At eight the next morning, Friday, they were parked directly across the street from Bo's home in an upscale Omaha neighborhood. It looked like the Tucker's old house in River Oaks, which is to say, completely unbefitting Bo Cantrell.
"He's gonna see us," Chuck said.
"We want him to," Dwayne said. "This ain't a surveillance. This is a haunting."
"What's the difference?"
"Surveillance, you try to be stealthy, not let the suspect know you're watching him. A haunting, you want him to know he's being haunted."
"Ohh. But that sounds more dangerous."
"There is that."
Bo Cantrell pulled out of his driveway at nine. He saw them and sped off in his truck. They followed him to the Wrangler's training facility. They watched him walk inside. He glanced back at them at the door.
"Who wants coffee?" Chico said.
"Starbucks?" Dwayne asked.
"Of course."
"Venti decaf Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino with extra whipped cream," Chuck said. "One shot."
"Espresso?"
"Whiskey."
"Grande pumpkin latte, one shot, and a doughnut," Dwayne said. "I always ate donuts on stakeouts."
"What kind?"
"Whiskey?"
"Donuts?"
"The kind with sugar."
"I'll have a donut, too," Chuck said.
"A scone," Frank said. "Regular tall coffee, no whiskey."
"Call me if Bo comes out," Chico said. "I'll be back in ten."
Bo came out at three that afternoon. Frank waved to him. He did not wave back. He drove to a liquor store—
"Now he's teasing us," Chico said.
—and then to a strip joint.
"Now he's taunting us," Chuck said.
They did not enter the establishment. Bo might have friends in low places. They waited. And waited. A few hours later, he exited the joint with a stripper.
"There's a cash transaction," Chico said.
They followed him back to his house. He entered with the girl, but they saw him peeking out the window at them.
"That's good haunting, boys," Dwayne said.