CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Did you know that Krauss was tracking our phones?" asked Craig.

"No. It doesn't surprise me, but I didn't know. I should have been more careful. He knows where we are, so shut the phones down. Maybe he can't track us that way." They both shut down their phones, tossing them onto the dressers of their hotel.

The man who approached them at the pier looked like someone that Krauss would hire to follow them. He seemed to know everything, and that terrified the shit out of them. Meeting at Golden Gate Park would be public and, hopefully, ensure that they weren't killed instantly.

With a good night's rest, they rose early and had a leisurely breakfast, hoping that it wouldn't be their last meal. Unwilling to help their own stupidity, they smirked and pointed out all the women who would do well on their site. Or at least on their new site.

"How do you think they found all the stores? Did someone snitch?" asked Craig.

"No clue," frowned Thurston. "It could have been a shop that was caught by someone, and they squealed to the cops."

"Still doesn't explain how they figured out all of them," said Craig.

"Well, I don't know," said Thurston between his teeth. "I'm not the nerds. I don't know how those things work. Maybe it was all connected somehow. It doesn't matter. We'll find a new way for him to get what he wants, and we'll be his golden boys again."

"No offense, Thurst, but I don't think we were ever Krauss's golden boys. He's hardcore, and even I know that we're just small fish in his big sea."

"No, man, I can promise you that we're important to him." Thurston just gave an arrogant shrug as if to say he had nothing to worry about. It wasn't the first time that Craig worried he was going to sell him out.

By now, someone probably had discovered Cara's body and was looking for him. A little voyeurism was vastly different than murder.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Thurston.

"Just wondering how we get out of this. I mean, I think we might have fucked up."

"Of course, we fucked up!" he snapped. "Have you not been following this at all? We royally fucked up, and he's going to cut us into pieces if we can't find a way to help him make more money and get what he wants. We need more ideas."

"It has to be a pay site. Something that involves credit cards or money transfers. What about videos of cheerleaders? We get male cheerleaders to wear cameras, so when they're looking up at the sweet little pussy in the skirts, everyone gets a view."

"That's not bad," smirked Thurston. "Not bad at all, and I'd damn sure pay for that. We could expand it to dancers too. Ballet, ballroom, anything where the woman is lifted over their head."

"Exactly," nodded Craig, feeling a little better about having a plausible idea.

"Okay, okay, what else?" asked Thurston.

"City street grates. You know, the kind that Marilyn Monroe stood over." Craig stared at him, waiting for a reaction.

"Not bad, not bad. Not all cities have those, but it could work. We could do train platforms."

"Oh! What about airlines? Put small cameras in the seatback pockets. Those damn seats in coach are so fucking small. Poor women sit down and have no room. Legs just have to open a little bit, and we get a good view." Craig smiled, feeling very proud of himself.

"Yeah, yeah," he smiled. "Or we could put them in the air vents. Perfect view looking down into their tits."

"See, this is easy," smirked Craig. "We got this. Oh, wait! Swim teams! You know, high school, college, all of it. Those tight little swimsuits with their ass cheeks hanging out. Or gymnasts!"

"Easy, man. We got this. Krauss is gonna be happy to see us."