More Twisted

lights flickered through the bushes and Pullman could hear the distant howl of coyotes in the hills on the way to Malibu. But the scene was otherwise quiet and still.
    No sign of the maintenance man.
    After Tammy’s lights went out, Pullman waited a halfhour and, seeing nothing but the resident tomcat prowl past, returned to his apartment, vaguely aware that this situation could be a gold mine for his love life, but wondering how best to exploit it.
    Well, the first thing to consider: was the guy a serious threat? Pullman’d heard that voyeurs were like people with foot fetishes and exhibitionists. They weren’t generally dangerous. They substitute the emotionally distant—and to them safer—act of watching men or women and fantasizing about them for normal sexual relationships, even though they think they want the latter.
    It was true, of course, that rapists would sometimes spy on their victims to learn their habits and patterns before assaulting them but the vast majority of voyeurs would never even think of speaking to their victims, much less assaulting them. The odds were that the groundskeeper was harmless. Besides, he was a slim, meek-looking little punk. With her karate training, Tammy could deck him with a single jab. No, Pullman decided, there was little risk to the woman if he didn’t blow the whistle on the stalker just yet.
    He fell into bed and closed his eyes but was unable to fall asleep; his overheated brain continued to wrestle with the problem of how to parlay the stalking into a chance to ask Tammy out. Tossing uncomfortably, he beat the alarm to sleep by half an hour. When it blared on at seven he stumbled out of bed and looked outside. The lights were on in Tammy’s apartment. He pictured her doing her morning workout or enjoying a breakfast of yogurt and berries and herbal tea, content in her ignorance of the stalker.
    And of him, Pullman saw nothing.
    This was troubling. Had this apartment complex been just a one-day assignment for the guy? What if he never returned? That would ruin all of the plans.
    He remained at the window for as long as he could, hoping for the maintenance man’s return. But at eight, he could wait no longer; he had to be at work in fifteen minutes.
    Pullman showered fast and staggered outside to the parking lot, head aching from the lack of sleep, eyes stinging in the fierce sunlight. He was just about to get into his battered Saturn when a Pacific Landscaping Services pickup truck pulled into the lot.
    He held his breath.
    Yes, it was the stalker! He climbed out, collected his tools and a drink cooler and headed toward the courtyard. Pullman stepped behind his car and crouched down. The voyeur slipped into the same bushes where he’d kept his vigil yesterday and started to clip a hedge that was already perfectly trimmed. His hungry eyes didn’t even glance at the clippers; they were focused on Tammy’s bedroom window.
    Thank you, Pullman offered to the god his Midwest upbringing suggested might exist and hurried back to his apartment, taking the back path to stay out of the stalker’s view. He was supposed to open the bookstore but he wasn’t going to pass up this chance. He pulled out his cell phone and called the Human Resources director of the store. He faked a raspy voice and told her that he was sick; he wouldn’t be coming in.
    “Oh,” she said uncertainly. Pullman remembered thatthe other assistant manager was scheduled to start vacation today, which meant the HR woman’d have a hell of time finding somebody who could open the store. Pullman coughed hard but the woman offered no sympathy. She said coolly, “Let me know if you’ll be in tomorrow. Give me a little more warning next time.”
    “I—”
    Click .
    Pullman shrugged. He had more important things to worry about. As he walked to his apartment he was running through some of the plans he’d been thinking of as he lay in bed last night.
    “Hi, you don’t know me but I live across the way. I just thought you should know . . .”
    Or maybe: “Hi, I’m your neighbor. Don’t think we’ve met. Don’t want to alarm you but there’s a man in those bushes who’s been staring at you for two days.”
    No, don’t say two days. She’d wondered why he didn’t say anything earlier.
    “Listen, miss, you don’t know me, but don’t look around. There’s a man in those bushes across the walk. He’s been staring at your apartment with some binoculars. I think he’s a stalker or