7:07 a.m. I leave my hotel at 5:30 this morning after a nice, hot shower. I still have to write my update from my surveillance yesterday. Which won't take long because my Subject didn't so much as peek his head out the door. I tried to set up in the same location that I did last time since I was able to get some really great footage of him doing yard work there. But, things have changed around here since early spring. The vegetation has made it impossible to see his shed and driveway. And with the corn high and growing higher everyday I must say it gets pretty caustrophobic driving these narrow country roads. I feel like a rat in a maze.
Anyway, after sitting for 8 hours in a church parking lot with zero activity, I headed north to Champaigne/Urbana to find a hotel. I was exhausted. I had driven all day Saturday, stopped at my house for a three hour nap and then got up at 2:30 a.m. to get down here on time for a 6 a.m. surveillance Sunday morning.
I checked in to my hotel and didn't even bother getting my bags before crashing on the bed. I managed to take a two hour nap before my phone rang. Hummmer. Jerk. I don't even remember what he was chattering on about I was so out of it. He could have been hauled in by the cops for all I know. I finally got off the phone but couldn't get back to sleep. I curse Hummer, his wife, and any little Hummers that might be out there.
Since I couldn't get back to sleep I decided to get some food. Pizza Hut it is. After I picked up the pizza I walked over to an outlet mall that has this amazing chocolate shop I found last time I was here. I somehow ended up spending $25 on chocolate. I should feel guilty about this.
After I stuffed my face sufficiently, I slept for an impressive 8 hours.
Oh, lookie. A local. Hold on...
An older gentleman with silver hair walks up to my truck. Great. Here we go again. I continue to write and decide to ignore him until he knocks. (It's important to let them know that I'm in control of the situation.)
He knocks on my window and I look up to see a withered old face and a big frown. I smile and roll down the window. "Hello," I say in my most pleasant hick-town voice. He is hostile. What is it about this town? Are they hiding something? Are they a bunch of secret marijuana farmers that don't want strangers sniffing around? Maybe that big grainery is really a meth lab...
"Can I ask what you're doing here?", he asks. No hello back? I give him the old routine answer that I'm a PI working a surveillance case and if he has any questions he should call the sheriff's office. He says, "We've had a few break-ins lately and I noticed you around here yesterday." I nod. "Yeah," I say. "It's a small town. I'm not surprised." He tells me he's got my license plate number and I again encourage him to call the sheriff's office if he's got any questions. He appears to want to make me nervous. "We take care of our own around here." I smile at that. I'd love to have him as my neighbor. He'd have my back, I'm sure.
"Can I ask you what you're investigating?" he asks. "That's not a good idea," I answer back. He turns and walks away. Great. With an evasive answer like that I'm pretty sure that if they ARE running a meth lab in the grainery I'm going to get my ass capped today.
Old Man Smithers returns to his house and his wife who is waiting on the doorstep for an update. I am sure that within an hour the entire town will know I'm here. Within two hours they will be circling my truck with pitchforks.