The lady clung to her partner, disregarding any unwanted attention that might have been on them as the man fumbled with the key card to their room. As their luck would have it, the corridor of the hotel was deserted that night. He unlocked the door, and they made haste to disappear into the dark, away from prying eyes. Or, at least they thought they had done so, oblivious of the unseen electronic devices neatly tucked in the many crevices around the room.

For the couple, it was yet another one of their clandestine bouts of fun, it was their secret to keep. They paid well for privacy from the press, after all. But as they hurriedly went about relieving each other of their clothing, a shadow perched at the edge of the room's balcony, obscured by the curtains. Any regular, upstanding citizen would have regarded the man as a low class voyeur. Those who were "in the business", on the other hand, would have recognised a fellow competitor fishing for content.

The man at the balcony yawned for boredom. It was an easy job for a man like him: listen for rumours, get the evidence, then sell it off to his trusty news agent, followed by watching the media blow up about another celebrity scandal yet again. This is not exciting, there is no thrill in this at all. As simple and routine, and as legally ambiguous as the job may be, a professional does not refuse a job. It is not as if he had no other options for work, but he found that he liked the freedom this occupation afforded him. As long as there was nothing to trace him back to his previous agency, he was free to run around as he pleased.

Inside the room, the pair had not wasted any time, and were quick to finish their second round of love-making until the man knocked over the lamp next to the bed. As it fell over, it ripped open the lampshade, caught on the sharp end of the cheap bed frame, revealing one of the many recording devices planted in the hotel room. The mood ruined, the lady cried out in shock while the man set to calling the hotel management.

Curious about the unanticipated commotion, the bored man at the balcony moved to take a peek into the room. As luck would have it, the lady spotted him, and screamed as she did.

"Troy! The balcony! There's someone on the balcony!" she shrieked. Half dressed, the businessman rushed to draw the curtains, revealing the man crouching before the glass door. Much to the couple's alarm, the 'voyeur' turned around, hopped over the railings and launched himself towards the adjacent room's balcony, landing in a roll. Ignoring the outraged shouting and screaming behind him, he entered the vacant room, the very same that he had used to get to the couple's balcony earlier, and escaped into the hallway.

Dashing past the clueless janitor, he made for the fire escape, quickly outrunning the shouting man behind him, he turned left in the hallway sprinted down the nine floors of the stairway. As he reached the ground floor, he rushed past the security guard, jumped over the wall separating the outer road and the hotel parking lot's exit ramp, feeling the breeze of the night wind as he escaped the property. He continued his sprint, running across the empty street into an alleyway, turning right when he reached a junction. When he passed a row of apartments, he leapt onto the lid of the rubbish dump, and climbed onto the raised fire escape.

He continued to make his way up the creaking fire escape, jumping to reach the raised ladders as he encountered them. Once he arrived at the top floor, he stepped onto a window sill, staying as quiet as possible, and with his hands on the drainage pipe that ran parallel to the roof, he crept his way across the windows of the apartments on the top floor. When the stilts of the water tank were within reach, he used it as leverage, hauling himself onto the roof of the apartment complex.

Crouching, he crept to the adjacent edge of the roof, from where the hotel was in clear view. Faint shouting from the businessman could be heard even from where he hid as the night air carried the man's demands and threats to the hotel staff about the invasion of privacy he had been subjected. Little did he guess that by the end of the week, he would have been exposed as an adulterer in multiple tabloids, with various recordings and images to back up the stories. It made sense to use wireless devices in this line of work, after all.

Satisfied that his hiding spot was secure, he finally crumbled onto the floor, laughing breathlessly at yet another job accomplished, attempting to fish his cell phone from his breast pocket between fits of laughter. Upon finding it, he dialled the fifth number of his "Favourites" list, leaning against the water tank while the dial tone played.

"Colt! What's up my friend? I didn't expect to hear from you for another week or two?" the cheery voice at the other end called out.

"Sorry about calling this late at night, Raine. You got me the usual?"

"I always do, don't I? Who'd you hit this time? Bertrand?"

"Got you a potential lawsuit and a confirmed quadruple in web traffic next week. Double my usual and I'll tell you who it is."

"Sounds like you got a big one this time. Double? You sure? I don't know if the chief would agree to that. It's not Bertrand, is it?

"Bertrand's small time, Raine. It's Hodge. Troy Hodge. Double it up and I'll include photos of the mistress."

"Wow. You actually got dirt on Hodge, huh? And what's this about a mistress? Not just any random escort, I take it?"

"Whatever I ask for, Raine. Or I deal with Cameron at the Spyglass instead."

"You wouldnt- oh fine. I'll pry it from the chief, kicking and screaming tomorrow."

"Wonderful. Knew I could count on you, Raine. I'll send the files to the usual place."

"Hey, tell me who she is-"

"Usual place, Raine!" He cut her off, stifling even more laughter as he hung up. This was the good life. Much better than the previous one, for sure.