Timber

Debbie was excited about the evening and had planned extensively, as was her way. Using a dating app wasn’t her usual method, but so far it was proving to be fruitful. Greg was the third hunk she had linked up with using it, and KindLnk promised 5+ matches a month or your money back. That kind of guarantee was impossible to turn down, especially in her business.

After connecting on KindLnk, Greg had initiated a chat two weeks ago, and they had shared no less than five text conversations and two emails since. Dinner had been arranged and agreed upon three nights ago, which had initiated the sixth text chat and a third email. 

Greg was single, no close family, a recent transplant from Mobile, Alabama to New York City, and worked as an online web developer and social media consultant, whatever that meant. Not that it mattered. Hooking up had been hinted at twice in text exchanges and practically guaranteed in the third email. He was primed and ready. 

Greg was ready to go, and the dinner location was a perfect beginning to what he could almost guarantee would be a vigorous evening. The Wheel was a quaint little Italian bistro that served fresh pasta and spuriously bottled red wine, along with garlic bread and a small man playing an encouraging violin. 

This is going to be a great night. Too long! Too long had it been since he’d been able to sample the delights of a beautiful young woman. His forced move from the homeland of Alabama had been abrupt, but almost too late, with the law closing in on his machinations. Two complaints in under three months was bound to show up in any cursory investigation, and the people in Mobile’s Sex Crimes Unit weren’t pushovers. So better to haul ass out rather than risk any jail time. He’d rather die than see the inside of a cage. Always better to be on the outside looking in. 

A quick and all-cash move to NYC, along with a name change and a new driver’s license, made his presence all but impossible to track. Working as a consultant with no employment history gave his ghost presence a legitimacy that still left no trail. If NYC worked out, he might end up staying here - the women were plenty and the anonymity was like a warm comfortable blanket. 

Speaking of which, tonight’s delightful delicacy was named Debbie, and she was halfway undressed already, if the hints she’d thrown his way were even remotely honest. That kind of inhibition might not even need a helping hand, but Greg had been far too long without his outlet to risk it. Tonight he’d be bringing along two doses, just to be sure. 

Before Alabama he’d experienced a number of different women in different environments, but only recently had he gone in for the kill at the end of the night. Enough wine and smooth talk, and the Roofie was hardly necessary. But the control wouldn’t be there without it, and he so needed the control. The power. He hungered for it like nothing he’d ever known. 

The Wheel had opened hours ago, the restaurant searching desperately for clientele that still didn’t exist in this COVID-19 world. A mask and a whim wasn’t enough to get people out, but the trickle of people still attending to their culinary needs kept them open. 

At five past nine a quietly handsome young man came through the door, button up shirt screaming hipster conformity, jeans, and a dark blue mask covering his mouth and nose. Citing a reservation at 9:30, he took a seat in a corner booth and examined the menu. Water was offered, flat or bubbles. He chose bubbles and was left alone. The better half of this evening would be joining him soon. 

The waiter, lucky to have a job, made no small talk and immediately delivered the water, along with complimentary bread and the house wine list. Had he been asked, he would have noted that the young man wasn’t as youthful as his first appearance might have indicated. More along the lines of early 30’s, with some crow’s feet at the eyes and a thin scar running down the right side of this jawline. 

Ten minutes later a dashing 30ish woman blew through the door like a summer breeze, a grace in her gait that comes naturally to very few, but is rarely appreciated by those who wear it. A quick look around and her eyes popped a bit as she recognized tonight’s beau. Twiddling her fingers at him, she glided over to the table occupied by the handsome youngish man, and he rose to take her hand, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Very natural and sweet. 

She blushed momentarily but sat down quickly, taking a sip of water and smoothing a napkin over her lap. NYC tables offered little room for anything more than silverware and water glasses, but the wine Greg ordered found space amongst the civilized chaos. 

Debbie was taken aback by Greg - he was even more handsome than in his pictures, if that were possible, and he had a daring presence that seemed to hover over and about the room, as if he were taking up more space than just his physical body could account. Wine presented itself, and she took a conditional sip, smiling over her glass and into his eyes. 

Greg took the smile with a hunger that was barely contained, looking shyly down to avoid giving anything away. God she was beautiful! What a catch. He was already imagining his late night activities. 

She ordered the chicken primavera with a house salad and he got the chicken fettuccine with a caesar. A small frown walked briefly over her brow, wondering how such a heavy meal might affect the evening. But it passed and she was diving into the cultured and cautious small talk that is so common on first dates. 

They shared a love of the outdoors, both having moved to NYC, originally from smaller towns with plenty of outdoor activities. Cow tipping was joked about, neither having done it, but both claiming to know what it was. They commented on growing up in towns with one stop light, one gas station, and almost nonexistent internet service. Neither knew a world without email, but both had grown up suffering through dial up for any kind of social digital experience. 

Finding more in common than was expected, Debbie and Greg internally lambasted about wasted opportunities; Greg wondering if it was possible to walk the line with her, using her the way he wanted but then finding a future past the forced domination, Debbie wondering, as always, if she could pull it off. The long-away look in his eyes while he quietly contemplated various scenarios wasn’t lost on Debbie, she thinking he was drifting away because of boredom. 

Dinner’s arrival created a much needed break in the chatter, both using their feigned hunger to mentally regroup and stay focused. Debbie took small bites, so as not to offend the southern boy across from her, while Greg plowerd straight through his meal, like he was back at late-summer football camp. 

When dinner finished Debbie politely excused herself while asking Greg to order more wine. Drifting past the wait staff and into the impossibly small but somehow spotlessly clean bathroom, she closed and locked the door. After sending a quick text message, she took one of her pills, and after relieving herself and washing up, made it back to the table in good time. 

Greg requested a second bottle of wine as soon as Debbie left, and making sure his phone was both off and the battery removed, took out a small pill and with practiced ease dropped it into Debbie’s glass. Pouring wine into the glass quickly hid the immediately dissolving capsule, and Greg took a moment for a quiet sigh of relief. He would do his things to Debbie tonight, he’d decided, and if she reached out to him afterwards, then make up his mind about any future. 

When she joined him at the table, she was delighted to see a refilled glass of wine with fresh bubbles in it. Perfect. More discussions of wanting commonalities ensued and they found more interests that held both their attention. Both had never really toured NYC, having neither the time nor the inclination, outwardly claiming it wasn’t of any real interest, but both inwardly having wanted to do it, just always putting it off. 

In an unusual moment for Debbie in these now almost common situations, she realized a pact had been made with herself to actually go out and see the sights of New York City. It had been far too long since she indulged herself in anything, and it was high time she saw Lady Liberty and feigned dropping pennies off the Empire State Building. She might even seek out Freedom Tower, although her current employer might find that inappropriate. 

Neither wanted dessert and both were showing keen interests in possible post-dinner activities. Greg asked if she might be interested in an after dinner drink somewhere, and she readily accepted, already exhibiting a drowsy light-headedness that would lead to other more interesting activities. 

Paying the bill with cash, including a moderate but unmemorable tip, they held hands walking out the door, she becoming more unsteady with each passing moment, and found a cab waiting just down the street. Unusual for NYC, but Greg paid no heed, citing his internal luck at his imminent upcoming sexual score. Plus he’d read that cabbies were suffering greatly in the COVID-19 world, and one sitting around the almost frighteningly quiet West Village wasn’t entirely unusual anymore. 

Greg poured Debbie into the back seat, slid in beside her, and asked Debbie to give the driver her address. She complied willingly but a thick tongue had settled over her words, and his excitement cranked up another level. 

Debbie was struggling not to play it up too much. Overplay your hand and these meatheads might scurry off. Greg seemed special though, that personality presence that so dominated a room, radiating off him in sickening waves, might be even more valuable. She could tell he was already excited, and hoped he wouldn’t try anything in the cab. Rupert was not known for his niceties when it came to defending employees of the Organization. And Greg was going to be a real keeper. 

As Debbie lulled against the cool NYC Cab window, Greg started mentally walking through scenarios that might get played out at Debbie’s place. A nightcap was out of the question, as she was already heading downhill and he couldn’t risk her passing out in a public place. It was going to be tough enough getting her into her apartment. 

As the cabbie made the final turn down her street, Debbie let out a small moan, just above a whisper, letting Greg know she was almost but not quite unconscious. Greg looked around nervously, briefly at the cabbie but also to see who was about in the neighborhood. The feigned drugginess made Debbie a non threat, so when Greg turned his head to look out the window, she quietly jabbed him in the thigh with a compact gas powered syringe of Midazolam. 

A shock of surprise escaped Greg’s lips, and he quickly turned towards Debbie, looking helplessly around at the same time. What the hell stabbed him? Thoughts of a discarded needle carrying AIDS or Hepatitis caused alarm in his might just as the world around him closed in and then out. 

Even more shocking was Debbie sitting upright in her seat, rapt attention being paid to the cell phone in her hand, but he was having trouble hearing her words. As unconsciousness spilled over him, he could have sworn she said something about a boat. 

Rupert quickly pulled over and glanced back at Debbie, who was up and over Greg, looking for a wallet. His address was already known, but they needed his wallet for the card key to access the apartment building. Finding that, the cab pulled professionally back onto the street, and shot out towards Brooklyn, home of the now incapacitated Greggory, aka Greg. 

But also known as Daniel Foster, a twice reported sexual predator originally from Kentucky who thought he had escaped the jaws of justice in Alabama. As they hustled to their new destination, Debbie made a quick phone call to Control, giving simple yet careful code phrases indicating everything was on schedule. 

Rupter made fast work of the nearly empty roads, arriving at the dockside warehouse in 15 minutes. The Organization had three facilities in and around the New York City area. Each had a small office building attached to a medium sized warehouse, with sound proof holding rooms in case the boat was late. 

Debbie’s bathroom pill was a hearty dose of Calcixitrol, a chemical counteragent to GHB, also known as the date rape drug. She had gotten good at feigning GHB’s effects. This was her seventh mission for the Organization, and she was getting very good. 

The boat was already docked and Greg was manhandled onto it by two burly guards with jackets that said “SECURITY” and expensive semi-automatic handguns in shoulder holsters. The merchandise shouldn’t be damaged but any interference would not be condoned. Any bruises Greg suffered could heal. 

After being stowed below and handcuffed to a small bed, the boat meandered quietly through the New York City Harbor, careful to keep speed down and alertness up. A 25 minute ride brought them to the Organization’s yacht, 150 foot moderate behemoth registered to a company in UAE, and anchored in international waters. The yacht had one distinct feature not found on many other similar vessels; a soundproofed room that served as a holding pen. 

Greg’s apartment was already being emptied of it’s belongings, and by noon tomorrow would be all but abandoned, the utilities turned off and a short note of apology to the landlord. Greg had a new career ahead of him - a sex slave to be sold to the highest bidder on the black market. A fitting end for a sexual predator. 

Debbie would take a few well earned days off and back in search of her next victim by Monday.