The Stalker

By Jack Erickson

A school boy is bullied by a classmate to follow a beautiful young woman when she gets off a bus after work. He follows her home and becomes fascinated about her private life.
He meets her professionally years later; his curiosity becomes an obsession that ends in a shocking conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Erickson
• Release date: Aug 22, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452375304

Jack Erickson

Jack Erickson writes in multiple genres: international thrillers, mysteries, true crime, short mysteries, and romantic suspense.He is currently writing the Milan Thriller Series featuring the anti-terrorism police, DIGOS, at Milan's Questura (police headquarters). Book I in the series is Thirteen Days in Milan. Book 2, No One Sleeps, was published in December 2016. Book 3, Vesuvius Nights, was published in 2019. Book 4, The Lonely Assassin, was published in 2020.The models for Erickson's Milan thrillers are three popular Italian mystery series: Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti in Venice, Andrea Camilleri's Inspector Salvo Montalbano in Sicily, and Michael Dibdin's Commissario Aurelio Zen in Rome. All three have been produced as TV series at either BBC, PBS, RAI, or Deutsche WelleErickson travels throughout Italy for research and sampling Italian contemporary life and culture. In earlier careers, he was a U.S. Senate speechwriter, Washington-based editor, and RedBrick Press publisher. He wrote and published several books on emerging craft brewing industry including the award winning Star Spangled Beer: A Guide to America's New Microbreweries and Brewpubs.Before he began writing fiction, he was a wealth manager for a national brokerage in Silicon Valley.

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THE STALKER  

Jack Erickson 

Copyright © 2010 by Jack Erickson

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without written permission, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This is a work of fiction based upon the imagination of the author. No real people are represented. 

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Milan Thriller Series

Thirteen Days in Milan

No One Sleeps

Vesuvius Nights

The Lonely Assassin

Novels

Bloody Mary Confession

Rex Royale

A Streak Across the Sky

Mornings Without Zoe

Short Mysteries

Perfect Crime

Missing Persons

Teammates

The Stalker

Weekend Guest

True Crime

Blood and Money in the Hunt Country

Noir Series

Bad News is Back in Town

Audio Books

A Streak Across the Sky

Perfect Crime

The Stalker

Teammates

Nonfiction

Star Spangled Beer:

A Guide to America’s New Microbreweries and Brewpubs

Great Cooking with Beer

Brewery Adventures in the Wild West

California Brewin’

Brewery Adventures in the Big East

THE STALKER

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To start with, it was Arty’s idea, not mine. I never would do something as crazy as he did. But that was Arty—always daring the guys to do risky things like smoke cigarettes behind the school, throw firecrackers at cars, or run across the tracks when a train was coming. He was suspended from school for firing a pistol out the window New Year’s Eve. He was a rebel through and through.

I was walking my bike beside Arty to the east side bus terminal, where he picked up the 83 bus to take him home. It was our last school day before summer vacation, a muggy May afternoon, so sticky our clothes clung to our bodies like snakeskin. We were dressed like typical eighth-grade boys: baggy shorts, running shoes, T-shirts, and baseball caps. Next year we’d move to Preston High School across town, something I was dreading, having heard tales of upper-class boys ganging up on freshmen, roughing them up in the halls, and putting foul things in their lockers.

The terminal was four bus lanes behind the intercity bus station, which hundreds of passengers passed through every day. While we waited for the 83, a bus from a nearby town pulled up, the driver straining at the wheel to make the tight turn into his designated lane. He braked hard, eased into the slot, and jolted to a stop. He pulled a lever, opening the door with a whoosh.

A stream of weary passengers filed out carrying newspapers, shopping bags, and cheap luggage. Tall and short, fat and skinny, young and old, all slicing into the sticky, humid afternoon air.

Arty watched the departing passengers and said, Who are these people? Where do they go? What do they do all day?

Arty’s eyes got huge, and he came alive. He squealed and pointed at the last man off the bus. Look at that guy! He slapped my arm. I recoiled from the sting of his slap. Arty was physical, pushing and shoving like a bully. I hated it.

He looks like De Niro, doesn’t he? Look! Arty’s voice broke when he got excited, starting in his normal pitch and then breaking an octave higher like a cat’s screech. Where’s he going?

The guy did look like De Niro: thick black hair, scratchy beard, rumpled shirt, and work boots. His face wore a scowl. His dark, hooded eyes scanned the crowd like he was hiding from the cops. He carried a black bag the size of a bowling ball, and he moved through the crowd like a bull, leading with his shoulders, flexing his chest, his feet making sideway moves to gain a step on slower passengers.

A pretty girl in a tight dress walked past, and he lowered his eyes to stare at her swishing