The article you are about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the ignorant.
Monday, December 4. It was cloudless and warm in Florida with a 20 percent chance of rain. I had decided to go out for the evening to enjoy a show, partake in an adult beverage or two.
7:20 pm. I arrived at the club of choice and settled into a quiet nook. The server approached to take my drink order.
"I'll have the usual," I said to the server. She gave me an odd look, nodded, and went back to the bar.
After a few minutes, I picked up on some strange activity. There was a suspicious character staring in my direction. I sized him up to be male, Caucasian, 5'8, around 170 lbs, brunette. He didn't fit the description of who I was looking for that night.
The night went on as the entertainment in the club picked up.
9:27 pm. I returned to the bar area. The suspect approached me. He identified himself as Al.
"How are you?"
"Fine," I replied flatly.
"So, uh, do you come here often? You look like you do," the fellow pressed.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, you know where to go and stuff."
"I've got a map."
He paused for a moment and then laughed.
"Oh, I get it. That was a joke."
"You're a regular Einstein, aren't you?" I replied.
I watched as a look of confusion came across his face.
9:31 pm. I scoped out the room looking for a feasible escape route as I silently vowed not to go on future undercover missions without Smith.
10:05 pm. The suspect initiates conversation again.
"So, what's a dame like you doing in a place like this all alone?"
I respond with, "I'm here for the same reason we're all here. Loneliness. The boozehounds that don't want to drink alone, they're lonely. Girls with no place to call home and the men who don't care, they're lonely. No one wants to go home by themselves to their dark, empty hotel rooms, but they do want to wake up alone. None of us can handle the pressure of love and companionship. But maybe, if we're lucky, the alcohol will deaden the fear for a while."
10:07 pm. Al's confusion returns.
The night wore on. I left my phone back at the station, so I couldn't radio for help. And I couldn't shake the suspect. The situation looked bleak. I had no choice but to be friendly. This would be one of my tougher missions, but they train us how to handle circumstances like this in the academy.
Using my skills, I feigned interest, forced laughter, and downed the drinks quickly.
12:38 am. I had my fill of the bar scene and decided to split. Al followed me out. He fished for another opportunity to meet with me. I read it as a thinly disguised ploy to interrogate me. I declined. The suspect slipped me his number "just in case you change your mind." I took the number to add to my file at the station. I head for home.
12:55 am. The highway was empty, but brightly lit by hotels and billboards. I've seen cases like Al's before. The desperation clinging to him like cheap cologne. If it wasn't me, it was going to be some other poor civilian. And would she feel special? Would he find satisfaction? Maybe, for a fleeting moment. But tomorrow night the cycle begins again. As long as single men are loose, the streets of every town will not be safe. It's my job to keep them away from nice girls. I carry a badge.
The outcome of the suspect's evening:
Al went home that night with a girl named Sheila. The rendezvous ended in an altercation, putting Al back on the street. A few nights later he went back on the prowl. A woman enrolled in several "Just say no to Love" defense courses shot him down. Al was severely wounded and skipped town.
