Just before sunset on an autumn Thursday, Detective Alexandra Eames left the police station garage in the back of an unmarked police car. She was already in costume: hot pants, fishnet stockings, high-heel sandals, halter top, an open cashmere sweater and a shoulder bag. Next to her sat another attractive undercover female cop also dressed as a hooker. Tinted windows prevented outsiders from seeing them in the back of the car, and their male partners in the front seat were arguing about baseball stats as they drove to one of the selected blocks where the Manhattan Borough's decoy prostitutes were to be deployed.
Rogers was trying to coyly sneak peeks of Eames in the rearview mirror. He had the hots for her since she joined the Vice Squad right out of the police academy almost five years ago, and the fact that she was married to another cop did little to quench his lust. But he behaved himself. Usually.
Eames sighed and thought once again that Rogers was just one reason for her to put in her transfer request out of Vice. Her husband Joe was pressuring her to take a less risky job in the department. The cut-backs in the Vice Squad budget had taken the undercover decoy assignments from pretty safe to fairly risky. Now there were only two plainclothes cops per detail who had the decoys' backs, down from four.
The car pulled into the vacant alley behind the chosen block where Eames and her partner would lure the johns. The real prostitutes had already been rousted from the area by uniformed cops. The car stopped a little ways in. The two women got out and walked back towards the alley entrance as the car continued down the alley, the male cops intending to circle around to the street and park discreetly to watch the action.
It was a big security hole that would have never existed with a two-car backup but it existed now. It was when Bob struck. He'd snatched a few real hookers from the area before the Vice sting began at the start of the week. At first he didn't know what was going so he just watched, and it soon became clear that a john sting was in operation. He was half angered and half fascinated. Fascination won out.
By Wednesday, he had worked out a plan and now on Thursday, he launched it.
As Eames and her colleague turned out of the alley towards the street, she noticed the dark blue van parked midway between them and their destination. Something struck her as wrong and she stuck her hand into her bag to cradle the grip of her pistol. Her colleague was a rookie and didn't know what was wrong but she was sharp enough to copy Eames' action. They continued walking past the van as if everything was normal, but they were hyper-alert.
Unfortunately, neither woman noticed the small, nearly invisible holes drilled in the panel door of the van. But they felt the sedative darts fired pneumatically from those holes that entered their legs. The effect was instantaneous. Eames tried to pull out her gun but her knees buckled and the whole world went dark.
Bob quickly removed the darts from the taller policewoman's legs, injected her with the sedative counteractive and left her lying on the street as he loaded her petite colleague into his van before speeding off. He wished that his abduction set-up was designed to handle two women at the same time but that's not what he was training for. Maybe once he got his permanent lair set up, it would accommodate multiple abductees. But this was still practice, despite taking the risk of snatching an undercover policewoman instead of a streetwalker. However, having a fully healthy and attractive victim to practice on was too good an opportunity to pass up.
"Thank you, NYPD", he said with a chuckle as he drove away.
By the time the Vice backup car pulled into the main street, the van had U-turned and sped down the side street, then turned a corner. The plainclothesmen knew immediately that something was wrong when they didn't see the women standing along the main street waiting for johns to come solicit them, and the car sped to the side street and turned. They saw the rookie policewoman lying motionless on the sidewalk. Eames was nowhere in sight.
* * *
Bob treated his captive's dart wounds and prepared her on the bed for her upcoming ordeal. The wrist and ankle restraints were applied, then her shoes were removed and the bottoms of her stockings were cut off. He considered tying her pretty toes but decided that since this wasn't a real prostitute, he would allow her the small mercy of wriggling her toes as she needed to.
And she wouldn't suffer as long as his prostitute practice victims, but she would suffer. Oh yes, she would never forget this night. So he carefully applied a small amount of his custom-made skin lotion to her soles while she was still unconscious to assure maximum sensitivity, something he normally wouldn't do until he'd determined that a conscious victim wasn't sensitive enough. He had to make sure the payoff was worth the risk of this particular abduction.
Bob injected the counteractive into her thigh, then he sat down in a chair next to her feet and waited.
* * *
Alexandra Eames was writhing like a woman under demonic possession. Helpless laughter spilled non-stop out of her throat like water from an open faucet. Tears flowed freely as well, and she felt she was slowly going insane. The masked fiend at her naked feet was totally focused as he skillfully scrabbled his fingers up and down her silky soles and occasionally dug beneath her ultra-sensitive toes to produce the highest pitched squeals. All of her struggles against the leather-and-cloth restraints at her wrists and ankles were futile, and her entire world was shrunk down to her unbearably ticklish feet. After what felt like an eternity in hell, she mercifully passed out.
* * *
When she woke up in the room for the second time, she was alone and unbound. She sobbed almost hysterically but gradually regained most of her self-control, and began to take inventory. No clothing redress; the only clothing removed were her sweater and her shoes, now lying on the bed, and the feet of her stockings were missing. "No rape! No rape! Thank you, God!" she thought as she unclenched her toes and put on her shoes.
She smelled disinfectant and knew that her assailant had cleaned up after himself. CSU would find no prints and possibly nothing else in terms of physical evidence. Alexandra's almost shattered state of mind was the greatest evidence of the crime and that would be a career killer to point out. She was surprised to see her shoulder bag on the chair, and spilled out the contents on the bed. Everything was there: gun, shield, police ID, make-up, even the money in her work wallet. The only thing out of place was that her cell phone and its battery were now separated. The fiend was taking no chances with GPS tracking. "This perp is too damn smart," she thought angrily, remembering that he'd never spoken a single word so she couldn't even recognize his voice.
She went into the bathroom of what was now obviously a seedy motel room and washed her face, then placed the battery back into her cell and called her Vice Squad supervisor. There was no need for her to ask for a transfer now. After being abducted and assaulted, her transfer out of Vice would be strongly urged if not mandatory. She'd heard the Major Case Squad had an opening; maybe she'd try her luck there.
FINI
Rogers was trying to coyly sneak peeks of Eames in the rearview mirror. He had the hots for her since she joined the Vice Squad right out of the police academy almost five years ago, and the fact that she was married to another cop did little to quench his lust. But he behaved himself. Usually.
Eames sighed and thought once again that Rogers was just one reason for her to put in her transfer request out of Vice. Her husband Joe was pressuring her to take a less risky job in the department. The cut-backs in the Vice Squad budget had taken the undercover decoy assignments from pretty safe to fairly risky. Now there were only two plainclothes cops per detail who had the decoys' backs, down from four.
The car pulled into the vacant alley behind the chosen block where Eames and her partner would lure the johns. The real prostitutes had already been rousted from the area by uniformed cops. The car stopped a little ways in. The two women got out and walked back towards the alley entrance as the car continued down the alley, the male cops intending to circle around to the street and park discreetly to watch the action.
It was a big security hole that would have never existed with a two-car backup but it existed now. It was when Bob struck. He'd snatched a few real hookers from the area before the Vice sting began at the start of the week. At first he didn't know what was going so he just watched, and it soon became clear that a john sting was in operation. He was half angered and half fascinated. Fascination won out.
By Wednesday, he had worked out a plan and now on Thursday, he launched it.
As Eames and her colleague turned out of the alley towards the street, she noticed the dark blue van parked midway between them and their destination. Something struck her as wrong and she stuck her hand into her bag to cradle the grip of her pistol. Her colleague was a rookie and didn't know what was wrong but she was sharp enough to copy Eames' action. They continued walking past the van as if everything was normal, but they were hyper-alert.
Unfortunately, neither woman noticed the small, nearly invisible holes drilled in the panel door of the van. But they felt the sedative darts fired pneumatically from those holes that entered their legs. The effect was instantaneous. Eames tried to pull out her gun but her knees buckled and the whole world went dark.
Bob quickly removed the darts from the taller policewoman's legs, injected her with the sedative counteractive and left her lying on the street as he loaded her petite colleague into his van before speeding off. He wished that his abduction set-up was designed to handle two women at the same time but that's not what he was training for. Maybe once he got his permanent lair set up, it would accommodate multiple abductees. But this was still practice, despite taking the risk of snatching an undercover policewoman instead of a streetwalker. However, having a fully healthy and attractive victim to practice on was too good an opportunity to pass up.
"Thank you, NYPD", he said with a chuckle as he drove away.
By the time the Vice backup car pulled into the main street, the van had U-turned and sped down the side street, then turned a corner. The plainclothesmen knew immediately that something was wrong when they didn't see the women standing along the main street waiting for johns to come solicit them, and the car sped to the side street and turned. They saw the rookie policewoman lying motionless on the sidewalk. Eames was nowhere in sight.
* * *
Bob treated his captive's dart wounds and prepared her on the bed for her upcoming ordeal. The wrist and ankle restraints were applied, then her shoes were removed and the bottoms of her stockings were cut off. He considered tying her pretty toes but decided that since this wasn't a real prostitute, he would allow her the small mercy of wriggling her toes as she needed to.
And she wouldn't suffer as long as his prostitute practice victims, but she would suffer. Oh yes, she would never forget this night. So he carefully applied a small amount of his custom-made skin lotion to her soles while she was still unconscious to assure maximum sensitivity, something he normally wouldn't do until he'd determined that a conscious victim wasn't sensitive enough. He had to make sure the payoff was worth the risk of this particular abduction.
Bob injected the counteractive into her thigh, then he sat down in a chair next to her feet and waited.
* * *
Alexandra Eames was writhing like a woman under demonic possession. Helpless laughter spilled non-stop out of her throat like water from an open faucet. Tears flowed freely as well, and she felt she was slowly going insane. The masked fiend at her naked feet was totally focused as he skillfully scrabbled his fingers up and down her silky soles and occasionally dug beneath her ultra-sensitive toes to produce the highest pitched squeals. All of her struggles against the leather-and-cloth restraints at her wrists and ankles were futile, and her entire world was shrunk down to her unbearably ticklish feet. After what felt like an eternity in hell, she mercifully passed out.
* * *
When she woke up in the room for the second time, she was alone and unbound. She sobbed almost hysterically but gradually regained most of her self-control, and began to take inventory. No clothing redress; the only clothing removed were her sweater and her shoes, now lying on the bed, and the feet of her stockings were missing. "No rape! No rape! Thank you, God!" she thought as she unclenched her toes and put on her shoes.
She smelled disinfectant and knew that her assailant had cleaned up after himself. CSU would find no prints and possibly nothing else in terms of physical evidence. Alexandra's almost shattered state of mind was the greatest evidence of the crime and that would be a career killer to point out. She was surprised to see her shoulder bag on the chair, and spilled out the contents on the bed. Everything was there: gun, shield, police ID, make-up, even the money in her work wallet. The only thing out of place was that her cell phone and its battery were now separated. The fiend was taking no chances with GPS tracking. "This perp is too damn smart," she thought angrily, remembering that he'd never spoken a single word so she couldn't even recognize his voice.
She went into the bathroom of what was now obviously a seedy motel room and washed her face, then placed the battery back into her cell and called her Vice Squad supervisor. There was no need for her to ask for a transfer now. After being abducted and assaulted, her transfer out of Vice would be strongly urged if not mandatory. She'd heard the Major Case Squad had an opening; maybe she'd try her luck there.
FINI
