Post by managermike99 on Dec 12, 2018 14:47:00 GMT -5
The Traffic Stop
Flashing red and blue lights from a police car could always seem sinister, but as Marty watched them reflect in his rear view mirror he couldn’t help but think the feelings were amplified by the cold, dark, and frozen wasteland that was Winnipeg on this very typical January night.
A normal, rational, human being would be sweating right now or preparing to plead or even cry, coming up with a story, for when the cop banged on the window with a leather gloved hand or perhaps a flashlight. Marty however found himself getting excited, or at least challenged by the prospect of the confrontation. Being annoyingly introspective Marty wondered to himself if his excitement was because he was a bored Caucasian suburbanite white collar drone, or because he was a narcissist who believed the world was created for him, and nothing truly terrible could ever happen to him or it would all fall apart (all the evidence of his life to the contrary).
Watching the female cop in the passenger seat tap away on the onboard computer he wondered if it would be her or her male partner that would get out of the car. If the male was a gentleman it would be him, and because the male was younger, handsome, and wholesome looking Marty figured he would volunteer. Good figured Marty. Women had always been able to see through his bull, they had a sixth sense that he was creepy. Men tended to just find him harmless and insignificant. Marty was not sure which attitude he hated more, but for the purposes of this traffic stop he was hoping for the male. Especially after they had run his name through the system.
Marty smiled to himself when the driver side door opened, and the male cop slowly made his way to the driver’s side window of the Toyota Corolla. Determined to deny the cop’s small pleasure of raping on the window, it was already moving down from the electronic button being pushed as he arrived.
“Good evening. License and registration please”.
“Sure”, Marty said clearly as he passed the two documents over to the cop.
As he examined them the cop asked, “what are you doing in this area tonight?”
“Just cruising” admitted Marty. “Had a few minutes to kill, and I don’t know, just kind of…I know its wrong, but just taking a look. I have to pick up my girlfriend at Red River when her class is over at 9.” If the best lies had an element of truth to them, this was not a good one. He did not currently have a girlfriend, never mind one who might be taking night courses to better herself at the small downtown college.
Marty chanced a quick look back at the female cop. She was still looking and tapping at the computer. She was quite attractive as most women in authority who wore their blonde hair in a ponytail, then applied just enough lipstick and eyeliner to make up for having to wear a stern looking uniform, would be to a red blooded male.
“Sir?”. Damn, did he catch him looking at his partner? That would not be good. “We have our own cruisers, unmarked cruisers, in this area and you have been circling for sometime. More then enough time to get into trouble. We both know what you are really doing here.”
This was Winnipeg’s hooker low track. Mostly indigenous girls, many under age, all strung out on meth or crack, all being pimped out by the local street gangs; one gang on each side of the bridge. Marty had traversed both sides looking to see if girls were still working. To their credit the police, along with the shift to online, had done such a bang up job on eliminating street workers that they were actually few and far between. Especially on such a cold night.
Then of course there was the fact that these high risk girls had been disappearing quite often the past couple years. The white people blamed the gangs themselves, the aboriginal community cried out that it was the work of one or more serial predators; white johns. Then of course there was the online communities that believed it was something much more sinister, and older then the streets themselves. Marty had been cruising these streets for years, and had always felt the weight of the shadows, the way things blurred and disappeared from view too soon; especially on cold, winter nights. Winnipeg had always been an epicenter for the paranormal, in Marty’s research stemming from the ancient aboriginals themselves who met at the Forks (where the Red and Assiniboine rivers intersected).
So this traffic stop, Marty knew was more a warning to potential johns, and of course being on the lookout for predators. Marty realized he should be more contrite, sound concerned, but somehow he just could not manage it.
“No, look, honest”, yeah the cop is going to believe you when you say ‘honest’. “I was just looking and was going to get a coffee. I thought I was supposed to pick her up at 8:30, but then she texted me 9:00pm instead.”
Damn. That was a lie and a half. What if the cop asked to see his phone, to see the text? Why not just apologize and take the ticket? Marty glanced back and noticed the female cop was looking at them now, her eyes caught him looking. Damn. Instead of getting out of it Marty began to dig in deeper.
As part of his narcissistic nature and his belief in the paranormal, Marty believed in mind over matter, minds could bend reality through force of will, and that this was stronger with some, like him, then others. Not because of any force (these are not the droids you are looking for), but because of one’s own recognition and belief in the power.
Tempting fate Marty concentrated on the male cop and thought to himself, “don’t look in the trunk…don’t look in the trunk”. He then stared straight ahead and gathered up a vision of the few strands of red hair that hung outside the closed car trunk. When Marty had gently placed the buxom redhead into his trunk, oh so carefully so not to break anything, he had accidently slammed the trunk onto quite a bit of hair. Opening the trunk, he tried to brush it back inside, but when he closed it for a second time he noticed just a couple errant strands remained. Marty figured these were practically invisible, or maybe would just come off in transportation, and had made sure when pulled over that the car was not directly under one of the few street lights. However, now Marty began to wonder how noticeable they would be to the female cop who was staring right at the back of the Corolla. If they asked him to open the the trunk, what’s the worst that could happen if they found her?
Marty almost wanted them to find her, especially to see the face of the female cop. How would she react to the cold body, the disfigured face? Marty found himself slightly aroused at the thought.
Look in the trunk..there are so many missing girls..how could you not look in the trunk! I am not insignificant. This is my world you are living in, and it will end when I say so. Look in the trunk.
“Well I’m going to write you up for not coming to a complete stop…sorry what was that? Did you say something?”
“No sir”
The cop looked toward the back of Marty’s car. Taking a step and a half toward the trunk. This also made his partner sit bolt upright, paying full attention to her partner’s movements. No, no, thought Marty…don’t look in the trunk, don’t look in the trunk. The cop stopped short and came back to the window, shaking his head.
“Strange. Anyway here is your ticket…now listen…we have put your plates in the system. I don’t want to see you around here again, or it will be more then just a ticket.”
What the heck could they do to him Marty wondered? Not to worry though Marty was not going to be around here for a while. What the heck was that? Marty swore he saw something pass across the other side of the street, a shadow cast on the industrial fencing. A dog, walking upright, definitely a dog, because of the tail. Gone.
“Of course, thanks” muttered Marty. His shaky voice, the first sign of weakness seemed to satisfy the cop.
“There are lots of dangerous elements on these streets Mr. Bakal, you need to watch yourself”.
With that the cop began to stroll back to the patrol car, and Marty watched as his female partner sat upright. They would probably be laughing at him, or hold him in contempt. Just another white male john, paying for it because he can’t get it for free. She would find it disgusting, he would find it pitiful. Either one of them could go to the bar tonight and get laid, heck maybe they would be hooking up together. But they thought Marty had to pay for it.
As Marty watched the car leave the scene, he started his own frozen motor and put it into drive. The cop had used his last name, so obviously they had run him through the system. They must not have recognized his name, and no flag came up. Otherwise, combining the unsolved disappearance of his wife for which Marty had been a long time suspect, along with the number of missing girls in this area would have prompted the cops to try and get Marty to pop his trunk for sure.
During the 15-minute drive from the inner city, through the WWII era ‘burbs, and ending at his new development home Marty ran the traffic stop in and out of his mind. Sure he had a $208 ticket, but the memory of the stop, and what might have been, was delicious. As he drove though Marty Bakal couldn’t get over the feeling that he was being watched, or maybe followed. He used to get the creeps when cruising the low track but not for years; probably just the traffic stop playing on his mind. But then again, he could have sworn he saw the dog shadow two more times on the way home. Age plays tricks with one’s mind, and one’s eyes though.
As he pulled up to the corner lot house that he once shared with his wife and children, both now grown and moved away to bigger cities, he pressed the clicker and watched as the garage door slowly rose. In this climate, you held your breath with each trivial action, things mechanical tended to break easy when it was so cold. Never mind frozen limbs. Pulling in next to his SUV which was his usual vehicle of choice (nicer, newer, but no trunk) it was always squishy getting in and out. In fact, Marty would have to leave the garage door open and hope there were no nosey neighbors as he took the package out of the trunk.
Unlocking the door which led from the garage to the foyer, Marty propped it open by kicking up the floor mat and jamming it under the door. Taking a quick look around for prying eyes he turned off the interior garage lights before popping the trunk.
Jackie had been advertised as a “Lavish Red Head”, meaning curvy and buxom. 5’4”, 108 lbs, 34EE breasts. She was not cheap though, but Marty had a good job as the top finance guy at the city’s biggest Toyota dealership. Not only did his job pay well, it gave him access to a fleet of cars, and a flexible schedule. Their date had gone well but in a fit of rage Marty had slashed her up. Her body was still pristine but her face was a mess.
As Marty gently cradled the stiff body of Jackie in his arms he walked her sideways between the two vehicles, being careful not to bang her into the cars. The hands and feet were especially delicate. The man who Marty had rented Jackie out to had been careful, she looked in good shape. Marty felt his own arousal building.
If Marty had not been so distracted he may have felt, if not heard, the shift of the winds, the change and crackle in the air. The spirit which was older then the streets themselves felt Marty’s perversion, yearned to eliminate him. Its powers were not as strong this far from the river’s Forks, but it had followed Marty this far and still had enough power to do what needed to be done.
As he approached the threshold Marty felt an urge to go online to the sites he frequented. Some were for those who believed in things that went bump in the night, and others were sites that attracted people with all sorts of perversions and fantasies. It was the latter where Marty had contacted Jerry who wanted to use Jackie. After slashing up her face Marty thought any chance of renting her out, a side business he was dabbling in, would be gone. But to the contrary, when posted at the right sites it drew more interest in Jackie then when she was in perfect shape. Marty even shuddered wondering what kind of sick guys had that fantasy, and if any of them were connected to the missing girls.
The spirit was just about on top of the man now, but stopped short. It wasn’t just the distance from the Muddy Waters that had it confused, it was the prey in the man’s arm. The spirit retreated, confused, but still hungry. It was not human, this one in his arms. The man was a perversion, maybe not evil, but certainly not good. The spirit sensed that Marty’s life would come to an end prematurely, and violently, as there were many predators in this place, some corporal, some not. But it was not it’s job, that deed would have to belong to someone (or something) else.
Marty gently put Jackie, his “full body sex doll for men” on the laminate flooring and went back to the garage to close the trunk. What was that lingering smell? Foul, brackish water? Salt? Sulfur? Probably just time to wash out the garbage bins. Back inside Marty locked the door and carried Jackie up to the bedroom, and placed her on the side closest to the window, where his wife used to sleep.
Back at the Public Safety Building as Trisha entered the women’s change room she said good night to her partner Dale. Finally, able to relax, to drop the smile, pull her long hair out of her ponytail and give it a shake. Dale hated the vermin that preyed on the girls of the street, but he also played by the rules. Trisha knew he would go home to his wife and kids, and not talk about the scum he saw every night, or the shadows they both ignored in silence. Trisha though, had no one to go home too. Just her weird stray dog Lucky that she had taken in last year. Taking out her notepad, her personal notepad, she wrote down the name Marty Bakal, a brief description, license plate, address, and the word “pervert”. She was certain that he would get his, as this city had many strange forces, and people could be made to just disappear.
The cold frozen streets of Winnipeg have no pity for the weak and the twisted.
Flashing red and blue lights from a police car could always seem sinister, but as Marty watched them reflect in his rear view mirror he couldn’t help but think the feelings were amplified by the cold, dark, and frozen wasteland that was Winnipeg on this very typical January night.
A normal, rational, human being would be sweating right now or preparing to plead or even cry, coming up with a story, for when the cop banged on the window with a leather gloved hand or perhaps a flashlight. Marty however found himself getting excited, or at least challenged by the prospect of the confrontation. Being annoyingly introspective Marty wondered to himself if his excitement was because he was a bored Caucasian suburbanite white collar drone, or because he was a narcissist who believed the world was created for him, and nothing truly terrible could ever happen to him or it would all fall apart (all the evidence of his life to the contrary).
Watching the female cop in the passenger seat tap away on the onboard computer he wondered if it would be her or her male partner that would get out of the car. If the male was a gentleman it would be him, and because the male was younger, handsome, and wholesome looking Marty figured he would volunteer. Good figured Marty. Women had always been able to see through his bull, they had a sixth sense that he was creepy. Men tended to just find him harmless and insignificant. Marty was not sure which attitude he hated more, but for the purposes of this traffic stop he was hoping for the male. Especially after they had run his name through the system.
Marty smiled to himself when the driver side door opened, and the male cop slowly made his way to the driver’s side window of the Toyota Corolla. Determined to deny the cop’s small pleasure of raping on the window, it was already moving down from the electronic button being pushed as he arrived.
“Good evening. License and registration please”.
“Sure”, Marty said clearly as he passed the two documents over to the cop.
As he examined them the cop asked, “what are you doing in this area tonight?”
“Just cruising” admitted Marty. “Had a few minutes to kill, and I don’t know, just kind of…I know its wrong, but just taking a look. I have to pick up my girlfriend at Red River when her class is over at 9.” If the best lies had an element of truth to them, this was not a good one. He did not currently have a girlfriend, never mind one who might be taking night courses to better herself at the small downtown college.
Marty chanced a quick look back at the female cop. She was still looking and tapping at the computer. She was quite attractive as most women in authority who wore their blonde hair in a ponytail, then applied just enough lipstick and eyeliner to make up for having to wear a stern looking uniform, would be to a red blooded male.
“Sir?”. Damn, did he catch him looking at his partner? That would not be good. “We have our own cruisers, unmarked cruisers, in this area and you have been circling for sometime. More then enough time to get into trouble. We both know what you are really doing here.”
This was Winnipeg’s hooker low track. Mostly indigenous girls, many under age, all strung out on meth or crack, all being pimped out by the local street gangs; one gang on each side of the bridge. Marty had traversed both sides looking to see if girls were still working. To their credit the police, along with the shift to online, had done such a bang up job on eliminating street workers that they were actually few and far between. Especially on such a cold night.
Then of course there was the fact that these high risk girls had been disappearing quite often the past couple years. The white people blamed the gangs themselves, the aboriginal community cried out that it was the work of one or more serial predators; white johns. Then of course there was the online communities that believed it was something much more sinister, and older then the streets themselves. Marty had been cruising these streets for years, and had always felt the weight of the shadows, the way things blurred and disappeared from view too soon; especially on cold, winter nights. Winnipeg had always been an epicenter for the paranormal, in Marty’s research stemming from the ancient aboriginals themselves who met at the Forks (where the Red and Assiniboine rivers intersected).
So this traffic stop, Marty knew was more a warning to potential johns, and of course being on the lookout for predators. Marty realized he should be more contrite, sound concerned, but somehow he just could not manage it.
“No, look, honest”, yeah the cop is going to believe you when you say ‘honest’. “I was just looking and was going to get a coffee. I thought I was supposed to pick her up at 8:30, but then she texted me 9:00pm instead.”
Damn. That was a lie and a half. What if the cop asked to see his phone, to see the text? Why not just apologize and take the ticket? Marty glanced back and noticed the female cop was looking at them now, her eyes caught him looking. Damn. Instead of getting out of it Marty began to dig in deeper.
As part of his narcissistic nature and his belief in the paranormal, Marty believed in mind over matter, minds could bend reality through force of will, and that this was stronger with some, like him, then others. Not because of any force (these are not the droids you are looking for), but because of one’s own recognition and belief in the power.
Tempting fate Marty concentrated on the male cop and thought to himself, “don’t look in the trunk…don’t look in the trunk”. He then stared straight ahead and gathered up a vision of the few strands of red hair that hung outside the closed car trunk. When Marty had gently placed the buxom redhead into his trunk, oh so carefully so not to break anything, he had accidently slammed the trunk onto quite a bit of hair. Opening the trunk, he tried to brush it back inside, but when he closed it for a second time he noticed just a couple errant strands remained. Marty figured these were practically invisible, or maybe would just come off in transportation, and had made sure when pulled over that the car was not directly under one of the few street lights. However, now Marty began to wonder how noticeable they would be to the female cop who was staring right at the back of the Corolla. If they asked him to open the the trunk, what’s the worst that could happen if they found her?
Marty almost wanted them to find her, especially to see the face of the female cop. How would she react to the cold body, the disfigured face? Marty found himself slightly aroused at the thought.
Look in the trunk..there are so many missing girls..how could you not look in the trunk! I am not insignificant. This is my world you are living in, and it will end when I say so. Look in the trunk.
“Well I’m going to write you up for not coming to a complete stop…sorry what was that? Did you say something?”
“No sir”
The cop looked toward the back of Marty’s car. Taking a step and a half toward the trunk. This also made his partner sit bolt upright, paying full attention to her partner’s movements. No, no, thought Marty…don’t look in the trunk, don’t look in the trunk. The cop stopped short and came back to the window, shaking his head.
“Strange. Anyway here is your ticket…now listen…we have put your plates in the system. I don’t want to see you around here again, or it will be more then just a ticket.”
What the heck could they do to him Marty wondered? Not to worry though Marty was not going to be around here for a while. What the heck was that? Marty swore he saw something pass across the other side of the street, a shadow cast on the industrial fencing. A dog, walking upright, definitely a dog, because of the tail. Gone.
“Of course, thanks” muttered Marty. His shaky voice, the first sign of weakness seemed to satisfy the cop.
“There are lots of dangerous elements on these streets Mr. Bakal, you need to watch yourself”.
With that the cop began to stroll back to the patrol car, and Marty watched as his female partner sat upright. They would probably be laughing at him, or hold him in contempt. Just another white male john, paying for it because he can’t get it for free. She would find it disgusting, he would find it pitiful. Either one of them could go to the bar tonight and get laid, heck maybe they would be hooking up together. But they thought Marty had to pay for it.
As Marty watched the car leave the scene, he started his own frozen motor and put it into drive. The cop had used his last name, so obviously they had run him through the system. They must not have recognized his name, and no flag came up. Otherwise, combining the unsolved disappearance of his wife for which Marty had been a long time suspect, along with the number of missing girls in this area would have prompted the cops to try and get Marty to pop his trunk for sure.
During the 15-minute drive from the inner city, through the WWII era ‘burbs, and ending at his new development home Marty ran the traffic stop in and out of his mind. Sure he had a $208 ticket, but the memory of the stop, and what might have been, was delicious. As he drove though Marty Bakal couldn’t get over the feeling that he was being watched, or maybe followed. He used to get the creeps when cruising the low track but not for years; probably just the traffic stop playing on his mind. But then again, he could have sworn he saw the dog shadow two more times on the way home. Age plays tricks with one’s mind, and one’s eyes though.
As he pulled up to the corner lot house that he once shared with his wife and children, both now grown and moved away to bigger cities, he pressed the clicker and watched as the garage door slowly rose. In this climate, you held your breath with each trivial action, things mechanical tended to break easy when it was so cold. Never mind frozen limbs. Pulling in next to his SUV which was his usual vehicle of choice (nicer, newer, but no trunk) it was always squishy getting in and out. In fact, Marty would have to leave the garage door open and hope there were no nosey neighbors as he took the package out of the trunk.
Unlocking the door which led from the garage to the foyer, Marty propped it open by kicking up the floor mat and jamming it under the door. Taking a quick look around for prying eyes he turned off the interior garage lights before popping the trunk.
Jackie had been advertised as a “Lavish Red Head”, meaning curvy and buxom. 5’4”, 108 lbs, 34EE breasts. She was not cheap though, but Marty had a good job as the top finance guy at the city’s biggest Toyota dealership. Not only did his job pay well, it gave him access to a fleet of cars, and a flexible schedule. Their date had gone well but in a fit of rage Marty had slashed her up. Her body was still pristine but her face was a mess.
As Marty gently cradled the stiff body of Jackie in his arms he walked her sideways between the two vehicles, being careful not to bang her into the cars. The hands and feet were especially delicate. The man who Marty had rented Jackie out to had been careful, she looked in good shape. Marty felt his own arousal building.
If Marty had not been so distracted he may have felt, if not heard, the shift of the winds, the change and crackle in the air. The spirit which was older then the streets themselves felt Marty’s perversion, yearned to eliminate him. Its powers were not as strong this far from the river’s Forks, but it had followed Marty this far and still had enough power to do what needed to be done.
As he approached the threshold Marty felt an urge to go online to the sites he frequented. Some were for those who believed in things that went bump in the night, and others were sites that attracted people with all sorts of perversions and fantasies. It was the latter where Marty had contacted Jerry who wanted to use Jackie. After slashing up her face Marty thought any chance of renting her out, a side business he was dabbling in, would be gone. But to the contrary, when posted at the right sites it drew more interest in Jackie then when she was in perfect shape. Marty even shuddered wondering what kind of sick guys had that fantasy, and if any of them were connected to the missing girls.
The spirit was just about on top of the man now, but stopped short. It wasn’t just the distance from the Muddy Waters that had it confused, it was the prey in the man’s arm. The spirit retreated, confused, but still hungry. It was not human, this one in his arms. The man was a perversion, maybe not evil, but certainly not good. The spirit sensed that Marty’s life would come to an end prematurely, and violently, as there were many predators in this place, some corporal, some not. But it was not it’s job, that deed would have to belong to someone (or something) else.
Marty gently put Jackie, his “full body sex doll for men” on the laminate flooring and went back to the garage to close the trunk. What was that lingering smell? Foul, brackish water? Salt? Sulfur? Probably just time to wash out the garbage bins. Back inside Marty locked the door and carried Jackie up to the bedroom, and placed her on the side closest to the window, where his wife used to sleep.
Back at the Public Safety Building as Trisha entered the women’s change room she said good night to her partner Dale. Finally, able to relax, to drop the smile, pull her long hair out of her ponytail and give it a shake. Dale hated the vermin that preyed on the girls of the street, but he also played by the rules. Trisha knew he would go home to his wife and kids, and not talk about the scum he saw every night, or the shadows they both ignored in silence. Trisha though, had no one to go home too. Just her weird stray dog Lucky that she had taken in last year. Taking out her notepad, her personal notepad, she wrote down the name Marty Bakal, a brief description, license plate, address, and the word “pervert”. She was certain that he would get his, as this city had many strange forces, and people could be made to just disappear.
The cold frozen streets of Winnipeg have no pity for the weak and the twisted.