Copyright 2008. All rights reserved. This material may not be reprinted or posted on any other internet site without the expressed written consent of the author.
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Katrina watched the scene and mentally drifted back to an earlier time, a time when the situation was reversed and she was powerless and on her knees, a frightened teenager begging for mercy. It was thirteen years ago and had been in LA for six months after running away from her home in Duluth, Minnesota. She was working as a waitress at a diner to support herself and going to school at night to get her high school equivalency diploma. She didn't know what she wanted to do, but she knew that she didn't want to be cleaning up other people's dirty dishes for the rest of her life.
She met a guy while she was working at the diner, Ted, who took an interest in her and, after a week of parking himself at one of her tables, finally asked her out. He was nineteen, a little shaggy but otherwise nice, a little shy. He was "between jobs" and was a little vague about how he supported himself. Three weeks later, he picked her up after work in a shiny black Lincoln coupe. He said he borrowed it from his cousin for the night. She should have suspected something but was too naive and besides, she felt like a princess when he opened the door for her and she lowered herself onto the soft, plush leather seat.
He took her up to Lookout Point in the Hollywood Hills part of town. He had a quart of cheap Vodka and a half gallon of orange juice. He mixed a couple of tall screwdrivers in sixteen ounce plastic cups after they arrived at the scenic spot. She sipped her drink as he talked and gently rubbed her leg through her waitress uniform. She was nervous about the rubbing but the more she drank the less nervous she became. After a while she relaxed and started to get a wonderful tingling feeling in her groin. As she finished her drink she noticed that his hand was no longer on top of her uniform but was well under it, stroking the tops of her inner thighs, his other hand down the inside of the thin, cotton shift in back, rubbing between her shoulder blades.
She was feeling so good that she barely noticed when her seat started to recline, Ted working the control from his center console. In her fuzzy state of mind, time seemed to pass in jerky fits and starts rather than continuously. One moment, she was lying down in the seat, luxuriating in the soft feel and rich smell of the leather. The next moment it seemed, he was on top of her, the bottom of her skirt already up around her neck, her panties down below her knees and his fingers digging painfully into her vagina. She started to buck and yell but she felt weak and dizzy from the vodka and he was so heavy it seemed useless to resist.
He had his dick out of his pants and was rubbing it up and down her slit, when suddenly a blinding white light hit her eyes. A loud voice yelled "freeze, don't move!" Katrina was shocked and scared by the sudden light and loud voices. She didn't know what was going on and the vodka in her made everything "herky- jerky" as her door was suddenly flung open and Ted pulled unceremoniously off her.
"Get Your Hands on the Hood and Spread 'Em!" she heard through the fuzz of her addled brain. She still had no idea what was going on when she was pulled from the seat by two sets of rough hands and rolled onto the ground, pinned by a knee in her back.
"This car is on our hot sheet. You have the right to remain silent . . ."
She closed her eyes to escape the nightmare and, in what seemed to her moments later, opened them and found herself on the floor in a jail cell with seven other woman.
"Hey babe, looks like you've had a hard night. I be'n dare honey . . . Lordy, I be'n dare alright," she laughed and was joined in the laughter by the others.
Katrina looked up in the direction of the voice and through cloudy eyes saw the garishly made up black girl in pink latex hot pants, matching pink top and go-go boots. She started to sit up but her head hurt fiercely.
"What time is it?" She asked.
"It's five minutes to show time honey," the black girl said.
Katrina was puzzled by the answer, when she heard her name called by the guard through the cell bars.
"You're lawyer's here. Step up to the bars and turnaround."
Katrina stood shakily and approached the bars, stopping short of them and turning around. She felt a pair of strong hands grip her wrists and felt a sharp pain as a pair of handcuffs snapped on her.
She was led to a small room where a middle aged woman waited for her. Her cuffs were taken off and the door closed and locked behind her.
"Hi, my name is Sheryl Bailey and I have been appointed to defend you. Do you want to obtain your own counsel or do you want me to represent you as your lawyer?"
Katrina looked up at the tall, thin, immaculately dressed woman and said, "I don't know any lawyers and couldn't afford one if I did. What is going on anyway? I didn't do anything!"
"You've been charged with grand theft - auto. That Lincoln was stolen."
"But I didn't do it! It wasn't mine! Ted picked me up in it. He said he borrowed it from his cousin."
Sheryl looked down at a yellow legal pad on the wooden table, "that would be Ted McCauley?"
"Yes . . . yes, Ted, we've been dating for about three weeks. He picked me up after work in it."
"That's not Ted's story."
"What do you mean it's not his story. It's the truth!"
"That may be, but his story is that he never met you before; that you picked him up at a club in Santa Monica, and that he has two friends that were with him at the time that will swear to it."
"That's crazy!" We met at the diner. We've been seeing each other for three weeks. He picked me up last night in that car."
