I had purposely dressed warmly and was fully prepared to wait in the parking lot until she went out on a showing of some suburban house. I was aware that it might take several days of observation before such an event happened. After all, winter was not the prime time for real estate sales. But, to my surprise and delight, my luck was in. Anita's car was nowhere to be seen after three circuits of the parking lot.
Gambling that she would not return in the short time that I needed to be in there, I walked quickly to the door of the office and stepped inside, blessing the orgasmic warmth that rushed over me from the building's heater.
There was a waiting area with several chairs and the inevitable outdated magazines. These faced a receptionist's desk where a pretty young woman was typing with machine-gun bursts. Behind her were ten or so desks, about half of which were occupied. One of the occupants I recognized as Jack Valentine, the only male present in the room beside myself. None of the desk workers paid me any attention as I entered but the receptionist gave me a suspicious look.
"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice not nearly as friendly as it would have been had an adult walked in. She probably figured I was going to ask to use the bathroom or something.
"Yes Ma'am." I said shyly. "My Dad asked me if I would stop by here and pick up something called a…" I paused as if trying to recall information, "A listing paper?"
"You mean a listing sheet?" She corrected, becoming instantly more friendly.
"Yes." I nodded. "That's it."
"Did your Dad tell you what range he wanted that for?" She asked patiently.
"Oh," I said, shaking my head as if disgusted with myself for not remembering. "I'm sorry. Seventy-five to eighty-five thousand."
"Why sure." She said, brightening even more when she heard that. She stood up and headed over to one of the desk people.
I took a moment to admire her legs, which were truly magnificent encased in dark nylons as they were. I then cast a nervous look outside, making sure Anita hadn't pulled up and was heading in. I could only imagine what would happen if she found me in there.
It took a minute but the receptionist returned with a sheaf of copied computer print-outs upon which all of the current houses for sale in the price range I'd specified, the upper end for that time period in that city, were listed. The existence of such a document was not something the average sixteen year-old would have known about since most sixteen year-olds have not purchased a house in their past.
"Here you go young man." She told me, smiling professionally.
"Thank you." I said, taking the papers and returning the smile. "And he also asked if I could have one of your brochures too?"
She picked one up from a stack on her desk. It was a full color pamphlet that listed the real estate agents employed by that office, their mission statement, and phone numbers. She handed it to me. "One brochure." She said. "Anything else?"
"That should do it Ma'am." I told her. "Thank you."
A moment later I was out the door. Five minutes after that I was sitting in my car, letting the heater run while I looked at the paperwork I'd acquired.
According to the brochure, Jack Valentine was indeed another agent, not a supervisor or a lawyer or something else, as I'd feared. Perfect. He was one of four males in an office staffed by eighteen.
I looked at the printout next, looking mostly at the addresses of the houses for sale. Eight years as a paramedic had made me more than passingly familiar with the layout of the streets in this, or indeed any Spokane County neighborhood. There were four listings in close proximity to the office. I started up my car and drove to the first of them, my eyes looking for the right combination of details. I had a pretty good idea of what I was looking for.
I checked all four of the houses as a matter of course but the moment I saw the second one I knew it was as close to perfect as I was going to get. A small city park was directly across the street, complete with rows of bushes and thick foliage. The house itself had two large trees in the front yard, trees which would serve to cut the view from inside the house. The driveway, which I looked at most carefully, was completely unobservable from the interior of the house due to it's positioning. Truly, for what I had in mind, it could not be much better.
After dismissing the last house and firmly settling my mind on the second, I drove to the freeway, heading for downtown Spokane, my mind full of shaky confidence that my crazy scheme could be pulled off.
The hall of records was located in the Spokane County Courthouse, a dilapitated building in the unfashionable part of downtown. After battling for a parking spot, fighting my way through three clerks who wanted detailed explanations of why I, a teenager, wanted to take a look at these supposedly open public records, and then pouring through tons of paperwork in the largest filing cabinets I've ever personally seen, I was forced to admit there was something I missed terribly from my old life. The Internet. In 1999 I would have been able to pull up this information, information that took me more than two hours to retrieve in the courthouse, in less than five minutes. God bless technology, despite the Unabomber's ravings to the contrary.
I finally found what I was looking for in an obscure file marked "Real Estate Transactions--1983", a file which was not, I might add, stored with Real Estate Transactions 1900 to 1982 as you would have thought it would be.
The file was more than an inch thick. I paged forward until I found the months of October and November. I began scanning through the columns of text and legalese, looking for two names in particular: Anita Browling and Jack Valentine. I found them eventually and copied down the names that were listed with them as clients.
Satisfied with my work, I returned the file to its proper place, signed out, and went home. I hoped this was all going to work. I'd been to a lot of trouble if it didn't.
That night I gave Mike a call.
"What's up?" He asked me, pleasantly enough.
"Not much." I told him. "You still coming over to study tomorrow?"
"Fuckin' aye." He agreed. "Got a test coming up in English and I need you to go over this modifier crap with me."
"You got it." I told him. "How's ROP going?"
"Bitchin." He said. "I'm diggin the new station. The BC has been hangin out with me a lot, you know, talkin to me and all. I think he likes me. He told me they'd probably be testing for hire in August this year. Looks like I might be getting paid to work there then."
"Cool Mike." I told him. "You'd better quit smoking and start running." I advised him. "I hear that physical agility test is a bitch."
"Yeah, that's what the BC told me too." He answered. "I thought maybe I'd start jogging at night before I go to bed. That'll probably help."
"Probably." I agreed, inwardly feeling very pleased to hear his words. It sounded like Mike was growing up a little. Strange but true. "Listen," I told him. "I was wondering if maybe you could do me a little favor before you head to the fire station tomorrow."
"It'd have to be a quick favor." He told me. "I don't want to be late."
"It'll only take a minute." I explained. "Just meet me at the payphone by the office after lunch."
"What for?" He asked.
"I need to borrow your voice for something."
"How is your hand healing up?" Nina asked me the next day at lunch, her voice still careful and guarded.
"I think I'll live." I answered, holding it up for her inspection. The stitches were still quite prominent but the skin itself was starting to knit back together. It didn't actually hurt anymore but it itched like mad most of the time.