoculars have the covers off.
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