Pedophile PI

-I have always loved the idea of an antihero. I start thinking
about the idea of the reader relating to a rooting for the
protagonist or hero of a story. What if a story had a hero that
no one would want to relate to or root for? What type of hero
would that be? It occurred to me that pedophiles are probably the
most hated and vilified people around. What if the story revolved
around a pedophile? But not only that but one who is not
apologetic about it. How could you make that type of person into
a hero?-
Miles Martin (martin369@gmail.com)

      I watched as the man grabbed the struggling bundle from his
trunk and rushed into the
house. He was a middle aged man. Tall, slightly overweight and
out of shape, rather average
looking. Just a seemingly ordinary man. Wore glasses, pale
complexion, the kind of guy who
does not stand out. Also the kind of guy you always saw a picture
of next to a neighbor saying
He was such a quiet guy, I never would have expected him to do
anything like this. You know
the huge stereotype. His type makes me sick. They make this so
fucking easy. Might as well paint
a huge scarlet Pedo on their chest, and run around yelling
arrest me! Not that the police
would ever notice, mind you.
      Even his secret lair was obvious. An old run down country
home out in the Bum Fuck
Egypt, no neighbors for miles. One of many abandoned farms, long
grown over. The kind of
place no self-respecting human would set foot on unless they had
to. But we aint talking about
no self-respecting human being here, we are talking about a child
molester, and not a very bright
one either. He would be perfect, just the kind of man I was
looking for.
      The squirming mass with a bag over its head was a young
boy. Probably around the same
age of the young boy whos parents hired me as a private
investigator. I had observed the man
snatch the boy from a small playground, knowing that it would
lead me to his lair.
      This far too simple, childs play really. These people
have no originality or imagination.
I thought to myself, as the man carried the boy into the house.
This had been the same fate of my
clients boy, but it was too late for him now. He was probably
already dead and gone, unless this
man was a greedy little bastard. You can never put it past them.
      I slowly follow them closer to the house, staying out of
sight and to the shadows. I really
do not have to worry about him seeing me; he only makes a
rudimentary quick scan around him
as he steps in. But why take the risk, plus Im in no rush. Not
like I have any money riding on
this boy. Too bad its not a little girl; I could do with a
little fun myself.
      Finding a window I look through, watching the mans
progress. I have to keep down my
chuckling as the man opens up a door and carries the boy down a
flight of stairs. I mean really, a
basement?! Come on! Can you get anymore clich!
      As soon as I can no longer hear them descending the stairs,
I hurry in through the door.
With gun drawn, I carefully and silently search the house. My
ears perked for any sound. Finding
the main bedroom, I rifle through his dressers and closet.
Nothing of real interest. Just the mans
ordinary and boring wardrobe. Leaving the top drawer cracked, I
reach into my jacket and pull
out a bag containing a little red hair band, plenty of strands of
hair stuck on it. With my gloved
hands, I pulled it out of the bag and I push it through the
crack, leaving just one of the ends
sticking out. In the closet I leave a sliced up powder yellow sun
dress, this too stained with
plenty of evidence. Searching the closet I find a rather obvious
hidden compartment, hiding a
box full of homemade DVDs each with a childs name sharpie on. 
Rifling through them, I
pocket a few with the most beautiful and innocent sounding girls
names. Putting the rest back
for the investigative team to find.
      By now enough time has passed that the man should be well
distracted with his own
pleasure. So I sneak my way to his basement door and carefully
make my way down. I test each
step, minimizing any creaks. But I neednt bother, for the man is
too caught up in his work to
notice. I could see the mans massive body over the tiny figure
of the boy. With his back turned
to me, I could not see what his hands were doing, but they looked
busy. I had to make this look
at least someone believable, so hands at my sides I gave out a
loud cough.
      The man froze. Slowly turning around, a look of shock and
fear plastered all over his
face.  There is a knife in his right hand, with a long strip of
cloth hanging off of it. He raised the
knife as he turned. He was too scared shitless to react or even
realize he still had the knife.
      I just smiled at him, raised my gun, and opened fire.
Keeping my bursts to his head and
chest. This pathetic piece of shit was going down, he could not
be left alive to contradict the
evidence I was leaving.
      I did not need to worry, for he fell to the floor, a large
pool of blood surrounding him.
Giving him a few seconds, I walked over and checked his pulse.
      Now that I was sure he was dead, I pull out the bag with my
final piece of evidence.
They were a small pair of pink panties, with little flowers all
over them. There was a large dark
red stain spread right over the front. I brought them up to my
nose, taking in their intoxicating
scent. Memories of the little wavy haired brunette coming
flooding back.
      She could not have been more than eight. A darling little
girl. Adorable, innocent, and
irresistible. I followed her for almost a month. Taking in her
every movement, creating and
reworking plans in my mind the whole time. Grabbing her on her
way home from the park had
been simplicity its self. I took my time with her. Savoring
every moment. Her delectably soft
skin. Her immature little cunny. Her tiny little muscular legs
and arms. She must have been a very
active little girl. I did not want it to ever end. But eventually
I had to kill her, dispose of her
body, and wait for a new case to fall into my lap, providing a
new fall guy.
      Focusing back to the task at hand, I haphazardly toss the
panties down on the dead mans
work bench. This might seem too obvious, but you kind of have to
be sometimes with these small
town sheriffs.
