Narrative Force/Downtown/Sat Feb 12/6:07 pm: This report, which I touched up a little bit, is by Officer P. A. Fulmer: "At 2:00 p.m., the young woman [white, age 24] was dropped off by her friend [white male, age 35, lives in Des Moines] at the Greyhound Bus Station in Seattle. The young woman was going back to her home in Edwall, Washington. Once in the station, she checked the bus schedule and found that her bus departed at 5:00 p.m. The young woman's friend said his goodbyes and left for work, and she decided to spend the free time exploring a little of the big city that was outside the bus station. While walking about the streets, she attempted to make sure she could see the bus station from where she was, so as not to get lost. She didn't know her way around Seattle.

"After crossing a street near the bus station, she was approached by two men. They appeared to her to be nice and they were dressed 'really nice.' One was a black male in his mid-30s with combed/greased-back black hair; the other was a black male in his mid-30s with hair pulled back into a ponytail. The young woman told the nicely dressed men that she was waiting for a bus to take her back to her home in Eastern Washington. The men invited her to have a cup of coffee with them. Because they seemed like nice guys, she accepted the invitation. As they walked to a 'really nice, newer' gold Cadillac, the men told her that they had to pick up a friend on the way to the cafe. She got into the gold Cadillac with the nice men, and they drove her around the city for about 20 minutes. During the trip, one of the nice men told the young woman that they were pimps. But she believed he was just saying 'what guys say when they think they are cool.' She didn't believe they were pimps--" At this point I'm tempted to stop this report because everyone by now must know where it is heading, where it will all end. But despite its predictability, its unoriginality, I just can't stop it; the story has a mythical force that is impossible to resist.

"…They picked up the friend at a 'sort of sleazy motel.' The friend was white, with heavily bleached blond hair and a tattoo on her chest of a red rose with a green stem. The nice men told the young woman that they had to drive [the blonde] to Everett, and asked her to wait for them in the sleazy motel room. The young woman expressed concern about missing the bus. 'Don't worry about that, girl, we gotchya,' one of the nice men said as the three left the room. All three returned four hours later; she had missed her bus--" and I have run out of space. But even the weakest imagination can picture what happens between now and the report's last sentence: "[The friend of the young woman] told me [Officer Fulmer] that 'She doesn't know any better. She's from a farm and is very trusting in people she doesn't know.'"

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