There I was, yesterday morning, walking the Puckers before leaving for work. Puck, having assumed the position, was dropping a huge load when suddenly I noticed a fat man in a Honda circling the parking lot.
My paranoia meter was going off full force. I'd never seen this car or this fat man before. Why was he circling? What is he looking for? Who does this m-effer think he is fooling?
We haven't had break-ins for a few years, but after having my car broken into three summers ago, I don't take any chances. I watch enough episodes of Law & Order to know what a serial killer does before he attacks his prey. I wasn't going down without a fight.
I said, "C'mon Brutus!" as loudly as inconspicuously possible and tried to confidently walk away with Puck. Now, if you know the Puckers, you know he is at the state where he just hobbles along behind me on the leash. Actually, his legs are getting worse and he slightly drags his back left leg when he walks. Not immensely scary.
"Yeah - the old fight injury won't stop you, my monster! Heh!" I said, fearing that the potential rapist was watching and trying to size up Puck's attack skills.
I took a longer route and ducked behind some cars to get a glimpse at the fat man, who had now pulled into a parking spot and was undoubtedly watching my every move. As I glanced over the side mirror of my neighbor's Excursion, I noticed Fat Man was writing something on a small notebook!
A killer's notes! He was writing down where I lived and what kind of car I drove and that my dog was old and feeble and could easily be taken out by a murderer who broke into my house looking to BTK me.
Suddenly, I felt a surge of anger. (See my previous post about rage.) Hell no! I wasn't going to let this fat bastard get the best of me!!!!!
I let Puckers back inside and grabbed my keys. I hopped into my car and threw a withering stare in the direction of Sir Fatty McRapist. I drove around the parking lot and pulled up directly behind him. I made a note of his license plate and sat directly behind him for a minute, making sure he knew I was watching. I circled the parking lot two more times to really send home the message that I was not going down without a fight.
Once out of sight, I quickly dialed my condo office and told the property manager all about. I gave her every detail, from what he was wearing, to the color of his dirty rapist beard, to his license plate number and the scratches on the back of his dirty rapist car.
She was quiet for a moment. I waited patiently for her to thank me profusely for my expert detective skills in catching a killer and preventing a senseless murder.
"Well, Lindsay, it seems that you've spotted the undercover detective from JSO who's investigating one of your neighbors. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone else."