Bob Randall walked across the damp grass wearing heavy boots and a waterproof poncho. It was early evening, and if he timed it right, the sun should be going down by the time he arrived at his post to spy on the subject of his latest job. A few days ago, a wealthy couple had come into his office, had the obligatory cup of coffee, and gotten more or less right to the point. They had a daughter in a Southern Christian University, and they suspected her of activity that was less than Christian, under their somewhat narrow definition of the term. They had gently tried to broach the subject with her at Christmas break and again in the Spring, but she denied doing anything they wouldn't have approved of. They were losing sleep at night, worrying about her cavorting with boys after-hours, drinking, or worse. After confirming that he wouldn't be spying on anyone underage, (Allison was nineteen) the money they were willing to give him pretty much made up Bob's mind for him, and two days later, he headed South.
Now, he was decked out in his raingear, mostly to keep his camera and optics dry, since it was no longer raining. His poncho hood pulled up over his head, and with the boots and dark pants, he could have passed for campus security or maintenance to a casual observer. He strode through a small wooded area at the edge of the campus, and across the grassy area of the Quad next to Williams Dormitory, one of the girl's dorms at this school, where everything was sex-segregated. He edged around the side of the building in the gathering gloom, and around to the back stairwell that descended into the basement. At the foot of the steps, he was confronted with a metal door, locked with a length of chain and a solid Master padlock. Fishing under his poncho for a moment, he produced a red pair of bolt cutters, and with these afforded his entry to the building. He had elected to break in without even trying to enter in any conventional way - in these schools, men were not even allowed past the lobbies of the dorms. Once inside, he peered around the pipes and boilers of the basement to find a concrete staircase beyond a green exit door. He had studied the floor plan of the building extensively, and knew that this was the best way to get upstairs, since the elevator passed the kitchen, where he could be seen. He doffed and stored his foldable poncho in his pack, and started hiking the stairs.
On the third floor, he clipped the wires that led to the door alarm, and let himself into the main hallway. He could hear the voices of the girls in their rooms, talking & laughing. According to her class schedule, Allison wouldn't be back for about an hour, so he had time to do a quick search of her room. He popped the lock of room 428 soundlessly, and peeked inside. She lived with no roommates, so he had the room to himself. Darting inside, he closed the door behind him. He went over to the desk, scanning its contents without touching anything, and into the bathroom, doing the same, checking the trashcans for condoms, pill bottles, etc. He walked over to the bureau, and as he was about to open the top drawer, the door latch clicked. The breath caught in his chest, and his blood ran cold. Shit! He quickly let himself into the deep closet, moving all the way to the back, and closing the louvered door behind him.
Allison Wallace was a tallish girl, about 5'9", and only about 125 pounds. She had short black hair and green eyes. She had good-sized breasts and long legs - an athletic build. This was part of the reason her parents were so worried about her. Bob saw her come in with a friend through the slats of the closet door, and stood, cursing himself in the darkness surrounded by Allison's clothes. The two girls were talking animatedly about the class they had just left. Allison sat down on the bed with her back to Bob, and the other girl, a redhead with a nice body, sat in a chair opposite the closet, facing Bob's position. As they chatted, this other girl fished in her bag and brought out a small bag of marijuana and began to roll a joint. Bob edged his pad out of his hip pocket and began making some notes by the light coming in through the louvers.
"What a dipshit," opined this other girl, stopping to lick the joint, "I can't believe I have to take this class."
