I'd been following Frank Barnes for the last three days trying to serve him with a summons to appear in court. He knew it was coming and had done everything he could think of to keep me from getting close enough. See, the law says I have to personally hand him the summons and explain what it was. I couldn't just slip it under his door or anything like that. I understood why he was doing it, but this was the last straw.
I knew where the son of a bitch lived because the first day I'd followed him home from work. He drove into the attached garage of the house and closed the door.
I waited about half an hour to give him time to get inside, change clothes and take a dump, then walked up and knocked on the door. After half an hour of knocking, he still hadn't answered, so I gave up and left.
I was back there the next morning at five so I could follow him again. About seven thirty, the garage door opened and he barked the tires backing out onto the street. He barked them again when he drove off. I followed him but he gave me the slip at the burger place he turned into.
I followed him into the parking lot of the burger place and watched him pull into the drive-up lane. I pulled into a spot to wait for him to come back out and turn onto the street again.
He was two cars away from the sign where you say what you want and then have to repeat it because what the fucking high-school kid inside says comes out of the speaker sounding like "hiss hiss tha crackle ger crackle hiss n crackle ies hiss crackle crackle hiss hiss shake", so you have to say it all over and then listen to the same fucking thing again. Finally you just give up and drive around and park so you can go inside and order.
I couldn't see the drive-up window from where I was parked because that big sign was in the way, but I saw Frank drive in front of it. Fifteen minutes later, he still hadn't come back around to the street so I backed out of my space and drove around beside the drive-up window. The bastard wasn't there. There was a side street with an exit from the parking lot and he'd taken that. I drove to where he worked and found his car, but he was already inside.
You might wonder why I didn't just stand in front of his garage door to stop him, and there are some reasons for that. I'm a PI, not a cop. A cop could do that. Hell, a cop could stand there all goddammed day if he wanted as long as he had a reason to be there. I couldn't. If I'd have done that, I'd have been trespassing.
I'm also on the shorter side of fifty, and I don't run worth a shit anymore. If he came busting out of that garage like he had, he'd run me down before I could get my ass out of the way. I try to avoid shit like that every chance I get.
That was a Friday and on Saturday I did the same thing, except I didn't try to hide the fact I was following him. I stayed right on his fucking ass until he turned into the parking lot of the mall. I pulled into a space three cars down and got out of my car so I could catch the asshole before he went inside.
At first, I thought somehow I'd lost him and picked up the same make, model, and color car by mistake and followed it. I thought that because a woman got out and walked across the parking lot.
My second thought was she was one butt-ugly woman. She had no tits to speak of and her ass didn't fill out her jeans like women like to do anymore. Her ass looked like a boy's ass in jeans that were too big. I only caught a glimpse of her face, but if I'd have put her picture in my pantry, the goddamned mouse that's been eating my fucking corn puffs would have had a heart attack and died.
I kept watching, and quickly realized I had the right car and this was no woman. This was Frank dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and wearing a long, brown wig.
Now, I've tailed a lot of people, but I'd never seen anything like this. Men are usually pretty easy because they don't deviate much from their normal appearance and patterns. They wear their hair the same way for years, and either wear a suit and tie or pants and a shirt, and a guy with more than three pairs of shoes is probably really in touch with his feminine side.
They stop at the same gas station once a week and they stop off at the same bar every Friday night after work. I just have to figure out where they're going to be and when, then wait there until they show up.
Women can be a bitch to catch because a woman can and will change her appearance as often as she changes her panties. They dye their hair, bleach their hair, cut off their hair, and wear wigs so they can have different colors, different styles, and longer or shorter hair. Depending on the bra, the same woman can look flat chested one day and be sporting jugs the size of softballs the next. They use makeup to change their eyes and mouth, and body shapers to push the not so slim places into wherever there's room for the flab to fit.
They call this "smoothing". I call it fucking bait and switch, like when they offer you a red hot sportscar on TV but when you get to the lot, they don't have any left and try to sell you some goddamned little econobox that looks like an overgrown blue turd and feels like driving a kid's electric car.
You take one of these women out for dinner and drop about a hundred to get her in the mood, and then when you undress her...well, let's just say it's a big let down in a lot of ways. Doesn't do much for the old ramrod either.
The other thing women do is dive into their holiest of holy places, the ladies crapper, and I've had them stay in there for hours if they've figured out I'm trying to catch them. Oh, they'll come crack the door to see if I'm still there, but they'll duck back inside if they see me. I know they'll come out eventually because they have to fucking eat sometime, but I usually give up and try another day.
Yeah, I've seen a lot of women do shit like that, but I've never had one dress up like a man. Well, there was this one broad named Harriet Davidson, but she was a fucking dike so she called herself Harry and dressed like a man all the time anyway. She did try to trick me one day by wearing a dress. It was the combat boots that gave her away.
I followed Frank into the mall thinking I could catch him in one of the courtyards. That's a good place to hand somebody a subpoena or a summons and tell them they've been duly served. Most people won't try to punch me in the face, kick me in the nuts, or swing a purse at me if they're in the mall.
When I got inside the mall I spotted Frank, and he was headed for the ladies restroom.
Now, I know there are men who think they should have been born with tits and a snatch, and I know there are women who think they should have been born with a cock and balls. They aren't new. Back in the day, we called them "trannies". In today's world that would be considered an insult. The correct word today is "transgender" or "transexual".
As far as I'm concerned, they can call themselves whatever they want. I don't understand it, but if that's how they want to roll, more power to them. I know some people who don't understand why I'm the way I am either. Well...it's a couple more than some actually.
I knew Frank wasn't a tranny...er...a transgender person. I'd watched him fuck his girlfriend that first night I followed him. She must have worked at the same place he did, because she came out of the building with him and got in his car. They made a stop in a park on their way to her house.
I guess they were fucking anyway. It sure looked like they were. All I could see through my binoculars was what I could see through the rear window of Frank's car. I could see his head propped against the right side rear door, and her big tits flopping up and down while she rode his cock. Frank liked those big tits. He kept grabbing her nipples and pulling them up.
Her tits were huge, but then, she was pretty huge all over. Before you jump down my throat, I don't have anything against "BBW's". That's what they like to be called now. From what I've seen, a lot of BBW's are a lot bigger than they are beautiful, but that's OK with me. I know a couple of women who fit into that category, and they're nice people. I wouldn't want to fuck either one, not even on a bet. I mean, I like a woman with some meat on her bones, but not that much meat. It might be cool to see how their big tits feel though, at least once.
Anyway, Frank went into the ladies room and I couldn't follow him. I waited around for a while to see if there were any screams or if any women came running out half dressed, but that didn't happen. Apparently Frank had found a stall and decided to sit there for the duration. It was Wednesday night and I'd been following him for three days. I was tired of fucking with his ass, so I gave up and went home.
It was about five then, so I pulled a frozen pizza out of my fridge and tossed it into the microwave, then poured myself two fingers of Glenfiddich in my jelly jar, lit a cigarette, and sat down at my desk to look at the other subpoenas and summons I had to serve.
I was doing that when my front door opened and a woman walked in.
My first impression was she was timid as a mouse. She crept through the door, turned around and closed it as quietly as she could. She turned then and took little itty-bitty steps until she was standing in front of my desk.
My second impression was she was in no danger of winning any beauty contests. She wasn't ugly and she wasn't gorgeous. She was just somewhere in between like about ninety-nine percent of all the women in the world.
If she'd have been standing up straight and had worn something that fit better than her cotton blouse, I might have been able to tell if she had tits or not, but I couldn't. She kept her shoulders rolled forward and she was kind of hunched over. I couldn't tell anything about her ass either, because her pants looked about two sizes too big.
The only thing about her that did look pretty good was her long, dark-brown hair, but I'm a sucker for long brown hair anyway.