Night Closes In

Chapter One PeeJay “What would you do, if you knew that you could get away with anything?” He was a good looking man, except for the sardonic curl corrupting his infectious smile, and an arrogant attitude that belied his current situation. He radiated good humor, as though he were inviting me to join him in some cosmic joke; an aggressive amiability that caused him to seize my hand in both of his and pump it vigorously the first time we met. Peter John Rawlings (‘Call me PeeJay’) was once a respected County Commissioner in Springdale County, a position that carried more power and influence than his modest job title might suggest. At the time of this interview, he was an inmate in a Federal Correctional institution. He had bargained to reduce his penalty by becoming a cooperating witness for the prosecution, but he would still be serving a sentence that for a man of his age could last the rest of his life. “Suppose that you know the fix is in”, he said. “The law protects you. Most of the county cops are on the payroll. The rest know enough to look the other way. The local mob gets a percentage. You have bought and paid for judges who always see things your way, a blindfolded media, a business community that is courting your favors, bankers and accountants who have been cleaning money since the Columbian Cartel was born, and mental health professionals that will write up any reports or recommendations you ask for in exchange for generous subsidies and no oversight. The ignorant herd is content as long as taxes are low enough. Anyway, they are too busy with their own lives to ask a lot of questions about the way things get done down at City Hall. The system was already in place when I was still a schoolboy. I just got sucked up in it. I couldn’t have changed anything if I wanted to, and I had no reason to want to” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach, a man at ease with his life choices. “So- suppose that you could do anything and get away with it. What would you do? Most folks would just laugh at the question. ‘Rob a bank’ they would probably say. Hell! We were the bank, or close enough. We could bribe or blackmail anyone, disappear somebody if they got out of line. Price was no object. When you can lay hands on all the money you need, reward your friends, punish your enemies, and control everyone else -what’s next?” That evil smirk returned as I raised an eyebrow to prompt him. “s*x!”‘ he said. s*x with any woman that catches your eye, whether she is willing or not, and I can tell you that it’s a lot more fun if she’s not. I’m talking s*x as nasty and vile as you can imagine, in a place of total privacy and security. Let the victims scream for help. No one will hear it, and no rescue will arrive. Enjoy their begging and bargaining. They can’t offer anything you haven’t already taken.” I tried to hide my shudder of revulsion. He shrugged. “You’re horrified. Most men are, or pretend to be, but then some of them start thinking, remembering that one woman they really wanted and never had a chance with, the one who rejected their gifts with a laugh and humiliated them in front of their friends. Some of the most unassuming men can turn into monsters when the opportunity is presented.” “But you couldn’t just snatch women off the street at random!”, I protested. “Of course not. A system was in place. We had to be discreet. Referrals came in all of the time, from the very same guard dogs that the sheep have come to trust the most; prosecuting attorneys, mental health professionals, non-profit charities, family counselors, the clergy. They all knew what we were looking for; young, good looking women who had few close attachments. There are plenty of them around now. Broken families are epidemic. The social contract is null and void. Churches are empty and the cults are recruiting. Everyone is feeling isolated and seeking a higher truth, or at least a believable fantasy. It’s a target rich environment for us predators. We had international connections too. One rural county couldn’t fill either supply or demand. The rest of the world today provides plenty of both. All of those Eastern European satellites that were cast adrift when the Soviet Union collapsed, for example. The finest women in the world come from there. Most of them are tall and fair haired. They had already been preconditioned to submission by generations of tyranny; so they were in desperate poverty and eager to start a new life in the West. After a little training, they were prime stock. We lured them in with false promises, and smuggled them across borders with faked papers. They were a little pricey, but we made a fortune on them in the end. Asian girls are in great demand too, and hardly missed back in their own countries. The Middle East- hell! They have been in the game for centuries already. Wherever there is trouble- war, famine, or flood; there are displaced people looking for a way out. How many of the foreign “relief” workers that pour in after a disaster are secretly there to hunt? Are you getting the picture?” I did get the picture, it was horrible to imagine and hard to deny. Predators seek out the weak and helpless, the softest prey. “So what was your part in all of this?” He shrugged. “Mostly just connecting the right people. You might call me a human resources officer.” He winked. “Sometimes I would get a call from a friend at a State social services agency telling me about a hot little number that needed to escape from an abusive husband who didn’t believe in restraining orders. I would promise to hide her where she would never be found. Any mention of “witness protection” around the County building was always good for a laugh. Cops would call me when they picked up hookers with no ID who couldn’t or wouldn’t contact any next of kin. There were doctors and nurses in mental care facilities who called me whenever they noticed some gal had been admitted just because the family got tired of her bullshit and wanted her locked up. It was amazing how seldom the families tried to visit, and how relieved they were to hear that she was still in no condition to receive visitors.” “How did your wife feel about your activities?” I was hoping to catch him off guard with this line of questioning, if only to wipe that smug grin off of his face. It only partially worked, transforming the grin into a sneer. “Clueless b***h!”, he snorted “She fell for the con along with everybody else. As long as there was a Beemer in the garage and the right people were calling with weekend invitations, she had no reason to question or complain. Nothing came out until I was arrested, not so much as a rumor. I suppose she may have suspected that I was having an affair. I did work late often. Anyway- it’s ex-wife now. Her lawyer brought me the divorce papers to sign in jail.” “So you had to lie to her every day. That must have been a strain.” “I lied to everybody, all of the time. It was like having a secret identity. I was a pillar of the community by day. I had a membership at the golf club, belonged to the right civic organizations, worked for charities. When the business day was over, it was playtime. I would leave my office and get into the private elevator, the one for authorized personnel only, the one that went all the way to the bottom. You needed a retinal scan to open the door. Maybe two dozen people had access, but they often escorted guests. I’m not telling you anything that didn’t come out at the trials, of course. I lost it all, job, wife, all those sweet kickbacks and secret bank accounts. Once I knew the game was up, I plea bargained.” “Was it worth it?, I asked, “Losing everything?” His face darkened finally. “Damned prosecutor promised to take care of me! I named names, sold out old friends. Now here I sit. I don’t deserve this after all of my cooperation. They call me a monster. All I did was what any man would do under the circumstances. If it wasn’t me, it would just be somebody else doing my job. The other cons won’t even talk to me here, and Bubba down the hall is thinking about collecting that price on my head. I was screwed! I guess that’s the sort of thanks I get for making a deal with the devil. They say he breaks his toys when he has finished playing with them.”