only now were they excising it from the premises. I felt my heartbeat accelerate as I casually spun my back to him, a move that also allowed me to see which way he turned outside the door -- I would have to follow. Then I flipped through the "real" wallets one more time, giving him a several- second head start, and pursued the tail. Following people was the only time I didn't feel completely confident and comfortable on the job. When gathering intelligence, I could come and go as I pleased, depending on who was or wasn't looking. But while tailing a mark, I couldn't cut my own path. And I feared that would draw suspicion, betray me; no two people follow the exact same path. I maintained a generous distance between us as we headed east, and I called the office to alert the raid team of a change in plans. On the other side of Broadway, he crossed south on Canal and then did what I'd feared he would seconds earlier: took a right on Cortland Alley. No one walks through Cortland Alley. It's a narrow passage that spans two blocks and has no storefronts. You might recognize it from appearing in movies whose scripts call for an alley that no one walks through. It is not the sort of grimy, dark, vermin- infested, less- traveled road down which a prim, tomato- pie- making, y' allspewing gal from the sticks would, on a whim, mosey. True to its