That peek out the door would prove to be my undoing. The Feds had tracked my cell phone signals to the Players Club apartments earlier in the evening but had apparently concluded, incorrectly, that the signals were coming from an apartment on the other side of the building. When I returned to the complex after dinner, I drove into the Players Club parking lot and walked from my car right through the FBI’s surveillance net. But when I poked my head out the door, a deputy U.S. Marshal caught a glimpse of me and thought it was suspicious that so late at night someone would look out of an apartment, peer around, and then vanish inside again.