Chapter 18: The Dutchman

Ronnie “Dutchman” Howard was a wealthy, single white guy, thanks to his share of an inheritance from a wealthy relative. Ronnie graduated college, worked in the stock market, and knew well the ins and outs of investing. He was also 28, single, and horny as fuck. Problem was, Ronnie had money, and every girl he ever met had only his money on her mind. Fuck that. Money can get you lots of things, and his new Porsche 911 was just one of them. It got him connections, connections to people who could get you anything you wanted, at a price.

Ronnie had plenty of pot; it was legal now on both sides of the river. What he needed was to get laid. While Ronnie ate dinner at the bar one afternoon, he mentioned to Ritchie, the black bartender, that he was dying to get laid. Ritchie asked, “well, brother, what you lookin’ for?”

Ronnie laughed, took a big hit of his bourbon and ginger ale, feeling buzzed. “Ha! A nice young teenage girl would be nice! Ha ha!”

Ritchie laughed too. Ritchie walked down the bar, used the phone. He set the phone down, walked back.

“How young? Like what age?” Ritchie asked Ronnie.

Ronnie, still feeling the drinks, figured he was still kidding around. “Hell, the younger the better! I’d pay almost anything for something (urp) tonight!”

Ritchie walked back to the phone, picked it up. He talked briefly, nodded, hung up. He poured a second bourbon and ginger ale, brought it to Ronnie. He set it on the counter. “Ok, she’ll be by later tonight. I know where you live; across the street in that high rise. 1302, right?”

Ronnie looked at him in surprise. Huh? What? 1302, yeah, that was his place... “Yeah, that’s my place,” he slurred.

Ritchie said, “When someone buzzes, ask who it is. If he says ‘Nine Ten’, let him in. They’ll make delivery. Got it? Tonight, and too late.”

Ronnie, still not half believing what he was hearing, thought clearly enough still to ask, “Uh, huh, right. An hour. How much?”

“Three grand, one hour. Six grand, two hours. I get ten percent, separate. Cash on delivery.” Ritchie stared back at him without moving. Ronnie thought about it. What the heck, if no one shows up he doesn’t have to pay anything. Might be a fun adventure. “Ok,” he said, and picked up the second drink. Honestly, Ronnie never thought for a minute anyone would show up. Ritchie laughed and went to help other customers.

Ronnie finished his drink and went back across the street to his condo building. Usually, two drinks made him fairly high, but thinking about this offer made him a bit more focused. As he got in the elevator and selected 13, he thought he’d better be prepared. Viagra. He’d need some. Better take a few. If no one came, he’d just jerk off later. Hmmm. What if someone did show up? What did Ritchie consider young? Maybe some 26-year-old street slut. Ugh, he’d pay her and shove her back out the door. He wanted fresh for that price. The possibilities kept filling his mind as he got things ready. First, he finished an old joint. Then he took the rope from the bag in the closet. Four lengths, easily six feet each. Clothesline. He tied each to a corner of the king-sized bed. He went downstairs, to the kitchen. He got his hand-held taser. He went to the laundry room; made a bowl of pot and went to the back patio; smoked it. Soon, it was close to an hour. Just as he finished the bowl, and just as he felt the Viagra starting to kick in, he heard the intercom buzzer. He stared at it. Holy shit. I’ll be damned. He totally forgot the taser on the kitchen counter.

He answered. “Who is it?”

A man answered, “Nine ten.” Ronnie paused, then pushed the buzzer. He saw through the camera two men move into the lobby and enter an elevator, two men with a smaller person being pushed along between them. This person had something over her head. Was this her?

A few minutes later, Ronnie stood near the front door with a manila envelope containing $7500.00 in hundreds. Just as he got to the door there was a knock. He opened it. Two men, big black men, stood there, holding someone between them. A black plastic bag covered the person’s head and shoulders. Finally, one man spoke.

“You mind we come in?”

Ronnie quickly stepped aside. “Uh, yea, sure thing, come on in.” They walked in with this person, seeming to be a girl alright. Nice legs. She was sniffling. He guessed she wasn’t exactly here of her own free will. He closed the door behind them, making sure the hallway was clear. They stood there a few moments. One of the big men spoke again. “You want to see the goods?”

Ronnie stood there, more surprised than anything. Holy shit, what money could do! “Uh, I mean, yeah, sure, ok...”

The other black man grabbed the black bag and pulled it off the girl. Ronnie was ... impressed. She looked young alright. Maybe 15? 16? Long, thin legs. White girl. Medium tits. Long, blonde hair, down to about her elbows. Little earrings. Some make-up, not much. She had on short-shorts and a pullover. Little white socks and sneakers. She gripped a red book in her hands. Schoolgirl. She was looking around frantically, unaware of where she was or who these people were. She had a big piece of tape over her mouth. Her hair was a little messed up, like she’d been struggling some. She looked terrified, big tears flowing down her red cheeks. She was breathing fast, taking deep breaths. Her young chest heaved.

Ronnie snapped out of it. “Yea, sure, she’s fine. So, 9 pm, right?” as he glanced at his watch. Ronnie handed the envelope to one of the men. He looked inside, nodded at the other man. Ronnie tossed in a “Keep the change!” as they left.

“Two hours, we’ll be back,” the one snarled.

Ronnie closed the door, locked it. He turned to the girl. She stood there, hands at her side, cowering back against the couch as she looked around, trying to decide what to do; where to run.

Ronnie said as he moved closer, “Don’t get no ideas, you. Nobody can hear you here. There ain’t no place to run to.” He moved closer to her, forcing her back into a corner by the couch and the wall. He leaned in close, then took the tape and pulled it off with a short, hard jerk. She gasped, mouth opening as she took in big gulps of air.

“Wh, wh, where, am I? What are you doing? I want to go home, please, just let me go...” The girl pleaded.

Still leaning in close, Ronnie gave her a hard slap across her face. He worked out, so it definitely hurt. “Shut up! You do what I say! You’re mine for the next two hours! You got that?!” He slapped her hard again in the other direction.

She cried out, gasping, “Leave me alone! I’ll scream, I swear...” Ronnie slapped her hard across the face again. She cried out, held her hand to her face, then slowly, slowly she said, “Ok, ok, I won’t...” she cried, turning away, unsure what to say.

Kathryn Graves was fourteen. Actually, she turned fourteen two just a few days ago. She was walking home from school band practice, where she attended in her sophomore year. She only lived a few blocks away, so she just walked along the sidewalk in her subdivision heading towards home. A big car, an SUV, had pulled up close beside her, and in about two seconds the door had flown open and this man had grabbed her. She tried to jump back; eyes wide. She let out a cry, but he pressed a big, strong hand against her face while his other hand wrapped around her. They were face to face, like they were dancing, as he backed into the backseat of the car, pulling her with him. She struggled, but in just a very few seconds, she was inside and the car was driving away. Somehow, she’d hung onto her Greek Mythology book throughout the whole thing, pressed between her and the big, powerful man hugging her. Kathryn struggled, but wasn’t sure how to get free from this man. She was tripping and stumbling and then in a flash she was in this backseat. She suddenly found herself inside a strange SUV with two black men at night. The one holding her told her to sit up, don’t move. She did, though she immediately tried to move away from him. She started yelling, screaming, but the man grabbed her, pulled her down in his lap. He snarled angrily at her to keep quiet. “You keep quiet, we’ll let you out in a few minutes. You gotta stay quiet though.” He let her up, then began to try and put this black plastic, heavy-duty yard waste bag over her. She tried to stop it, her arms flailing about, but he was big, strong. He forced it over her head and down over her body. He yelled at her to sit still, don’t move. We’re almost there, he said.

Kathryn was 5’4” tall, weighed about 112 pounds. She was average by most standards, but her legs were at that age when they began to look really good, and her cute teenage butt was really taking shape under her shorts. Her bust wasn’t much, really, just average. A 30B bra size, she wore one tonight with a silk undershirt and her cotton hoodie.

As they drove along, Kathryn kept asking what did they want? Where were they going? Why were they doing this? A million questions and not one answer. The man had put his arm around her, pulled her close to him. Kathryn felt his other hand touch her thigh, then slowly run up and down her leg. He even slid his finger into her shorts once. They were pretty short, so when he did, his finger was touching her bottom. Kathryn was scared to death. She could hardly think straight. What should she do? What was happening? She kept squirming around, trying to keep him from getting between her legs with his hand.

Eventually, the car stopped. The man snarled at her, “You do what I say, you won’t get hurt. We just gonna take some pictures. Then we’ll let you go. Or I’ll fucking kill you, bitch.” She breathed in deeply, nodding. She gasped out, sobbed out, “Ok, please, don’t hurt me, please, don’t hurt me...” She kept repeating it quietly. He pulled the bag up once, put tape over her mouth, then pulled it down again, over her arms so she couldn’t move much. Next, Kathryn was pulled out of the car and literally pulled along, tripping constantly, with no idea where they were going. One man spoke into something. Someone answered; a buzzer sounded. It seemed like they got into an elevator. She felt it start to move. She stood there one man on either side of her, each holding an upper arm, her body shaking as she kept crying.

The elevator stopped. They got out and walked a little way. A knock; a door opened. A third man talked to them, then she was pushed forward again. She stood there, too scared to even think of moving. Suddenly the bag was pulled off. She quickly looked around, eyes wide with fright. It was some sort of luxury room, a big living room. She saw a white man and the two black men. The white man handed an envelope to the other man. The two black men left. The man turned to her. He was old, like 30-something. Some grown-up guy, she didn’t know him at all. He had brown hair, looked well groomed. He walked over as she cringed by the white couch, threatening her to do what he said. He tore the tape off.

Ronnie grabbed the girl by her arm, pulled her down the hallway to his bedroom. She kept asking questions non-stop. As he pulled her along, he asked her how old she was. She kept saying fourteen, then fourteen, like she wasn’t sure. Fucking clueless. He had no idea where she was from or how they’d gotten her, but he didn’t care. This was going to be fun. In the bedroom he let her arm go; set his phone alarm for 8:55 pm. As she stood in the room, arms clutched around her, trying not to look at him while pleading with him, asking what did he want. She kept saying something about pictures. As she went on, he got undressed. When she saw him doing this, she gasped, put her hand up to hide her view.