A rough of Whiskers side of On the Job.
Sitting in the dark, watching the side exit of the Love Buy The Hour coffin motel Whiskers relished the peace and quiet. No Puddles. No Chuck. No noise of the city. Nothing, but silence. After a week of rushing around the city, interviews with clients, and the frustration of a case ending without resolution was draining.
Following people around Stroud, taking vid and holo of them entering and leaving places revolted Whiskers, normally. Cases like this gave him a dirty feeling, bottom feeding on the misery of others did not sit well with him. However, peace and quiet did and cases like this were all about peace and quiet.
Pairing Chuck with Puddles ensured Whiskers quiet time. Leaning forward, Whiskers swiped across the windshield flipping through case information. Mister Ethan Harowe mid-level wageslave at Wanlot, married six years, no outstanding debts or for that matter anything else. Wrapping this case up, a matter of a few more hours of following and recording.
Incoming message light flashing caught Whiskers attention, only a few individuals knew the car’s private message address. Two taps on the windshield cleared the casefile, another tap brought up the message. Sender unknown, Whiskers sat back. A quick glance at the clock, enough time to start a trace. A few minutes later, trace started and Mister Howe exited Love Buy The Hour kissing Caroline Tarr deeply before heading to his car. Mister Howe drove past, oblivious to Whiskers. Swiping the windshield established connection with Puddles in their car.
“They are leaving. I will follow the husband. You and chuck follow his partner,” Whiskers said, starting the car, following Mister Howe.
An hour of late night traffic later, Mister Howe never deviating from the most direct path to his blockhouse apartment, pulling into an adjacent parking spot, Whiskers watched Mister Howe enter the elevator. Sitting back, Whiskers pulled up the vid images from tonight’s work; plenty of clear images of Mister Howe and partner. Checking the trace, a dead end. Curiosity warred with security. Security won, filing the message away, Whiskers headed back to the office.