Kinky Sex Fetish: A Manhattan Murder Mystery 2

Crazy Bitch
Crazy Bitch

So in this completely fictional tale, I first rented a room with three hipster girls in Spanish Harlem. Not a very good neighborhood, but the hipsters were doing their best to gentrify. It was a few blocks from the subway, I didn’t really feel unsafe walking through the area at night, but if I was a woman I probably would have. The hipster girl said, “You know I’m pretty liberal, but if it wasn’t for Giuliani I wouldn’t be able to live in this neighborhood.” On the way to the place there was an apartment with huge pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley in the window, all but announcing, “white people live here.”

I put an ad on craigslist, “SWM, just moved to town, interested in meeting SWF for a drink and conversation.” Crazy bitch emailed me, “SWF, just moved to town as well, not looking for romance but I’d be up for a glass of wine.” Well I couldn’t ask her to come to Spanish Harlem, so we met at a little dive bar downtown, near my work. I chose the dive bar on purpose, the message is clear, “I’m not trying to impress you.” Well crazy bitch shows up. Tall, redhead, crazy curls, wearing a black dress, but nothing too fancy. I can understand why some men would be intimidated by her, but it only took a few minutes to notice she was actually rather flightly. Her dress had a sort of sash kind of thing that I would later come to understand as a sort of signal.

We chatted about whatever, we had come from the same town, she liked wine, and goth music. There really wasn’t a whole lot of chemistry between us, really. But we got along pretty well. She lived down on Houston street renting a room from some crazy woman, hated it and was looking for a new place. I told her I was as well, we said maybe we could go in on apartment. So we have two glasses of wine, make our pleasantries, and she takes her leave. I stick around and flirt with the bartender, this really cute little number with very nice curves and jet black hair. She tells me her name is “Aisha” and that it’s the name of Mohammed’s wife. Her dad was Arab or Lebanese or something. I certainly thought of her as white. At some point I stumble out, get into a cab and go home.

Globocorp
Globocorp

I had moved to Manhattan for work. Just been hired by Globocorp, with offices in 2 World Trade Center. The day after I met crazy bitch I was told I had to new a new ID badge, which was odd, since I had just gone through all the security procedures just a few weeks before, but they said everyone had to get a new badge, building wide, not just our company. The ID badge of course opens the doors to our office, and I had 24 hour access to each floor that our company was on in case I had to work nights. Since I was staying way up in Spanish Harlem, I’d often leave my laptop and things in the office, go out after work downtown, then swing by the office and pick up my things before heading home. So I go through the exact same security procedures as before, get a new ID.

I noticed that there were far more security vehicles getting parked around the building than usual. I asked a co-worker of mine about this, a woman in her 50s. With all the new security going on, I sort of muse aloud that maybe there was a terrorist threat or something. She said, “Oh, don’t say that. I worked here when the bombing happened in 1993. It was so scary.” She described being evacuated that day and all the things that had happened. Crazy stuff, I thought. That’s life in the big city I guess.

I had another response from the ad, Songbird. She and I met up that night in the East Village at had drinks. She was from California, worked in advertizing, 28. Cute brunette, super smart, very funny. We wound up staying at this place for a while just talking. I call her “Songbird” because she played guitar and sang, and would do “open mic” nights in various places. I told her I absolutely wanted to see her perform so she invited me to come watch her at some place the next week. We walked around the Village for a while, stop in front of a shop window, and I kiss her. It’s nice, and I walk her back to her apartment where she says she had a nice time but I’m not coming up, which is fine. I say I’ll see her at her show and go back home.

Songbird
Songbird

The next day, everyone at work was complaining. There was going to be a “power down” where all the electricity was turned off, including back up power and all the security cameras. Building 1 next week, building 2 the week after that. They sent around a memo by email as well as a hard copy. Everyone was complaining because the building management gave us barely any time to prepare. We would have to take down all the computers, back everything up and then restart again, not at all a simple process for a company that size. The whole thing was unusual, and the rationale even stranger, they were going to “upgrade the internet” but there was no explanation why they needed to shut down all the power, in both buildings, just to upgrade some cables. Everyone was scrambling to get it done in time, working late.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t get crazy bitch off my mind. I kept on thinking about her. There was something, something subtle, that I kind of felt but couldn’t put into words. While Songbird was outgoing and exuded confidence, crazy bitch was something else. There was something dark about her, maybe that’s why she was into the goth thing. Vulnerable maybe is the way to put it. Shy. Closed. Something in her was tragic and you could almost sense it. I really didn’t think I’d ever see her again, but she was looking for a place so I kept her in mind.

To be continued

Mystery

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