Predator SmackDown

“Pathetic losers,” I smirk, as the credits rolled on my favorite Reality Crime TV show, Predator SmackDown.” I shake my head. How stupid can these guys be? 

I look at my phone. Drat! Not enough time for another episode. I head to the bathroom to get ready. 

As I shower, I think back on the show featuring an endless parade of men with illicit intent, walking straight into the police sting. Certain they were meeting an underage child, only to be trapped like helpless flies in a spider’s web.

My favorite part of each episode is when the host enters the room and confronts the surprised perp with, “Hi, I’m Hans Christie. You’re on Predator SmackDown.” The crushed look on the pedophiles’ faces when they realized they’re busted? Priceless. 

I’m not completely heartless. Sometimes I feel a smidge of sympathy as I try to imagine how these guys must feel the moment they realize they got caught, and their lives will never be the same. But my sympathy fades fast and I feel only contempt for these scumbags. They’re idiots who prey on children, and they deserve the consequences they will get. 

I get out of the shower and throw on some deodorant, cologne, and clean clothes. I do a quick sniff test to be sure. I’m good. 

My phone lights with a notification. A text from Bridgett. “Hey Dan, U still coming 2nite?”  

I text back, “Yep, 7 pm like we agreed, can’t wait.”

“Gr8” she answers. ”U got my address?”

“Yes.”

“See ya then. So excited.” 

A few minutes later, I’m in my Ford Bronco heading up the highway to her place. I think about my date tonight, my first date in a while. I’ve been so busy at work that I haven’t had time to date or do much else lately. Been chatting with Bridgette the last few days, and we exchanged a few pictures. We finally decided to meet today. 

She’s 23, but looks younger. She even joked once that she was only 16, and I said, “no way, I’m not doing jail bait.” She said she was only kidding to get my reaction. She got one. I almost ended it right there, but then she apologized and it was cool. To be honest, whether she’s 16 or 23, she’s pretty hot. Can’t wait to meet her. 

I’m wary about the whole online dating scene. I’ve heard so many horror stories about “dates from hell,” “scammers,” and “blackmailers,” and such. But girls aren’t exactly beating down my door for dates, so I gotta go outside my comfort zone. 

Really got to be careful these days. There’s lots of creepy people out there. Like those predators on TV, really loathsome creatures. But to be fair, some of my friends met their partners online and things worked out pretty well. And yeah, I’m lonely. So I decided to give it another shot. 

After driving 30 minutes, my GPS shows I’m only a half mile from her place. It’s a nice residential neighborhood that looks like the perfect place to raise a family. Maybe someday I will have a family. That would be nice. Ha, maybe even with Bridgette, who knows? 

I drive another minute, and GPS shows I’ve arrived. I pull into the driveway of a tan stucco house with brick trim and palm trees, and I see a VW Jetta in the open garage. Yep, Bridgett said she has a Jetta. I’m at the right place. 

I exit the car, and see her poke her head out the front door and motion me to come in. I grab my backpack filled with a bottle of wine, soft drinks, snacks, and condoms, and head for the door.  

I enter the house and follow her into the kitchen to the right. “Hi Dan,” she says, “You found my place, okay?” I nod yes. She motions me to put my backpack on the counter.  

Mmm…gotta say, she looks fine.  

She is wearing a white bathrobe and a towel on her head. “Sorry, I just got out of the shower,” she explains. “Have a seat at the counter. Let me put some clothes on and I’ll be right back.” 

She leaves through a door, and I have a seat on the counter barstool. There are some chocolate chip cookies on a plate, and I help myself to one. Fresh baked, warm and gooey. Oh yummy!

I hear a noise and see a figure walk through the door. That was fast. She’s dressed already? 

My heart skips a beat. My stomach lurches and I feel sick. It’s not Bridgett. It’s a man, followed by a camera crew. I recognize him.

“Hi, I’m Hans Christie. You’re on Predator SmackDown.” 

I shake my head. Oh crap. How stupid can I be?