Surveillance with a Slap

I had a simple surveillance job last night: assure my subject dropped off a loan payment. It wasn't so simple, however, when that subject just happened to be escorting Monique Courbure. She knows my car. She knows my face. She especially knows how to seek me out and act as if I'm missing something by not being with her - the last time at Tanner's in which she slobbered up half of some guy's head. Why can't this woman just get out of my life?

I knew where the drop point was supposed to be so once I spotted Monique I ditched my car and pursued on foot. It was only a five block trek and with traffic, my pace nearly matched their's. Fortunately, "my subject" dropped off the payment as instructed and all seemed well. Easy money.

However, as I sat later in Tanner's with Dennis Frohman, icy fingernails glided across the back of my neck. I looked up and there was Monique. I just stared at her.

She leaned down to me and purred. "You don't have to stalk me. You know where to find me."

For a moment I was dumbstruck but finally replied. "Who said I was following you?"

Her jaw tightened and she slapped me across the face. "You don't know what you're missing."

Dennis laughed as Monique stormed off. I simply took a swig of my Sam Adams and murmured, "Oh, yes I do."