Ray Boland was the greatest surveillance man Gary had ever met. He had outstanding concentration, never got bored or tired, could break into any property and followed targets like a ghost. He spent 15 years on the Police Surveillance Squad before getting sacked for playing golf when he should have been on a stake-out. It was a ridiculous decision, because geniuses should be allowed to make their own rules. However, the force was not good at recognising or handling the super-talented.
Ray now owned a successful business that did counter-surveillance work for big corporations. His clients were always impressed when he found bugs hidden in their boardrooms that he had surreptitiously planted himself.
Ray owned a Federation bungalow in the leafy suburb of Cremorne. Whenever Gary knocked on the front door, he prayed that Ray's wife, Anne, would not open it. She regarded Gary as a bad influence on her husband and either scowled at him or made snarky comments with a voice like squeaky chalk. Fortunately, she didn't know that Ray had committed several serious crimes at Gary's behest. If she ever found out, she would deposit a whole set of steak knives in Gary's chest while wearing the craziest look in history.
Luckily, when Gary knocked on the front door, small feet padded up the hallway. A small boy yelled: "Who's there?"
"Scott, it's Gary Maddox. Will you open up?"
"Sure."
The door swung upon to reveal an eight-year-old boy with a buzz-cut and sharply defined features, like his Dad. "Hello, Gary."
"Hi, Scott. Your Dad home?"
"Yep, he's in the shed out the back."
Gary looked nervously over Scott's head. "And your Mum - she here?"
"She's gone out."
"Great. I mean, OK, I'll go around the side and see your Dad."
Scott closed the door and Gary strolled down the side lane to the small metal shed at the end of the garden. The shed door was open. Inside, Ray sat on a stool fiddling with a radio scanner, like a kid with a toy. The bench next to him was piled high with electronic surveillance equipment.
"Thank God you're not playing with yourself."
Ray turned and exposed his ageing Ken Doll features. "Hah, hah. Wrong day of the week. What're you doing here?"
"I need help."
A lift of the eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes. I've got to follow someone, solo. So I want to borrow one of your toys."
"You mean, a tracker?"
"Yes."
"Who're you going to follow?"
"A pastor called Richard McKenzie."
A rumpled forehead. "Do I know him?"
"He pumps out bullshit at the Sunrise Mission."
A smile. "Oh, that guy. I've seen him on telly a few times, on Sunday mornings. Looks like a bikie; loves waving a bible about. Why do you want to follow him?"
"He's been in contact with someone I'm trying to find."
"Who?"
"A guy who's gone missing - an accountant. His mummy wants him back."
"Why's he missing?"
"No idea. I'll find out when I find him."
A shrug. "OK, I'll help. Just don't tell Anne, OK?"
Gary tried to look innocent. "Is she still paranoid about me?"
"She's not paranoid - she can read you like a book."
"What have I done wrong?"
"Are you kidding? Every time I do something for you - even a simple favour - I end up breaking half the laws in this state. I even helped you build a fucking bomb, for God's sake. If she finds out how much shit I've done for you, she'll strangle both of us."
Gary wanted to slap him across the face and tell him to behave like a man. However, his friend would probably sob like a girl. "She can strangle you if she wants - you're her husband. But she'd better leave me alone."
"Hah. You'd be dead by sundown."
A shrug. "Well, don't worry, if you give me a tracker, you won't get into trouble."
"I'd better not."
"Trust me."
After a dramatic sigh, Ray's eyes gleamed. "OK then, I've got just what you need: a Crunshultz global positioning tracker. Lots of police forces use them. You attach it to a vehicle and watch where it goes on Google Maps. The signal bounces off a satellite, so it's got an unlimited range."
"Great. You've got one here?"
"Of course."
Ray took a small box off a shelf and removed the lid. Inside were a puck-sized tracker and a USB flash drive. He took them out, carefully wiped them with a cloth to remove his fingerprints and offered them to Gary on the cloth. He looked like a child with a new toy. "The software on the flash drive has to be loaded onto a computer. It will interact with Google Maps."
Gary took the tracker. "Will you load it onto my laptop?"
A frown. "Jesus, can't you do that yourself?"
"Yes, but I'd waste big chunks of my valuable time. You can do it a lot faster."
"Do you want me to wipe your bum too?"
"Only when I can't reach around anymore."
A sigh. "Where's your laptop?"
"Out in the car. I'll get it."
"Alright. You'd better hurry, because Anne will be home soon."