22.
“Geez, Stan, do we have to go over this again?” Barb protested. They were sitting in an over-priced burger place in SoHo, not far from the Starbucks where Barb was to meet the suspects. It wasn’t the place Stan would have chosen, but its bright, noisy anonymity made it a good spot to review their strategy without attracting any attention.
“I’ve done undercover before, Barb. It’s easy to slip up. ‘Be Prepared’ as the Boy Scouts say.”
“I never was a Boy Scout,” Barb said.
“I could tell,” he replied. “Still, humor me and run through it one more time.”
“Sure, Stan,” she replied. “My name is Barbara Fulton. I’m 25, from just outside Chicago.” They had agreed there was no reason to hide her Midwestern origins-it would add to the air of innocent in the Big Apple. “I went to the University of Wisconsin and I teach fifth grade at an elementary school in Queens. I live with my boyfriend, Rick, in an apartment in Forest Hills. He works for the City Budget Department. He’s my first serious boyfriend. I have fooled around a bit with girls in college and wouldn’t mind at all exploring that, if things went in that direction.”
She continued. “I’ve had fantasies about choking and hanging for many years, since high school at least. I’ve never mentioned them to Rick or anyone else. He’s very straight and I’m pretty sure he would think it’s really weird and my parents and friends would be ashamed if they knew. I like the idea of playing strip poker, and, if I lost all my clothes, I would want to see how it felt to really hang.”
“HangingFantasies is like a dream come true for me, letting me explore these secret desires. Rick knows nothing about where I am tonight-he thinks I’m meeting an old college friend who’s in town for a conference.” She stopped, a bit out of breath from her well-rehearsed soliloquy.
“Good,” Stan said. “You convinced me. You didn’t for real fool around with girls in college, did you?” he asked. Stan couldn’t help imagining Barb lying on a bed in a college dorm room, her legs spread wide, her eyes closed and her mouth open in ecstasy, a fellow female student with her head buried in Barb’s most secret spot. He felt himself getting hard.
Barb looked at him with a sphinx-like expression. “Are we done?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he replied, looking at his watch. It’s ten minutes to eight. It’ll take me five minutes to get there. I’ll text you when they’re all there, OK?”
“Yeah, Goldman, get out of here and take your dirty mind with you,” she told him.
He rose, hoping his erection wouldn’t be too obvious, and put on his jacket. “Break a leg-isn’t that what actors say for good luck?” She stuck her tongue out at him.
It was a warm evening for the season, and the sidewalks were crowded with people-New Yorkers, commuters and tourists from everywhere on the planet, out for a meal, a drink, to hear some music or just a stroll.
The Starbucks was only about half full. Stan ordered a simple large coffee in a mug. He wasn’t too keen on their lattes and whatever other fake Italian names they gave their concoctions, but he preferred the taste and feel of real earthenware to paper.
He noticed a table towards the back occupied by two women in red sweaters. One was Asian, with looseshoulder length black hair, wearing jeans and sneakers below the sweater. The other had a fair complexion with hair that was a light shade of brunette, cut in a short bob. She wore a navy blue skirt with flats below the sweater. Both appeared to be mid-to-late twenties, near the age Barb was pretending to be.
Stan was relieved to see that they were actually women. He had feared that they would turn out to be men posing as women, like on that Ashely Madison site. Several years ago, around the time his marriage had fallen apart, he had thought about joining, but had chickened out at the last minute. He had patted himself on the back for not doing so when the truth had come out.
He found an empty table a couple of places away from theirs, and sat so that he could see both the women and the door. He took out his phone and pretended to stare intently at it. The two suspects were absorbed enough in conversation that he was able to snap a few photos without them noticing. He couldn’t use the flash, of course, but the place was brightly enough lit that the photos came out OK. Not works of art, to be sure, but good enough to run through the database in case either of the two lovelies had a record. He assumed any names they gave Barb would be just as fake as the one she was giving them.
It wasn’t very long before the door opened and a woman, also in a red sweater, with shoulder length, dark brown hair, came in. She wore a skirt of some dark color, blue or black and pumps with a modest heel. She glanced quickly about, her face lighting up when she saw the other two.
She made a beeline for their table. The other two stood and exchanged hugs and pecks on the cheek with the new arrival. The Asian girl called the new arrival Deb and he thought he heard her call the Asian girl Cindy. He didn’t catch the name of the third suspect. It didn’t matter really, since they all could easily be fake. He managed to snap a few additional photos, including a couple of the new arrival.
“Deb” went to get a coffee. Stan, ever absorbed in his phone, texted Barb, “All here.”
She texted back, “OK.” A few minutes later, he saw her enter the coffee shop, scan the room and make her way to the table where the three women in red sat.