Free Stuff to Spy For by Don Bruns

causeway. Plumbers, caterers, pool service trucks, carpenters, but no spy trucks. None that I could see.
    Finally she broke the silence. “So when do we visit Jody and see some of this spy equipment?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    I couldn’t sleep that night. We were to start the big project with Synco Systems day after next, and I was keyed up. Way too many things were going on in my life, and they were all tied up with the job. I tossed and turned, working the sheets into a knot, fading in and out, sweating while I had bouts with the heat and humidity. Finally I climbed out of bed and walked out to our living room, the dingy little rectangle of carpeted space that held one chair, one small couch, a coffee table, lamp, and TV.
    James was snoring on the sofa and Conan was signing off on our small screen. I pulled on a pair of torn, faded jeans that I’d thrown over the chair and unlatched the door. Why we even lock it I have no idea.
    Outside the moon was shining over the stadium across the way and our pathetic parking lot was dimly lit with fading bulbs from the two pole lights that hadn’t been broken by thrown rocks. James’s truck was parked directly in front of our apartment. Even in the faint light, the basketball-sized flaking orange rust spots stood out along the bottom of the cab. Jim Job’s van was parked two doors down, and my Cavalier was three doors down.Someone had parked a gray Honda Accord in my spot beside James when I came home so I parked my car down the way where no one lived. The strange gray Honda was still there, the tires nuzzled up against the sidewalk. I should have put up a sign. Parking Spot Property of Skip Moore.
    Shirtless and barefoot, I walked into the parking lot and gazed around the shabby, rundown complex. I shared the dream that James had, and the dream that Em lived. Enough money so that I didn’t have to worry about where the next buck or hundred bucks or thousand dollars were coming from. Enough money that I could leave this crappy apartment, leave Carol City, maybe even leave Florida and get a start somewhere else. Enough money that I could take Em on a cruise. I shared the dream. Not the reality.
    Deep down I knew that this job wasn’t going to get that done. The money issue was still just a dream. But I started seeing the big picture, something James has been looking at for some time. There’s more to life than a twenty- or thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year job. And that’s a good thing. Especially with the price of gas. Putting yourself out there, I mean just exploring everything that comes your way, could have all kinds of monetary benefits. James wanted the truck idea to work. So maybe his spy-mobile wasn’t a bad idea.
    My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and when I turned back to look at the apartments on our row, I noticed the iron gates that fronted several doors. I figured that it couldn’t be too difficult to pry the gates open and break into those apartments. It’s just that, like our place, there would be nothing worth stealing. I made a mental note to talk to those people and try to sell them a security system. Should have thought of that a year ago. Wasn’t it P. T. Barnum who said, “There’s a sucker born every minute”? It was probably true.
    The movement caught my eye. Three doors down. Subtle motion, something close to the ground. A cat. Dog. Maybe a snake, or possibly a rat. I stared and didn’t see any motion this time. Snakes and rats lived in palm trees and orange trees, and there were five scraggly palms planted around the perimeter of the parking lot. I was scared to death of snakes and rats.
    A cloud drifted over the moon and the lights from the parking lot barely cut through the nighttime gloom. I slowly walked toward my car, hoping there was no broken glass in the lot to cut my bare feet. No glass, and God, please don’t let there be a snake. Or a rat.
    Soft steps. I should have worn shoes.
    Something had moved. Now everything was quiet. The hot,