Sheriff Porter 67 (edited)

Sheriff Porter 67

“So John, not doe, I assume you are not a resident,” I said.

“Why do you assume that,” he asked.

“You are dressed like a man in a resort hotel for business.  You most likely had dinner with associates after the meeting.  You haven’t been back to your room after dinner is my guess.  I read in the lobby the state association of million dollar Realtor’s are meeting in the green room or some such nonsense.”

“Very good, actually that’s first rate,” he said.

“I would also guess that million dollar Realtors is a misnomer.  How many millions do you have to sell to get invited to this meeting,” I asked.

“A hundred million,” he said.  “Not really all that exclusive these days.  They will probably raise it to two hundred in a couple of years.  Have to keep the riff raff out you know,” he said mocking himself.  I liked that about him.

“So how many million did you sell,” I asked.

“Very good keep them talking about themselves very endearing,” he said.

“Is that a good sales tactic?” I asked.

“Yes, it is one we teach new salespeople.  Get them talking about themselves, learn all you can, then use it in your presentation,” he suggested.  “Three hundred million.”

“That’s a lot where you come from, I assume,” I suggested.

“Not really we sold a few parcels out near the airport in Metropolis.  Those can go well upward of a million just for the land,” he said.

“So do you live in Metropolis, or just sell real estate there?” I asked.

“I live in a suburb,” he said.  “And yes there is a Mrs. Not Doe.”

“Yes that was my next question,” I said.

“Ordinarily my next question would be how much,” he said.  “But I think you might be offended, since you are obviously not a hooker.”

“If I were, I would invest in a boob job and a wig,” I said.

“Yes, I do believe that would be a wise investment for one in that line of work.  So what is your line of work.” he said.

I handed him one of Wilson’s prototype cards.  I said, “Not working for your wife.”  The card read Porter & Wilson confidential investigations and recovery.

“So do you recover cars and boats,” he asked smiling.

“No we recover people and find out who did what to who,” I said.

“That explains a lot,” he said.

“Yep, so if you have a guilty conscience, you might want to go back to the bar,” I said smiling.

“No my conscience is clear so far.  I would like to buy you a drink, if you promise not to tell my wife,” he said.

“I never drink and tell.  I would prefer coffee,” I said.

“Here or in my room?” he asked.

“Here first,” I said.  John not doe was smooth he wouldn’t need drugs to get a woman in bed.  She might scream rape, but not likely.  He seemed pretty up front about what he was selling.

After two coffees in the lounge I agreed to a drink in his room.  He looked a little too prissy to be much of a physical threat, if push came to a right hook, I thought.

When we got to the room, before he fixed the drink, he kissed me.  It was a nice white bread kiss.  It was warm and promising, but no tongue.  John Not Doe was a really nice guy from all indications.  I wondered what his button was.  The one when punched brought out Mr. Hyde.  They say we all have one, and some unlucky person might stumble on it.  That person may get that right hook, or he or she might just lose their job or get undermined for a promotion because of it.  Either way his evil side would show.  It was usually easier to show the Hyde side to a stranger.  One you would most likely never see again.  Yes I was working my way inside the mind of my serial rapist.  I shook my head to clear my mind.

“So John the Realtor, do you plan to do that again?” I asked meaning the kiss.  I asked it as I took the drink from him.  The liquor was his date rape drug.  It wasn’t meant to disable me, just help him to convince me to comply.  It was all a matter of degrees, I thought.

“Yes, I do plan to do it again,” he said.

“You really don’t need the liquor.  I have already decided to go along,” I suggested.

“I expect the liquor to make you more agreeable is all.  The decision should have been made before you left home tonight,” he informed me.  He was right of course.  All the others had as well.  Not consciously, but if it was the right kind of man, and in the right kind of situation, we would all be willing.  In his own mind, my rapist was doing nothing more than making sure she was compliant.  What was the harm, since she was willing.  He just helped her to choose him.

“So,” John the Realtor said, “What do you like to do?”

“I really like not to be asked stupid questions,” I said.  That was not me answering.  It was a woman in denial of why she was in the room.  It was what a confused woman would say, when the guy wasn’t nearly as slick as he thought he was, or as she hoped he would be.

“Sorry, I want to make sure it will be a good experience for you,” he said.

“John, you really are a nice guy and I really should be going.  I have no idea what got into me,” I said.  Well that should make him feel rejected.  I hadn’t planned to, but I was being a little cruel.  “I think I should go.”

“Well that’s up to you,” he said.  He stepped back disappointed but he allowed me to leave.

On the ride down in the elevator I wondered if the rapist even went through these gyrations.  Did he know in advance he wasn’t in her league, so he just slipped her the Ruffie and waited?  If she were alone, when it started to take effect she would be willing to allow him to help her to her room.  She might even be willing to invite him in.  Though by that time her compliance wouldn’t be necessary.  She would be disoriented and just going along with no real will of her own.  Still conscious and able to function but with no will to resist anything.  Not even that which she felt to be abhorrent an hour before the Ruffie.

The difference between her attacker, and a sexually dominant male was simple.  The sexually dominant male was an alpha male.  He hunted for a submissive personality to be his partner.  One that was prepositioned to being easy to bend to his will.  This man was not an alpha male.  He was more a beta male.  Probably not a submissive just a sexual predator.  He would lack the courage to force himself on a woman.  Especially one who might resist, but he was a predator so resistance was a moot point.  He might even enjoy some token resistance.

Think of the alpha male as one with a Dracula complex, while this perp was one who required a zombie.  I could respect the Alpha male and enjoy him on some level, but I couldn’t enjoy the Beta male, since I would barely remember the experience.

Could Brian be our Beta male?  Hardly I thought.  He was too young to have committed the rapes six years ago.  He would not have the ability to change the statistics.  However one was not necessarily connected to the other in reality.  I think I knew who was interested in doctoring the stats.  Not exactly the who but the why, so the who shouldn’t be hard to determine.

I still needed to get laid, so I needed to go somewhere that would happen.  I made my way down to the Hundley.  The Hundley was a pure meat market, if there ever was one.  It was still dark and dirty and the music blasted my ears almost to the point of bleeding.  Even better, there was Osborn with her friends both of them.  I stopped at the bar and waited to see if Osborn would notice me.  I wondered if she did notice me would she even care.

“Hello Sylvia,” I heard her voice speak from behind me.

“Hello Osborn, so how is the hospital gig?” I asked.

“Not very exciting, but I never needed that the way you do.  Boredom really isn’t all that bad once you get used to the rat race.” she informed me.

“I guess I’m saving my patience up for the day I wind up in a nursing home,” I explained.

“I guess there is something to be said for that as well, but I take my adventure in the bedroom these days,” Osborn explained with a twinkle in her eye.

“Well that certainly is one of my favorites as well,” I explained.

“Yes, I remember that about you,” she said.  “So are you here looking for adventure?”

“Or whatever comes my way,” I said.  It went right over her young head.  “I was born to be wild,” I added.

“Okay, well see that man at the end of the bar in the Stetson hat?” she asked.

“Sure, what about a ‘Cowboy on Jefferson Island?” I asked.

“He has a yacht in the bay and is looking for party girls.  He just doesn’t want any men or woman attached to men.  I don’t know how he is doing, but I think he is just recruiting for someone else.  It could be an adventure.  If you like, I will suggest he talk to you.  He has already talked to me.”

“You going?” I asked.

“No my two friends wouldn’t be welcome, and I don’t go anywhere without them these days,” she said.

“Sounds like love to me,” I said. “Sure send him down.”  Osborn walked to the end of the bar and had a conversation with the man in the cowboy hat.

“Howdy,” he said when he arrived.

“Howdy yourself,” I said.

“Your friend said you liked to party,” I said.

“Sure, I love a good party,” I replied.  “What kind of party is it?”

“The kind with lots of drug and sex,” he said.

“Oh I wouldn’t be interested after all,” I said.  “I don’t do drugs and I have been know to put those who do in jail.”

“Yeah, I know your friend told me who you were,” he said.

“So you understand it isn’t that I give a happy damn that you do them.  I just don’t.  You know the kind of pressure a non user is under in a room filled with junkies,” I said.

“I do at that, so no hard feelings,” he said.

“None whatsoever,” I said.

Later a girl in a bikini top under an unbutton blouse came over.  “You want to have a good time honey?” she asked.

“Sure, but I’m broke sorry.”  Don’t ask me how I knew she was a hooker, I just did.

“I don’t mind pain, if that’s your thing,” she said.

“It isn’t.  I’m sorry,” I said.

“I can dish it out as well as take it,” she added with a wink.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m still broke,” I said.

“Maybe we could make a trade,” she suggested.

“Oh what would you like to take in trade,” I asked.

“A couple of nights on your barge,” she said.  I looked past her to Osborn, who had obviously told her I wasn’t poor.

“Sorry hon, we are closed for renovations,” I explained.

It was well after midnight, when the man moved down the bar to stand beside me.  “Would you like to take a walk on the beach?”  Now I ordinarily would not even consider him.  He looked to be about twenty.  He also had a Marine Corp haircut.  Like him, I realized it was heading toward the end of the night.

“Sure why not,” I said.

Edited by Walt

About cindypress

sorry it is a mystery.
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2 Responses to Sheriff Porter 67 (edited)

  1. jack says:

    Good that she is getting more picky. Thanks

  2. cindypress says:

    im not sure it was picky as much as trying to understand a man’s motivation. In the end she might have decided that he was just too nice.

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