I'm at the bar, facing the mirror, watching a man moving through the dense crowd , hunting.
He hunts here regularly, here and at the other downtown meatracks, looking for womem lonely enough to lake a walk with a stranger....the last walk they ever take.
The cops know he's out here, but not who he is, or what he looks like-plus, they're looking for the wrong sort of man; because he targets Caucasian women, they're assuming he's white, when actually, he's multi-racial.
Like a reef shark, he cruises the length of the bar, scanning for that hint of vulnerability that signals prey. He doesn't look like a threat, rather like someone's slightly older brother, safe.
What he doesn't know is, he's being hunted....by me.
I send a faint ping in his direction, just enough to get his attention on a subconcious level-he'll think that he chose to look my way just then. As he takes a step in my direction, I look in the mirror, catch his gaze, and rapidly look away, as if I'm afraid of drawing attention to myself, even though I'm dying to be noticed.
What he sees is a petite woman, in her mid-twenties, white, cute but not beautiful, shyly trying her wings in the big, bad city-his favorite meal, and he's got his favorite utensils in his van.
I pick up on something amusing....he believes that God protects him from the police, and from us. Somehow, I think he's mistaken....
He's standing behind me, and I slowly turn to face him, a timid smile on my face.
Perhaps I should've chosen the name Cuttlefish, instead of Resurrection Mary.
As we walk to the door, I decide to do things a bit differently....I'm gonna let this monster find out what all his toys feel like, before I'm done.