Claim It!

He didn't wait for a reply, as he quickly exited Michelle's apartment and headed to his truck.

"I know, but I wish it wasn't." said Michelle, to no one in particular as she watched Don drive off.

~N~

It was the following Wednesday that Don spotted something peculiar. He was being tailed. It wasn't just one vehicle, it was at least two, perhaps more. It was purely by accident that he noticed one of the vehicles, a white van. Before long, the van would drop off and a dark blue sedan would take its place. The drivers never pressed to get too close to his truck, and even put a car or two, between them, at times. But, they always used the same lane he was driving in. A few times, the two vehicles were not to be seen. At that point there might have been another vehicle involved, but if so, Don failed to spot it.

Don had visited three job sites that morning, and after each visit he saw one of the two vehicles following him. He sped up, took turns that weren't part of the route he needed to travel, and even pulled in to a convenience store a couple of times. No matter what he did, one of those two vehicles was always there, behind him. Never too close, and never too far. If someone was having him tailed, what else might they have done. And, why?

As the day wore on, Don decided to head to Pete's job. He drove across town, arriving just before quitting time. Pete was alone in the foreman's trailer, leaning over the table as he studied a set of plans.

"Don! What are you doing here? I thought you were on one of the other jobs." asked Pete in mild surprise.

"Hi, Pete. I was, but I have to talk to you about a problem we're having on one of the jobs.", explained Don in a easy, but false, manner.

"Okay, sure. What's up?" replied Pete as he straightened up, rubbing his back. "Damn! I'm getting too old for this."

Don gave the obligatory chuckle, saying, "You've been too old for a long time, but your problem isn't age, it's how ugly you got."

"Eres un pendejo, comarada." quipped Pete, with a slight smile. "What's the problem?"

Don looked around the trailer's interior and for some undefined reason had an urge to speak to Pete outside the trailer.

"Let's go outside. You've stunk up the trailer with your cigar smoke again, Pete. You know how that fucks with my sinuses."

"You wuss!" A second later, Pete agreed. "Okay. I'll grab my coat."

Once they'd exited the trailer, Don causally looked around and across the street, but saw no sign of his followers.

"Let's walk a bit, Pete. It's too damn cold to just stand around." suggested Don.

That comment both alerted Pete and caused him to frown in slight confusion. Don had never complained about either it being too cold or too hot. "Yeah, sure. Lets' go to the construction site, I have to check some things in the structure so I can apply a few changes."

They walked to the structure, as Pete explained to Don what they'd been doing and what yet needed to be done. The unfinished structure was a custom home, that when completed would have four levels with over seven-thousand square feet of living area.

"Okay. What's going on, Boss?" Pete was filled with curiosity and concern, and it shown on his face.

Taking a deep breath, Don explained about being followed. When he was done, Pete let out a low whistle.

"Are you certain you are being followed?"

"Yes, dammit! I'm sure. I told you I spotted the same two vehicles more than once. The car even followed me here, but I didn't see it when we came out of the trailer." exclaimed Don in exasperation.

"Damn, Boss, you sure know how to live a exciting life."

"I need help, Pete!" burst out Don, desperation edging his voice. "I don't know anything about cloak and dagger stuff. But, I remember you once told me you were... A what? A SEAL?:

"Fuck, no! I was never a SEAL. They're Navy and I was Army. Although, those guys are outstanding at what they do, they couldn't cut the mustard in the environment we operated in. Let's just say, we were the red-headed step children, and the powers that were, gave us the shit no one else would even sniff at. Anyhow, how does my once being in the military, help you? Remember, that was a long time ago, and now, I'm a simple home builder."

"I honestly don't know, Pete. I guess I thought you might have a better handle on this. I was in the Army too, but, I was just a simple grunt. This- This sort of shit is way out of my expertise. And, it's starting to give me the willies."

Pete studied Don for a long moment before asking, "You have your cell phone on you?"

Perplexed by the question, Don automatically started patting his pockets before remembering he had left his phone charging in the truck. "No. Why? Do you need it?"

Pete shook his head in the negative then asked, "Do you think this has something to do with Donna?" First thing earlier this week, on Monday morning, Don had filled Pete in about what Michelle had told him.

"I don't know. Not for sure. But, I think it's a definite maybe."

Pete glanced fondly at the structure he and his crew were building, as he gave thought to Don's plight. "You know building homes has been a solace to me. It's allowed me to create- to build, instead of destroy. It isn't so much about the money, although that's nice, there's something about creating something where nothing existed before, that soothes a man's soul and gives purpose to his existence. In one way, it's much like having a child. Some one to carry on- to validate a man's existence. And, I never told you, but you are the son Stephie and I never had, before she passed away."

Don, embarrassed by Pete's unexpected sentiment, didn't know where Pete was going with his speech, but he knew enough not to say anything, so he waited patiently for Pete to finish.

"Okay, Boss. I'll help you. I'll take care of it from here." said Pete, with unexpected firmness.

Surprised by Pete's sudden declaration, Don blurted out, "Thanks, Pete, but I figured to be involved with this. Maybe call the cops."

"You are involved, it's why I'm getting involved.", explained Pete as if to a obtuse child. "Look, Don, the fact that you're being followed indicates many things. And, they are not good things. And, calling the cops is not a good idea. They don't do shit before hand, coming into play only after the shit has gone down."

Don tried to understand what Pete was saying, but his mind remained blank. "What do you mean by not good things?"

With a sigh, Pete started explaining. "First and foremost, whomever is behind having you followed has some deep pockets. Private investigators are not cheap. Especially, when P.I.s ' use multiple vehicles and are on your tail all day. If they are private investigators. Secondly, because you are being tailed, any action you take is going to be known by whomever is pulling the strings. Thirdly, your home and even your truck might be wired for real time transmission and recording of audio, and maybe visual. And, they might have hacked your phone. So they can listen in on your calls and read your texts. Again, they will know what you are planning on doing. There is more, but based on those three things, you doing anything out of the ordinary is going to alert them to they've been made. When they realize that, it's probable they'll close up shop and cover their tracks. That will kill any chance of discovering who they are and who is behind them. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

Don's mind was in a whirlwind at Pete's explanation, with disbelief at the forefront. "You have got to be kidding me! This is not some spy novel or movie, Pete. This is my life! I mean, why would anyone do this to me?"

With a deep sadness filling his eyes, along with another emotion Don couldn't fathom, Pete said, "People do a lot worse for a lot less reasons than for money."

" I know that! By why me?"

Pete took a wistful glance at the unfinished house before turning back to Don, saying, "I suspect it has something to do with Donna's inheritance. Actually, I'm positive it has a lot to do with it. Since you are married to her you have become a legitimate target."

Pete's explanation made sense and jived with his own burgeoning thoughts on it. "Okay, I get that. But, why? What makes me a target? The one-million dollars I'm supposed to get?"

Pete smiled mirthlessly, as his soft brown eyes became diamond hard. "That's what we are going to find out. Without the cops."

Don had never seen that particular expression on Pete's face. However, during his six years in the Army, Don had seen a few guys wearing the same expression. On faces of soldier's who had been deep in the shit- who had faced the enemy and come out the only survivors.

With a slight shudder at the memories that played out in his mind, Don slowly nodded at Pete, in complete understanding.

~N~

The throw away phone rang with a irritating tone, the meaning of its nearly muted ringing intruding and mentally blocking out the surrounding sounds. The man, who held the phone, looked at it with indecision, and for a brief moment considered not answering. The moment passed and he pressed the green button to answer the call. He didn't offer a greeting, in fact, he said not a word as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Surveillance is still in effect on subject twenty-two. Security has not been compromised. Mission is still a go", matter-of-factly stated the digitally altered voice on the other end, before disconnecting.

The man sat unmoving in his plush office chair, his hand continuing to hold the phone to his ear as he mentally repeated the words he had just heard. Satisfied as to their meaning and intent, he slowly lowered the phone from his head, placing it back into the drawer of his desk, and locking it.

As he heard the slight click of the lock engaging, the nominal sounds of the business office were once again apparent, lending a surreal aspect to an otherwise mundane day. With a small shake of his head as if to dispel the feeling, the man refocused his attention to the spreadsheet displayed on the screen in front of him.