"Got one. Jay Fallsman. Age 37."
A keyboard clicked in front of a large bank of monitors. The larger screen situated in the middle brought up a camera feed, taken from the branches of a tree, or a lightpost, or a parked semi. Anywhere that escaped the normal notice of people. The subject the feed was centered on a crimson jaguar, brand new. Inside was a man dressed in a business suit, one ear glued to a cellphone as he backed out of his driveway, gesturing wildly. He blew out onto the street, narrowly missing a bicycling child, and denting the side door of a car parked on the opposite curb. The car's owner turned from his mailbox and yelled at the rapidly retreating Mr. Fallsman, who in turn raised a middle finger without even looking.
"Fuckin' businessmen. High powered Madoffs-in-training, eh?" The speaker nudged the man sitting next to his booth, who turned and gave him a warning look.
"You know you aren't supposed to be personal about it, Jack. You're gonna get another citation."
Jack sighed and turned back to his monitors, tapping a few more keys on his panel. "Alright, alright Craig, I know you're right. Besides, not like the boss doesn't hand out citations like candy." Picking up a coffee cup, he took a sip, and switched over to another feed. Another street along the oblivious Jay Fallsman's route to his office.
A contractor van turned the corner sharply and a rusted screw bounced off the fender, landing bolt upright. Minutes passed. A few more cars came down the road, but Jack tapped a key or two and they missed it by inches. Finally, the shiny red jaguar roared down the street, and the screw embedded itself deep into a tire with a loud pop. Fallsman's eyes went wide as he jerked the wheel to the side, his car squealing in protest until he banged against the sidewalk and into a telephone pole. As he got out and inspected the flat, he grumbled into his cell. "Yeah. Yeah. I blew a tire. Shit, man, this was the last meeting in the portfolio, and now I'm gonna be late." A pause. "I'll see you at the office."
As he went back into his trunk and began to fiddle with the jack, he neglected to notice his front bumper now had a dent in it.
Jack leaned back in his chair and logged the entire scene. He finished typing up his report, and placed it in the "Out" tray on his desk. Tabbing over to the monitor bank's "search mode", he leaned back and watched the rapidly changing feeds, smirking to himself. "That's what you get when you mess with the karma police..."
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