If Loving You is Wrong, I Don’t Wanna Get Caught

PI’s separate their case types into several categories. Today I’m on a domestic case. As opposed to a claims (insurance) case or a legal case. A domestic case is what most people envision when they think of PI work. It’s tailing a cheaty wifey or hubby around to see what kind of trouble they get into. Fun, fun.

So here I sit in the parking lot of a major chain store whose name you would doubtless recognize, but whose lawyers I don’t wish to receive Cease and Desist paperwork from, so they shall heretofore remain nameless. But let me tell you this. Their parking lots are like fertile breeding grounds for low rent rendezvous. They tend to be huge, with lots of recessed corner areas where conspirators and like-minded co-conspirators can meet, steal a quick kiss and get down to the business of flagrant adultery.

Now, listen. Nobody puts much thought into an affair. They aren’t the most well executed crimes ever devised by the criminal mind. They tend to be planned on the fly and in the heat of passion, which is why the injured party usually catches wind of the whole debacle. Because the affair-or and affair-ee suddenly turn into mindless, hormone driven teenagers again.

Suddenly there are abrupt hang-up calls at all hours of the night.

Suddenly the significant other has an insanely busy work or travel schedule.

Suddenly your mate either starts picking fights at random or can’t enough of your love, baby (Sing it, Barry). Both of these behaviors stem from the guilt associated with rampant naughtiness.

Suddenly, something just feels wrong.

That’s when I go to work. Now, back to that parking lot. I followed my subject from work to here on her lunch break. She was completely clueless as to who was behind her. She was too preoccupied as to who was waiting in front of her. Let that be a lesson to the chaste and unchaste alike out there; always maintain 360-degree awareness of your surroundings. The person tailing you might not be as charming and harmless as me. But I digress…

So into the parking lot we go, and I immediately knew the drill. Heck, I knew where she was going before she did. I found a nice surveillance position nestled amongst several inconspicuous cars and watched my subject act out a drama as old as time itself.

Act 1, Scene 1:

She sits alone in her car, waiting with anxious anticipation. Checks her makeup in the rearview and looks around for the vehicle she’s expecting. Where is he?!? Doesn’t he know she only gets an hour lunch break? Oooohhhh, she could kill him! No, she couldn’t…she luuuuuuuuuuuuvs him! And he’s going to leave his wife and family to be with her and they’ll live happily ever after in La La Land because she honestly and sincerely believes he would never cheat on HER...You know, like he’s doing to his current wife...

Didn’t you hear that they were in luuuuuuuuv? Luuuuuuuv means never having to be sorry, or something like that. What movie was that from? You know, that one where she died at the end…

Oh…WHERE IS HE?!?!

Cut to the scene of his late model luxury sedan casing the parking lot. My subject looks down and answers her cell phone (thanks for leaving that paper trail on the cell bill, by the way). Even from this distance I can make out her words. “Where ARE you?” I can imagine his slick, Fonzie-esque response…

“Look beside you, baby.”

To his credit, the paramour actually scans the parking lot before getting out. He’s smart enough to look for someone like me…he’s just not smart enough to actually find me. This ain’t my first rodeo, Cowboy. Let’s see if it’s yours.

Yep, it’s his first. He bebops out with a swagger worthy of Saturday Night Fever era Travolta. Oh man, if my video camera could talk. She’d tell you some stories from over the years. My subject pops out and rushes over like its prom night. She wants a From Here to Eternity rolling on the beach kiss, but cooler heads prevail. A quick hug and a smooch and off they go in his love wagon. Even a casual observer could tell that wasn’t her husband. She was just flat out too happy to see him. At this point, I could attach my van to his bumper and let them tow me to where they’re going, that’s how clueless and preoccupied they are with one another now. Doesn’t matter, though. I know where they’re going.

I’ve seen this movie a hundred times.

There’s a no-tell motel two blocks up. The kind where you can park in the back and not be seen going in from the street. What they don’t know is you can park at the strip center next door and see everything that happens in the back. Good thing I know that, huh? ‘Cause I’m set up and waiting there when they pull up. My tape is rolling as she gets out of his car and follows him into the room.

“Mr. Demille, I’m ready for my close-up”.

He apparently paid for the room ahead of time, which probably makes him think he’s smart. I’d tell you what it makes me think, but we’re amongst such polite company and all. By my watch they have about 38 minutes left on her lunch break, which is about 37.5 more than they’re going to need in their excited states.

Time passes…empires rise and fall…the tides ebb and flow…you get the point.

She makes it back to the office with three minutes to spare. I make it over to her husband’s office shortly thereafter.

Another day, another dollar…