Robert Towne was fairly proud of his cover vehicle. It was a '70s era Ford pickup he'd bought for $200, with license plates he'd borrowed from a similar model truck sitting on blocks in a suburban back yard. With a set of magnetic business signs, again borrowed, from a commercial landscaping truck sitting at Denny's, and a set of long handles tools and two lawn mowers he paid another $200 for at a second hand shop, he looked like any other independent gardener coming into your neighborhood to cut the grass and trim the hedges.
Only, this time he was coming home, to his neighborhood. When he got there -- with his hand tools standing tall, the lawn mower's handle sticking noticeably out over the tail gate -- he cruised slowly down the narrow street, looking but not looking; he feigned to be looking at yards and trees, but he was inconspicuously checking cars and alleys.
After his first pass, he felt good about what he saw. Experience told him, of course, that one pass was never enough. At the intersection two blocks past his house, he pulled a U-turn -- a deliberately conspicuous one, which took four changes from forward to reverse and had him bouncing over one curb -- and returned. Old Man Cramer's yard was always in need of care, and Old Man Cramer -- despite living across the street and down two houses -- wouldn't have known Robert Towne from Barack Obama.
He came to a stop along the curb before Cramer's place and hopped out. He peeked inconspicuously toward his own house, then at every car within sight, then -- as he headed up to knock on his not-so-neighborly neighbor's door -- down between the houses toward the thin alleys that were behind each. Still, nothing to be concerned about.
"Whatcha want?" the old codger asked when he responded to Robert's knock.
Robert tried interesting his neighbor in yard work, turning as he supposedly pointed to the lawn and shrubs and trees about him, but actually looking far beyond them to the street and to his own house just two hundred feet away. He smiled as he saw his dog laying behind the chain link fence, chewing on something he surely wasn't supposed to be destroying.
As the old man defended his yard's lack of care, Robert saw it; the dark sedan cruised by at ten below the speed limit with two men in the front seat and another in the back -- and all were looking up to Cramer's porch ... at Robert.
Robert continued his act, keeping an eye on the vehicle as it left unhurriedly.
"Get off my porch," Cramer finished, slamming his door as he spat out, "Wasting my time!"
Robert returned to his truck, hands gesturing in the air; he even turned once to flip Old Man Cramer off, as if upset for not getting hired. Looking beyond the old Ford, he saw yet another dark sedan pulling into a parking space three houses down. With the morning sun behind the vehicle, he could see at least two men in that car as well.
Robert pulled away from the curb, turning another unwieldy U-turn at the end of the block, passing his house once again. Meat was gone from his place in the sun, and Robert recognized the chewed remains of his brand new leather work boots sitting next to the fence.
As he turned at the end of the block, passing the first sedan -- now with only one man in it -- he turned his attention to the alley behind his house. The other two men were standing at the back fence, staring at the huge, growling rottweiler.
Robert smiled as he drove away, knowing that Meat would keep the men off his property and out of his house ... until Robert himself could figure out a way to get back to it himself.
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