Surveillance at the Blue Lagoon

The pool at the Blue Lagoon Motel hadn't been properly cleaned in years. A film of scum floated across the surface, reflecting the neon sign that buzzed overhead — 'L' and 'G' flickering in an irregular rhythm that matched the headache pulsing behind my eyes. I'd been parked in this rented sedan for three nights, watching the wrong room, waiting for a man who probably wasn't coming.

Corporate espionage had seemed glamorous when I started. But there's nothing romantic about eating drive-thru tacos while watching a stranger's hotel window, wondering if your own life had ever mattered as much as the documents you're hired to steal.

My phone lit up. My ex-wife. 'The kids want to know if you're coming to Sarah's baseball game Saturday.' She didn't ask about me. She never did anymore.

I typed back: 'Wouldn't miss it.' A lie. I'd probably miss it. I missed everything important these days.

Buster, my retriever mix, shifted in the passenger seat, resting his chin on my arm. He'd been with me through three marriages and countless jobs. The only living thing that looked at me like I was still worth something. His brown eyes held more forgiveness than I deserved.

Movement. Room 214.

A woman stepped onto the balcony. Not my target. She was younger, maybe thirty, wearing a hotel robe that was too large for her frame. She lit a cigarette with hands that trembled slightly. Below, in the parking lot, a man in a grey sedan watched her through binoculars.

Another spy. This was a surveillance party and nobody had invited me.

The woman threw something small into the pool. It made a tiny splash. Then another thing. She kept throwing, methodical, calm, like she was feeding fish. But the pool was empty except for algae and abandoned dreams.

Through my own binoculars, I saw what she was tossing. Baseball cards. One after another, the paper heroes sinking into the murk.

I recognized the man in the grey sedan. Marcus from the firm. We'd worked a job together two years ago. He was watching her now with the same intensity I'd applied to the wrong room for three nights.

Suddenly, I understood. This wasn't about corporate secrets. This was about someone else's marriage, someone else's heart breaking. And Marcus and I were just the paid witnesses to things we had no business witnessing.

Buster whined, sensing my shift in mood.

'Some job,' I told him, starting the car. 'Let's go home, buddy. Let's go see a baseball game.'