They arrived in San Francisco on time and took a cab into the City from the airport. They were at the hotel and in their suite in no time, then took a quick tour of the premises. They scouted the area around the hotel, looking for specific places away from security cameras and hidden CCTV. Once they committed the schematic to memory, they returned to their suite to prepare. They dined away from the hotel, then returned by 10:00 pm for the main event. Misti changed into the evening attire Adam had picked out for her, then they reviewed the plan one more time. By 11:00 pm, they were set and Misti left the room alone. Adam would change into his garb and meet her in the club an hour later.
***
Adam had picked out the Misti’s entire evening presentation himself. No research, just what he liked in his time with Hannah over the years. Although not particularly adept at the pick-up process himself, he had listened to his male friends and colleagues blather on at length about one conquest or another for as long as he could remember. He assumed most stories were gross exaggerations or outright lies but with a kernel of truth in each. He carefully chose the combination of colors, fabrics and accessories that would most get the attention of a Friday, late night sexual predator.
He settled on a cute short black evening dress, low cut and perhaps fitting just a little too snug for emphasis. She wore a sheer black push up bra, no panties and a small string of perfectly sized white pearls. Diamond earrings and diamond tennis bracelet complemented her choice of ruby red stilettos, black patterned stockings with a matching garter. Her makeup was impeccable and her lipstick a deep red. Her hair and nails were elegant and classy. She was spectacular and would command attention wherever she went. She wouldn’t have to go very far. And didn’t.
Misti’s plan was to find a spot at the bar with an appropriate number of unencumbered males that were socially happy by the time she arrived but not yet stupid drunk. She would act slightly tipsy and slur her words a bit to set the trap. She carried a pair of black thong panties in her purse to show any gentleman what she wasn’t wearing that night.
Her plan was simple: attract all the men she could, flirt and feign sluttiness, then pick the man she felt was a likely predator. With a mild level of invented intoxication, the gentlemen in the club would likely be more inclined find her a cab; the predators would likely try to separate her from the herd, then with a little physical persuasion or brute force, relieve her of her other garments. If the prey was intent on ignoring that “no means no” then his status as sexual predator would be confirmed, and his fate sealed. Misti had danced this dance countless times but until this night, like Adam when he was hunting, Misti had always been on her own.
The nuance in this episode was the addition of the nerdy fiancé, the part to be played by Adam. His role was less about his choice of nerdville outfits and more about his acting lines. Misti dressed him to the part just not in the silly comic book nerd fashion myth. His was Silicon Valley well-to-do nerd fashion. Still, for them both to be plausible in their assigned roles, he had to be believable as a guy who could be ignored by the so called Alpha males with impunity. Misti would appear slightly intoxicated and helpless; Adam would appear weak and physically unfit. He would be ready for the slights, insults and potential for physical violence that a bona fide predator could and would resort to in order to achieve his objective. Adam was steady, calm and focused. This was his evening’s entertainment, along with the late-night collaboration he would enjoy with Misti when act one of their play was over. He expected the show to be their aphrodisiac in a way no chemical could ever match. Neither Adam nor Misti ever needed chemical stimulation; their rare and frightening mental faculties were more than effective at stimulating the senses to maximum.
He left for the club.
***
Adam arrived at the entrance to Club Parisienne five minutes later, acting normally and ostensibly looking for his fiancé. He was wearing thick black framed glasses, the only homage to the classic nerd mythology of television and movies.
Otherwise he dressed as and appeared to be a classic example of a successful and well to do Silicon Valley software engineer, not the slick sales types or money men who abounded like flies around the true genius of technology. His presentation was “young upscale insecure”, just the whiff of vulnerability and social awkwardness required to set the stage. In casual khaki’s, an expensive plaid shirt and topsiders, all off the rack, he looked his part.
Misti had played her part more than a hundred times and while she remembered the thrill from every individual experience and could give superficial details of each, she didn’t have Adam’s gift for instant and HD quality cinematic recall. He had promised her a surprise in the afterglow of their triumph and Misti hoped he would show her another more intense facet of his mind tricks. The one she had already experienced was spectacular and Adam promised she would be the first to experience and enjoy this one. He made no promises however; he was still developing his amazing mental skills and not every attempt to expand those abilities had met with success.
Even Adam understood that his mental skills were not exactly “normal”. But, he reasoned, if they were truly God given, they must be abilities God wished him to possess. And, if discovered, developed and enhanced, put to good use.
Adam spotted Misti at the far end of the bar, with several guys surrounding her and vying for her attention. He couldn’t hear her banter from his table at the back of the bar, where he sat silent and alone, but she had assured him that her skills in art of the small talk and flirty repartee were top notch. He had no reason to doubt her.
He sat and watched as she engaged her subjects, noting the variety of smiles, slight touches to a man’s hands or face, and the occasional peck on the cheek she employed. The provocative and conspiratorial whisper in the ear with at least one potential target began to thin out the prospects. Her physical communication with Adam was almost imperceptible and wouldn’t betray them; to Adam, it was as if she was telling him every thought, emotion and reaction she was experiencing without him. Adam became more agitated as the evening wore on but was still exercising the incredible control Misty had told him she expected him to demonstrate when the reality of watching men sexually assess and mentally fuck her became evident.
Misti knew that Adam wasn’t the jealous type. It wasn’t in his fundamental nature. It was something more ancient and primal. Misti did not consciously understand it but she sensed it in the air on some instinctual level. She could almost smell the saturation of his scent in the air and therefore understood there would be a time limit to restraining her man – this time. Misti gestured, the signal that she had chosen her prey.
It was going to be a two-fer: two young and well-dressed men in their late twenties or early thirties working in tandem and preying on young female professionals out for a fun evening at the close of a probable hectic and stress filled work week. The young women weren’t looking for trouble; they were looking for romance in the relative safety of friends.
At around closing, sometime well after midnight, their girlfriends would begin to drift off, either to return home for some sleep or to take up a better offer from a boyfriend or even a lucky co-worker.
The two chosen ones no doubt had planned something special for one of these young targets, but it was the flirty and intoxicating Misti that drew their attention. For the past hour they had been pushing into the conversation with her and each had made a run and buying her a drink. Misti was nursing one Perrier after another but somehow gave the impression they were vodka tonics. She had slipped a twenty to her bartender with instructions to pour only Perrier and make it look like the hard stuff. Her acting skills would convey her lack of sobriety and the attendant “drunk chick” ploy was like a broadcast signal to every predator in the room: I’m helpless, please come abuse me as much as you wish. She took a couple of bar napkins, dipped one of each in the drinks given her by her new friends and surreptitiously marked and placed them in her small clutch purse. As she
fiddled with her purse “looking for her lipstick” the men would turn away and whisper something to each other in hush tones, back and forth. The napkins were now in a sealed evidence type bags and, if necessary, she would have the chemical analysis done later. She was looking for evidence of roofies.
Misti dumped most of the contents of one of the proffered drinks on the floor but obscured from their view. Then she turned to them and asked, “What’s in this drink that makes it so yummy. Something sweet and delicious, I hope.”
The men were startled out of their reverie and perceived good fortune. As Misti turned to collect her clutch and get ready to leave with her new friends, the boys smiled and treated each other to a satisfying high five. They had completed another excellent evening away from their wives minding their children back home.
Out of sight and out of mind. These two had been honing their skills at date rape, what the police were now calling DFSA, date facilitated sexual assault, for many years going as far back as high school. They were smooth operators who worked in tandem, shared the victim and had never gotten caught. How could they; both were eight-year veterans of a local police force in a small upscale community near San Jose, California. Both were well-respected and performed well as peace officers and community advocates. They showed no signs of any negative or coercive behaviors on the job; indeed, they appeared to be model citizens, good fathers and exceptional husbands. They were both family men and if the rohypnol or ketamine didn’t obliterate the memory of their well-chosen victims, their joint alibi and carefully constructed background would make them virtually bullet proof.
They would repeatedly rape and sexually abuse “Kissy”, as Misti was known to them and who was by now undoubtedly under the influence of their little “helper” to make her compliant.
Adam spotted Misti’s barely perceptible signal and moved from his perch in the back of the club to the open exit of the club leading into to the lobby where he would wait. His role would commence soon enough but not in the hotel. Their private party would be elsewhere and the four of them now had a date for later. Adam’s heart rate had increased slightly as had his mental state. Checking his emotions was becoming even harder given that Misti was involved and he had just watched two men pawing and probing her as if she had failed to notice or was indifferent to being groped.
Misti turned to the men, clutch in hand and asked them to be ‘good lads’ and meet her outside on the street, a block or so west of the club. She mentioned that she was in San Francisco with her boyfriend who was attending some computer conference, leaving her alone and lonely to explore the City on her own. But she was to meet him in the hotel lobby later before returning to the home of a friend in Oakland. Besides, she needed to freshen up in the bathroom before they went out to the “private club” they knew about on the other side of town. They would drive her over to the after-hours club in their rented van and have some quiet time together.
In fact, they would drive her to their rented detached garage due south of the ballpark on the cove in an industrial and otherwise largely deserted section of town and treat her to a very different experience. The men were practiced and experienced in their plan. They had carried it out many times, virtually flawlessly. There had been a few reluctant women early on but a little force and some less than gentle physical persuasion applied to the person of the victim and the girls got the picture right away. As they would tell her in no uncertain terms, she and she alone would determine the how badly the outcome would be – for her. Fighting them would only result in her being punished. Just how much depended on their whim and the degree of her physical resistance.
They carried photos of their other outings, just to let the women know who was in charge. The victims were told they would simply have to obey and then, the men said, no one would have to get hurt. Most did as they were instructed; some did not. Photos of the latter were shown to encourage submission.
The men were suspicious of these instructions from “Kissy” but what she told them was consistent with her story back in the club. It was plausible. However, both men also suspected that Kissy might bolt, denying them their evening’s entertainment. One went to collect their van with fake plates while the other remained in the lobby, watching for Kissy to emerge from the Ladies room in the lobby.
Adam had repositioned himself just outside the main entrance to the hotel, knowing that Misti would be exiting into the night and making a hard right turn down the street as she had suggested to the men. As she emerged from the lobby Ladies room, she was immediately met by one of her new friends, who guided her smoothly by the arm and away from the hotel. Adam was a safe distance back, trailing the pair as they walked briskly down the street. Two blocks away was a white van, engine off with one off duty policeman at the wheel. He was enjoying a cigarette and fantasizing about the next few hours before they dumped her somewhere in the downtown area, dazed and unable to remember a thing. The rohypnol they were using tonight had proven itself to be effective at eliminating resistance from the victim; later the women would remember nothing. For these gents, it was the perfect pharmaceutical for their hobby.
The van was parked at the corner of an alley way. “Kissy” did not want to be spotted by anyone, she said. This would be their little secret. The closest light source was no more than back lighting at the other end of an otherwise dark and dreary alley, replete with dumpsters and trash cans, but devoid of human beings. Adam had already determined that the light source where the van would be parked was dim and security cameras or CCTV at nearby businesses non-existent. The men would be pleased with the physical environment of the meet; darkness, they believed, was their friend.
It wasn’t. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Chapter 23
As Misti and her escort drifted slowly down the street, Misti continued acting a little disoriented and compliant as though slowly being overtaken by the roofie. The man wanted a jump start on his colleague, so he felt himself entitled to some gratuitous groping of his prey along the way. Adam took note, then as soon as they crossed the first street on the way to their rendezvous, he peeled off and bolted down that street and around to the opposite entrance to the chosen alleyway. He crept alongside the walls and around dumpsters of the businesses which lined the unnamed lane and took up his position about thirty feet from the van, as yet undetected.
A few minutes later, the pair came into view and the man pounded on the van’s sliding door.
“She’s almost under so let’s get going and get out of here. This one’s gonna be a blast. I’ve let my fingers do some walking through her yellow pages and she’s ripe for playtime. Let’s get her in the back and I’ll put on her restraints while you drive.”
“Don’t strip her until we get there. That’s something I want to do with you. We can both have some fun while the other watches. There’s no hurry and she won’t remember any of this, or us, anyway. I have the winch and the sheets in place; we just need our date.”
Misti was neither drunk nor drugged and instantly knew what her new friends had in store for her that night. That the entire evening had been pre-planned and was probably just a rerun of other rapes was the firm conclusion Misti had already reached. Confirmation achieved of both intent and character, she signaled for Adam.
“No, I don’t want to go with you. I … I need to … lie down and …”
“No, you don’t little lady,” one of the men said. We’re gonna go for a little ride, then you are going to provide us with a little entertainment. So just get in the van, darlin’.”
“No, I said. I don’t want to. I … don’t.”
“Sure, you do baby, sure you do. Just step over here. Right this way.”
The men were smiling and laughing at each other, talking to the “drunk chick” as they had many times before to other “drunk chicks”. The women, if not totally under the influence, sometimes resisted and needed a little persuasion. For the driver of the van, this was no problem. He didn’t
mind a little physical coaxing as his personal aphrodisiac; his buddy always enjoyed that show. And, by agreement, it meant the buddy got to have first dibs afterwards.
“No, I don’t want to get in your car …”
“Uh, it’s a van you stupid slut. And get in. I’m not going to ask you again. We can do this nice or we can do it my way. Your choice. Now scoot! Get in.”
Misti knew that to jumpstart the guy’s aggression and deep-seated anger, all she had to do was resist and say no.
“You’re not being nice anymore. I don’t like you. I want to leave now and go see my boyfriend. Goodbye.”
“Hey bitch, I gave you an order and it doesn’t seem like your fiancé is anywhere around. So, I would suggest you do what you’re fucking told to do and make it easy on yourself.”
“No.” Misti started to back away and turn into the alleyway. She moved quicker than either man expected but they had plenty of experience with corralling uncooperative whores. This would be quick, and then she would learn a little lesson about disrespecting him in front of his buddy. Besides, he had given her fair warning. Now he would just rough her up enough to take the fight out of her then either she, of her own accord, or the roofie, would make her completely compliant and able to offer zero resistance.
As the men came after her, they suddenly became aware that they were not alone. Their cop instincts told them it was likely a bum, sleeping it off in the alley before heading to a shelter or a public park. When their eyes settled on him, they realized something was amiss. They weren’t packing their unregistered pistols under the suit jackets; they had left their backup firearms in the glove box of the van. They didn’t need guns to persuade the girls; but occasionally other men got the wrong idea and tried to intervene, either to help, or simply get their turn. No matter. At that point they flashed a badge and would tell their unwanted accomplices to buzz off. This was a police matter. Move along. The gun, the badge and the attitude were generally sufficient to eliminate most unrequested male interference.
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