I take a cab from Loews to the Boniventure, arriving a little after ten-thirty. I stop at the bar for a Bombay Martini, which I finish, remembering my father's comment that a Martini should be gulped and not sipped. The slight burn in my throat and the flush in the face makes the earlier part of the evening delightful. I can see the images of the imposter in my mind. The small blond cop, dressed young, red sweater, acting childish while the predators, like wolves, en circle their bait.

I like the game, the excitement and the win. Los Angeles is much more exciting than Des Moines where I first saw the hollowed 7.62 bullet from my M21 explode in the cops head, tearing the back of the skull open like a cantaloupe.

It had been a dark night and there were many wolves in the area, but I was a good quarter mile away. The young bait was a red head, about four feet ten, thin, childish and delightful. The chat sessions were plebian and very uninteresting but, when I had the little girl in her sights, there was a strong desire to make her my mark.

Instead, at the last second, I chose the fat cop leaning against the building eating a hot dog. There was a slight breeze but my compensation was perfect as the projectile passed lengthwise through the tube of meat, into the cop's mouth. The lead expanded, blowing the back of his head against the brick wall. The cop slumped to his knees quietly. For a moment he knelt as if preying before he fell, face forward, in a heap. The other wolves were watching the little red head and were unaware of the fate of their fellow predator. Minutes passed as they waited, watching the little girl rub her pretend, virgin, pussy as she leaned against the light pole. The cops waited until one saw the red reflection from the blood stream reflecting in the light from the pole. Following the slim path of blood to the heap on the ground caused the wolves to panic as they rushed the bait, surrounding their little imposter as I carefully pack the rifle in the black case, putting the case in the shipping box.

Placing the rifle in the closet, I shower, removing the makeup and washing my straight black hair. After drying I rest for and hour before dressing in the conventional black suit.

I am aroused from my trance as a strong hand grips his shoulder.

"Rudy", Bill says. "This is Brenda. She's the decoy. Isn't she a perfect virgin." Brenda has long blond hair, a pretty face, plump in stature and probably in her twenties but looking in her teens. I can imagine her in the distance, under the street light, dressed as a girl, red sweater as she rubs her pretend virgin pussy.

"Nice to meet you, Brenda. And what do you decoy?"

"You know, I'm play the part. I'm the virgin", she answers, laughing as she shakes my hand.

"And a pretty virgin I must say", Bill answers with a smile. "And, she's my daughter. We're getting close ... very close." He orders a shot with a beer for himself and a Shirley Temple for his daughter. We've got the string on a Sugar Daddy and Brenda is going to reel him in. Just like a shark, she'll bring the Bastard to the boat and well gaff him."

"His daughter", I think, visualizing her turned up nose, long blond hair and pretty face in the cross hairs of my scope. My finger slowly squeezes on the trigger, my breathing comes easily, and I rest.

Bill slaps me on the back, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Ever think I had such a sweet little girl ... Shirley Temples at twenty-three?"

"You're certainly a lucky man. I have two children at home, a daughter twelve and a son thirteen. They got me into the art of tracking pedophiles. If anyone would ever touch one of my kids I would have them disembodied. I would feed the parts to an alligator. Then I would skin the 'gator and have shoes made. Then I would stomp on the bastard with his own flesh."

"My ... my ... ", Brenda whispers, what a way to talk in front of a nice girl.

"In front of your father ... too! I apologize but I hate the thought."

"She's heard worse", Bill adds, patting his little girl on the shoulder. "She hates them as much as I do. I'd forget the alligator and the shoes and stomp his balls into the street."

I smile, watching Bill down the shot as he twists the toe of his shoe into the carpet. Brenda sips on her virgin drink, acting much like the virgin she is to impersonate.

We say goodnight and the two leave, holding hands like father and daughter, as I order another Martini.

Bill reminds me of the fat cop that busted my father. I was too young to remember what happened but my life changed when father was accused and arrested for molesting a little girl in our hometown in Alabama. One afternoon, coming home from school, I found his mother lying in the living room, mumbling that my father had been taken to jail.

"The Bastard fucked some little girl", she cried as I knelt down, rubbing her head in my childish effort to comfort her. "The dirty Bastard", she cried, " ... dirty ... dirty." I helped her to her bedroom, letting her fell onto the bed as I wet a towel and brought it to wipe the tears from her face. ""I'm sorry, Rudy, but I can't stand thinking of him with some child." Mom reaches out and pulls me to her breast. Her breath comes in rapid gasps as my head rises and falls against the soft mounds. I hold her tightly, curling close, as she cries herself to sleep in my arms.

I awaken early the next morning in my mother's arms. The shoulder of my shirt is wet with her tears and her hand rests gently between my thighs. I get out of bed without wakening her as I go to the bathroom and draw a hot tub. I put some of Mom's bubble bath in the water and watch as the foam builds. When the bath is full I slip into the hot water, resting my head on the soft towel that I have wrapped to put over the hard tile.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine my father with some child. I feel the gently hands of my mother, rubbing my neck. I look up to see her red eyes as I gently pull her face down to my gentle kiss. "I love you mother", I whisper. "I will take care of you."

As she leaves I drift away, trying unsuccessfully to see my father with someone my age. I can't imagine how this could happen.. After my bath I dry, noticing a pair of my mother's undies in the corner of the room. I pick them up, feeling the softness of the material and the smoothness of the surface. I bring the silk to my nose and inhale the strong fragrance before I slip them over my thin legs and pull them to my waist. I turn, looking in the mirror, rubbing myself through the softness. I start getting hard as I wrap myself in the towel and go to my room to dress for our trip to see dad. I wore mom's undies that day and continued collecting her used panties whenever I could.

Later that day we go to the jail with our attorney. We wait for several hours before being allowed to talk to father. When we do we are told that a child accused him of molesting her after the school dance several months ago. It was the first time I had seen my father in tears as he professed his innocence, saying that this was like the Salem Witch Trials all over. "He did not touch any young girl", he repeated again and again.

After the visit the attorney said that it would be difficult since there was a victim and a positive identification. He recommended that father take the plea of child endangerment, serve a year in county jail and register as a sex offender. Over my mother's and my objections he took the legal advice, confessing to the lesser charge. I know that he did this for mother and myself so that the cost of a long and dirty trial would not take the house and ruin our reputation. Little did he understand that the registration as a sex offender was to ruin his career, our future and his life.

The year in county jail was not difficult but mother could never get the idea of her head that her husband had not molested a child. When father was released I wanted him to return but he went to Colorado and we never heard from him again. We got a notice five years later that he had died, drunk, somewhere in California.

A year after my father's death, the little girl, the one who accused him, admitted that her story was false.

My mother came home drunk, tears running from her eyes as she took me to her breast. Together we slumped to our knees in the middle of the living room, crying over father's mistreatment. After that, she drank more, hiding vodka under the mattress and in the cushions of the sofa. I would find her bottles and empty them, but I could not keep up with her. After several years she was drunk all of the time while I, as best I could, tried to keep the house.

I stayed in school and got part time jobs to keep mom and I in a rented apartment. Any money that my father had saved was gone long ago and I struggled with studies and a drunken mother.

When I entered Junior College my responsibilities got harder. Mother was drinking more, if that is possible, and the courses were harder than high school. I struggled with the classes and work, but somehow kept going.

One afternoon I return home, from my job as a fast food cook, to find mom nude, drunk on the living room floor. I remember the day my father was arrested, but this time there were no tears on her face. Her clothes are spread over the furniture and a large welt shines under her eye. I pick up her things, taking care not to arouse her, and place them at her side. I look at her panties and see the obvious cream of a man's orgasm. I go to the kitchen and put the panties in a large pan on the stove. I light the burner and watch as the material disintegrates from the heat until all that is left are black ashes. Tears run down my cheeks as I watch, hating the sight of my mother after I had already lost my father.

I leave mom lying on the rug, collect my clothes, my collection, and my stuff and, at the age of sixteen, leave home.

I thought of friends but no one seemed important or close because my schedule with school and work didn't leave time. I walk to the edge of town and stuck out my thumb, getting a ride with a young man about ten years older than I.

His name was Bill, and he was a doctor. "Doctor Bill", he says, laughing as he places his hand on my thin thigh. I momentarily pull back, but find his touch pleasing. It turned out that Bill was just friendly and not gay. We became good friends and I stayed with him for about a year in upstate New York. He introduced me to a friend that was into computers and he taught me the basics just as the Internet started to become popular. I changed my curriculum to computer science and found a real aptitude for the subjects.

Leaving Bill, I move to the city and continue college while I was becoming proficient at hacking. It was a wonderful, entering the private lives and files of unsuspecting marks, learning the details of their privacy.

Soon I was into the police files, leaving tell tale footprints as I walked through their systems.