Props to the usual suspects; also to LunaVudu for coming up with "PervCon 2000."
Night in the city: a teenage girl in a fake fur coat is yelling into a pay phone, "I know it's late, and I'm sorry you've been worried -- I need a ride!" She's probably hoping someone can get her the hell out of this Law & Order: Special Victims Unit opening sequence and give her a lift over to The WB Network. Faint noises of motherly disapproval squawk through the receiver. "Mom! I was -- I was attacked!" the girl shouts. "I was raped! No, I'm not okay," she says, and hangs up the phone. Good answer, kid.
, Teen In Trouble is in the hospital waiting room, telling Stabler and Benson that her attacker threatened her with a gun, drove her to a vacant lot, and then assaulted her. "Why'd you get into his car?" asks Benson. Teen In Trouble turns away. "I just did," she mutters, and finally admits, "I sort of knew him." She goes on to tell them that she met the man in a chat room, and was just meeting him in person for the first time. She says she only knows his screen name -- "The Yachtsman." "I thought that with a name like that he'd be a gentleman," she said. "Shows you how wrong you can be." "The Yachtsman," huh? Great -- now I can't look through a Land's End catalog without getting the chills.
Roll the opening credit sequence. Let's see those missing-kid photos. Let's see the knocked-over baby carriage. Because we don't want that creepy feeling to go away!
At the station house, Benson hands out flyers with a police sketch of "The Yachtsman" drawn from Teen In Trouble's descriptions. "Shouldn't we be working with the Coast Guard on this one?" quips Munch. From the sketch we can see that "The Yachtsman," apparently, is a guy in a yachtsman's cap. Maybe he's with the Village People? Cragen explains that "The Yachtsman" is an Internet screen name. Munch's pithy line is, "I love the Information Superhighway -- you can meet creepazoids from all over the world without leaving the comfort of your own home." And this is different from watching this show . . . how? Cragen once again reminds everyone that "we've got to move on this case! Now!" You know, Cragen, you could just crack a REAL whip. This IS Sex Crimes, after all. Jeffries points out that, duh, they should try looking in Karen Raye's computer, and Cragen orders her and Munch to go to her home in Brooklyn and pick it up. "Seventy million people on the Internet, and every one a suspect," says Munch. Um, okay, everyone reading this page? You've all got alibis, right? Just checking.
Benson and Stabler interview Karen Raye, who tells them that she'd been corresponding with the Yachtsman via email for three or four months. "Why'd you pick last night to meet this guy?" asks Benson. Karen admits that she thought she could get out of the house, because "Tuesday night is Mom's big night -- choir practice." Stabler points out that the three or four hours between when she first met him and when she checked into the hospital seems like a long time to be just driving around. Karen hems and haws a little. Stabler suggests to Benson that they get a car and retrace the route so that maybe Karen will remember more. "You mean go to all the places all over again? Do we have to?" says Karen, rolling her eyes and looking annoyed, as if the Yachtsman took her to some totally lame places, like maybe a video arcade, or a Chuck E. Cheese, or -- I mean, God!!! -- Payless Shoes.
Chung-chung! Munch and Jeffries are at Karen's mom's place in Brooklyn. Karen's mom has a thick Brooklyn accent and stomps around the house rearranging tchotchkes, and in her spare time she likes to fold the laundry in fits of barely sublimated rage. Whenever anyone asks her a question, she pauses before answering, so as to better let the hate flow through her, and also shoots little laser beams of fury from her eyes. We'll call her "Mother Chuckles." Mother Chuckles says she dropped her daughter off at the library at 6:15, "and when I went back to check on huh at 8:30 she wasn't theah." "So you don't trust her?" asks Munch. Pause. Glare. "As Ronald Reagan says, 'trust but verify,'" says Mother Chuckles. Oh man, it's worse than we thought. "Has she had trouble with boyfriends?" asks Jeffries. Pause. Glare. "She's too young to have boyfriends," snaps Mother Chuckles, to which Jeffries points out that uh, sometimes, girls her age do date. "She's allowed to attend church, and school functions as long as there's a chaperone," says Mother Chuckles. They ask to see Karen's computer. Pause. Glare. "I wouldn't have a computuh in my home. It's at huh fathuh's apartment." Munch presumes Mother and Mr. Chuckles are divorced. Pause. Particularly withering glare. "We never married. That's because there was nobody lookin' out for me the way I'm lookin' out for her," she says. Yeah, with her big hairy eyeball.
Benson and Stabler are in the SVU sedan while Karen sulks in the back seat. "Is this the corner where he picked you up?" Yeah, says Karen, and Stabler starts the car to retrace the Yachtsman's route. Karen says the Yachtsman took a quick left. Stabler pulls out and then pulls over to the curb because it's a one-way street, and he can only turn right. Karen rolls her eyes. "Well, I guess I was wrong. Go right." "Are you sure?" asks Benson. "Go right, okay?" says Karen. Benson and Stabler exchange a what-are-the-kids-coming-to-these-days? look.
stop on the chung-chung! choo-choo: Karen's dad's place. Jeffries asks Karen's dad if he monitored Karen's Internet surfing. "Ah hell -- Karen knows more about that thing than I do . . . what's there to monitor?" Jeffries and Munch give him The Official NYPD Look of Disapproval. "Would you mind if we took your computer with us for a few days?" asks Munch. Karen's dad looks uncomfortable. Finally, he admits that "there are a few naked pictures on there, too," he says. "They're not hers." Munch gets it: "They're yours?" "It's not porn or anything," says Karen's dad. "They're nudes . . . women posing with big cats . . . lions, leopards, that sort of thing." But no cheetahs! Or panthers! Karen's dad isn't that kind of guy. He insists that the kitty porn is password-protected and there's no way Karen could get to it. "I'm sure she never saw a thing," says Munch. Jeffries tries not to snicker. Hello, Siegfried! Hello, Roy!
Stabler and Benson and Karen park the car and get out at the not-so-vacant lot where Yachtsman allegedly took her. "A lot of people around," notes Stabler. "Nobody saw you or heard you or anything?" Karen says she doesn't know, and she's starting to get her snot on. Benson and Stabler exchange yet another look -- hell, they practically put their fingers to their temples and send each other telepathic messages of jaded cop wisdom. Karen notices, and throws a fit: "You don't believe me, do you?! This is just like they said, this is worse than the rape!" "We're just trying to get the details right," Benson explains, but Karen hollers, "You guys don't believe me!" and stomps back to the car. Benson and Stabler look at each other again, their collective brain waves abuzz: Zzzt-zzzt! She's lying!
The three return to the station; Karen comes into the SVU hangout all sassy in her ragamuffin Mad Maxine Beyond Thunderdome crazy teen-in-trouble ensemble. By now, we're all beginning to suspect she's just a Special Fashion Victim. Stabler and Benson usher her off to another room and turn their attention to her dad's computer, which is set up on one of the desks. In the interest of serious investigation, Munch and Jeffries have decided to check out them cat-'n'-coochie photos! Snicker snicker snicker. "What is that?" asks Benson, gawking at the screen. "That is leopardis pardalis, commonly known as the ocelot. Posing with Bree Crosley." "Commonly known as Miss September," adds Jeffries. Heh. Stabler says that they don't think the Yachtsman exists. "Then who's been emailing her all these high-minded justifications for May-December relationships?" asks Munch, handing Benson a thick sheaf of printouts -- apparently containing a lot of bad poetry that the Yachtsman sent Karen. It seems the Yachtsman also sent pictures, though nobody can see them since they're encrypted somehow. Ugh. Who wants to bet he's been sending her those icky "Happy Friendship Day!" chain e-mails, too?
Benson and Stabler confront Karen with the emails. "This guy is a predator," says Benson. "Why are you protecting him?" "I'm not protecting him," mumbles Karen, who is beginning to sniffle like the teen drama queen she is. Finally she admits that she never even met the Yachtsman. "He was this guy that me and my girlfriends used to e-mail as a joke." The story is that Karen had sex with her boyfriend Keith and she didn't want Mother Chuckles to find out. "She's totally paranoid and she would've known! When I come home she makes me undress in front of her, and she smells my hair -- she's a total fascist. Please don't tell my mom -- she'll kill me!" Stabler comes over to the table and sits down: "Nothing your mother does or might do justifies you filing a false police report. You understand that's a serious crime?" That's right, kids. No matter how crunchy delicious Detective Stabler looks with his biceps ready to bust out of his dress shirt, it does not justify calling 911. "I'm sorry," sniffles Karen. Benson gives her some paper and a pen so she can change her testimony. "Are you going to arrest my boyfriend?" whimpers Karen. "Why would we do that?" Benson asks. "Because he's twenty-one?" says Karen. Benson's eyebrows hit the ceiling. Stabler sucks in his breath. "We should talk to him," he says. Karen, we presume, is using her pen and paper to write two hundred times, "time I will keep my big fat mouth shut. time I will keep my big fat mouth shut. time I will keep my big fat mouth shut. time . . . "
Stabler calls Boyfriend Keith into the station. "You ever hear of statutory rape?" Stabler asks him. Boyfriend Keith turns pale. Then Stabler gets out his ol' shotgun and chases Keith clear off the farm.
Meanwhile Munch and Jeffries have managed to open the photos that the Yachtsman sent Karen. Uh-oh. Stabler goes over to look on the monitor. "The man's face is blackened out, but not his date's," says Munch. "How old is that girl?" says Stabler. Munch: "Not nearly old enough." Stabler gets pissed.
Now for some Quality Time in the cozy living room of the Stabler (Than Thou) Family. "How many photos were on her computer?" asks Kathy The Light-Of-His-Life Wife. "Too many," says Stabler. "He was sending them to her several times a day." Light-Of-His-Life points out that every time she opens her email there's something from "Tina" or "Mitzi" advertising "the hottest teen site on the Internet." Light-Of-His-Life wrings her hands: "If WE get them, then --" "Dickie, Maureen, Kathy, and Elizabeth do too, I know," says Stabler. Behind him in the background, the family computer glows menacingly. It's in screen-saver mode, and I try hard to decipher the text that's scrolling across the monitor. Light-Of-His-Life confesses that all this Internet pervo stuff scares her. Stabler says he can't just go and nab the guy: "I mean, you tell me where these predators are. I can't hear 'em, I can't see them." "But they're out there," says Light-Of-His-Life. Stabler gestures behind him towards the computer. "Honey, they're in here." Well, I still can't quite read the stuff on the computer screen, but I'm pretty sure it says, "PSST . . . HEY KID . . . WANT SOME CANDY?"
Stabler and Benson visit the offices of the Yachtsman's Internet service provider. Friendly Mr. ISP Man tells us, in a breezy, diabolical tone of voice, all about browser cookies and how they can follow us anywhere. Benson follows suit by noting that the Internet's "just like a gigantic tape recorder that runs twenty-four hours a day!" It's dialogue so paranoid you'd swear Munch wrote it. The ISP guy goes over to a terminal and somehow manages to call up the Yachtsman's complete profile in three keystrokes. It turns out that the Yachtsman's real name is Harry Waters (get it?), and according to Mr. ISP Man, Waters likes to visit every kind of sex chat room, and also programming sites and music sites. "What are the music sites?" asks Stabler. "Britney Spears, Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees," says ISP Man. Benson and Stabler look very concerned. Why, how could Britney Spears fit into the Yachtsman's sick fantasies? Ugh, to think he imagines her in some scanty schoolgirl outfit -- oh, wait a minute. As for the Backstreet Boys and 98 Degrees: now that's really disturbing. Stabler, Benson, for the love of God, stop the Yachtsman, stop him before he sponsors a boy band! It turns out that Yachtsman Waters also bought used panties through eBay. "Now, that's disgusting!" says Mr. ISP Man. The only address available for the Yachtsman is a work address: another dot-com company, where he works as a programmer . . .
. . . oops, except the Yachtsman quit ten months ago. "Never liked the guy," says the Yachtsman's old boss. He tells the detectives about a company trip to Cuba to see the Orioles game, and how they caught the Yachtsman with a child prostitute. Okay, now that the Yachtsman is back in the States, it's safe to send Elian home, SO WOULD YOU DO IT ALREADY Janet Reno? Anyway, after the child prostitute incident, the whole company was like, "Ew!" and the Yachtsman quit soon afterwards. Benson and Stabler take the Yachtsman's computer, which none of his co-workers would touch on account of pervert cooties. Taped to one side of the CPU is a magazine clipping with a photograph of an older man: the Yachtsman himself. Aha! No jaunty yachtsman's cap, mate.
Jeffries shows Benson and Stabler a printout of a file directory that was found on the computer: picture files called "Girl Love," "Hot 14," "Horny Teen," plus text files apparently containing school schedules and profiles for a dozen girls. But, oops again: "These are just the file names," says Jeffries; the files themselves are on another computer somewhere. "Hah! You lazy white folks will have to find someone else to get you THOSE files," says Jeffries. Okay, so she doesn't say that. Instead, she tells them that the Yachtsman seems to have been accessing the files through a phone line, at a number in Brooklyn Heights belonging to -- Boyfriend Keith! "That son of a bitch!" says Stabler. He runs to get his ol' shotgun and his hound dog, too!
They hustle Keith's sorry ass down to the station and cuff him to the interview table. "The guy was just squatting his files in my system," says Keith. "It's not even my stuff." "Someone comes to me and wants to store his illegal stuff in my garage -- either he's my best friend or I'm getting something out of the deal," says Stabler. Keith says the Yachtsman is not his friend and really, he doesn't know how all that kiddie porn got there! Maybe his computer just, you know, fell on it in the shower. "Do we look like imbeciles to you, man?" "They're just pictures," mutters Keith. Stabler goes ballistic and whacks the table. "THEY'RE NOT JUST PICTURES!!" Damn! Go Stabler! "These are underage girls, terrified, drugged, and getting photographed without their permission . . . you son of a bitch." He grabs Keith's collar: "Now, are those your pictures or aren't they?" Keith admits that they are. "It started with just one girl," he said. "My buddy had a falling-out with this one girl, so he took some nude photos that he took of her and put them up on the 'net to get back at her. " What they didn't expect, he says, were emails from guys wanting more, and willing to pay, too. "And thus a business was born," Benson says. "The money was big. And it was real," Keith sniffs remorsefully. "You're a pimp!" says Stabler. "For guys like the Yachtsman," adds Benson. Keith nods. "Others, too." But they all paid in "net cash" -- in credits from websites. "It's all untraceable cyberbucks -- to keep the cops away," he says. "Nice try," says Stabler. The Orchestra Of Doom plays a little louder, the horns ruefully crying, "Pooooorrn, pooooooorrrn."
Back at the home of the Stabler (And Happier, And Nicer-Looking Than Yours) Family, Maureen, The Apple-of-His-Eye Daughter, bounds down the stairs. "Okay, so I'm going to go over to Hannah's now," she says to her Stabler daddy. "Now?" asks Stabler. "Yeah, I have a history test," says Maureen. "But that's not until Tuesday," he says, and tells her Hannah can come over to the Stablers' instead. She complains, and he continues to give her the third degree. "I don't understand," says Maureen. "How did you know I have a history test Tuesday? Have you been reading my email?" She begins shouting: "You HAVE, haven't you?" The actress who plays Maureen is barking out her lines at the top of her lungs and seems to be under the impression that her character is called "Marine" instead. She flings her ponytail around in a rage. Stabler says he just wanted to find out if someone was sending her things she shouldn't be looking at. "Of course!" bellows Maureen. "I get at least ten junk emails a day and I delete them ALL, Dad! What else have you been going through? Do you want to read my journal, too?" "No!" says Stabler, then, "You have a journal?" Maureen looks up at him with her baby blues wide in horror. "Unbelievable!!!" she screams, and she runs up the stairs and slams her door. Dear Diary: I really over-acted in that scene! I hope Dick Wolf still renews my contract . . .
Back at the station, Cragen offers his crack insight into the criminal mind of the Yachtsman. "This Yachtsman's got a taste for naked pictures," he says. Despite this helpful info, nobody knows where to find the Yachtsman, because he always re-routes his email sessions to make them untraceable. "Let's make him come to us," says Cragen, since they know he frequents teenage chat rooms. "Let's give the man what he wants."
Which is . . . uh, Munch? He sits in front of the computer while the whole SVU gang sits looking on. "Yachtsman's on the air," says Munch, "he's explaining to this girl Marie how to filch Prozac from her mother." "Talk to him," says Cragen. Munch signs on as "Nicole." Actually the real Nicole here at MBTV lent him the screen name, on the condition that he also use it to write a Third Watch recap while she recovers at a spa. Anyway, Munch calls on his Inner Flirty Twelve-Year-Old Girl and types, "I think I need some. My parents are so harsh." You know, Teen Munch would be on the rag, wouldn't she? The Yachtsman types back, "I like understand." "As if," Teen Munch types back. Ooh, that little tease! Everyone looks on in breathless anticipation of what the Yachtsman will type , maybe something like "word up!" or "phat, dude!" But no, after exactly two exchanges of online chat, the Yachtsman suggests they meet in person. So I guess Teen Munch is "easy," too? Oh, God, I don't want to think about it.
Let me just add that Teen Munch is getting way more action than I did when I was twelve. Bitch. I hate her.
Anyway, Munch's hot date is at a coffee house in Chelsea, where he sits and waits and reads a paper. Today, instead of his usual dark glasses, he wears shades with heart-shaped frames a la Lolita. Okay, so he doesn't, but it would have been poignant, don't you think? An older man comes in, looks around, and spots a girl sitting at the table behind Munch. "Hi," he says to her. "I'm the Yachtsman. You must be Nicole." Munch pops up. "Actually, I'M Nicole," he says. Stabler (who I suppose we can call "Tiffany") jumps up and flashes his badge at the Yachtsman, and with Munch's help hustles him out of the coffee shop.
At the station, the Yachtsman's lawyer stands off against Cragen and the red-headed ADA last seen in the "Limitations" episode: "What's my client being charged with?" "Soliciting a minor," says ADA Red. "I thought he solicited a forty-eight-year-old detective named John Munch," says the YachtsLawyer sarcastically. Heh. "He thought it was a twelve-year-old girl," replies ADA Red. Cragen calls aside YachtsLawyer and tells her about the child prostitute in Cuba and the kiddie porn on Yachtsman's computer. "I understand what you're trying to say about my client," she says. "But I'm not going to be remiss in my duty as an attorney just because you haven't made a credible case yet." "It'll be credible to a jury," says ADA Red. YachtsLawyer stalks out like, "Yeah right." ADA Red says that YachtsLawyer will argue that Yachtsman knew he was talking to an adult the entire time -- "role-playing, fantasizing, whatever" -- and that cyber-crimes are very hard to prosecute. "These are people's children, for God's sake!" says Cragen. "He's clearly a threat to society," he says. "I know, but we don't have a case!" says ADA Red. Back at the station, the SVU gang realizes they can't sink the Yachtsman on the basis of the Internet smut; they'll have to try and find an actual victim. "Other than his big date with Munch, we have no evidence he ever contacted his little friends," says Jeffries. "Except for the panty auctions," says Benson. "Maybe he was more interested in the return address than he was in the panties." They decide to check out one of the sales -- panties bought from a fifteen-year-old in Queens.
A chung-chung! brings Munch and Jeffries to the home of Doris Harrington. An elderly woman tells them Doris isn't home, and that she's Doris's grandmother, and what's this about? "Pedophilia," says Munch. "Oh!" says Doris's granny, and reluctantly lets them in. "Hello, ladies!" says Munch to a table full of little old ladies smoking and playing cards. Jeez, Munch is on quite the feminine odyssey this episode. From virgin to crone, from the full moon to the new, Munch celebrates all the ages of womanhood! Anyway. "High-stakes canasta?" he asks the women. "We're not doing anything illegal!" says one of the canasta ladies. "The vibe in here is a tad touchy, Mrs. Harrington," notes Munch. "It's not easy getting old!" says Doris's Granny. Munch tells her that they need to talk to her granddaughter. Meanwhile, Canasta Lady is acting defensive. "Did you read the warrant, Doris?" she asks. Oops! "Doris? You're Doris?" asks Jeffries. "Yes," says Doris, "my granddaughter's name is Elaine," she says, in a no-I'm-not-lying tone of voice. Jeffries looks over at a box filled with big manila envelopes. "May I?" she asks. "No! This isn't Russia!" says Canasta Lady, freaking out. "Shut up, Betty!" says Granny Doris. Hmm -- what are they selling? Hand-made crafts? Muffin cozies? Jeffries picks up an envelope and somehow just knows she ought to lift the contents out with a pen rather than her own fingers. Now that's streetwise. Gingerly she lifts out a pair of blue satin panties. Granny panties they ain't. Granny Pantypeddler tries to explain that their panties-for-profit scheme is just like the Beardstown ladies' investment club. "I take it these are your granddaughter's?" asks Munch. "Of course," says Granny Pantypeddler. "We advertise 'Used Homecoming Queen Undergarments' and that's what we provide!" Hee hee! It's so cute that they say "undergarments"! "Truth in advertising -- I'm sure Parents Magazine will award you their seal of approval," says Munch ruefully. Oh come on, Munch. You know you love it.
Chung-chung! At St. Monica's High School in Queens, Stabler and Benson stroll the halls with the principal and try to one-up each other with moralizing dialogue. Principal: "We're proud to say cops never have to visit here blah blah blah." Benson: "Look at those metal detectors blah blah blah." Principal: "Background checks on all faculty blah blah blah." Whatever. The Principal leads them into an office where young Elaine Harrington is waiting, all poignantly clad in the pastel knits of innocence. The costume designers all but stick a huge bow on her head. When Stabler and Benson ask her about the Yachtsman, she sits down and looks down at the floor like a scared puppy. "Do you KNOW him?" asks the Principal, addressing her as one would a stupid child. "Uh-huh," says Elaine in the softest voice possible. "We had a . . . thing." "What kind of a THING?" demands Principal Buttinsky. Benson wisely decides to get Elaine's pastel little butt the hell out of there.
At the cop shop, Elaine explains that the Yachtsman just cruised on by her house one day asking if he could order more panties. Okay, I find it hard to believe that Granny Pantypeddler gave the Yachtsman HER GRANDDAUGHTER'S ADDRESS, but whatever. Elaine thought the whole panty scheme was goofy, but the Yachtsman began to win her over by talking to her about his own daughter who died in a car crash. "My own dad left when I was eight," says Elaine, starting to cry a little. Stabler Takes It Personally. She said the attention was "nice." "So then he took me to this beautiful restaurant on the river. He made me feel like a princess." Benson asks Elaine if Yachtsman forced her to have sex with him. "No . . . I mean . . . he just did stuff to himself," she says. Benson consoles her. "It was just that the smell of him reminded me of my dad," Elaine cries. Stabler Takes It Personally some more.
Cap'n Cragen and Stabler discuss Elaine's story. There was no real sex; the Yachtsman, um, chose to stay on his own dinghy, so to speak. "Yeah, but he perved her in ways she doesn't even know about," says Stabler. Wow, and I didn't know "perv" could be used as a verb. Cragen brainstorms: "How about this -- he entered into an improper relationship with a minor." Stabler points out the no-real-sex problem. "He doesn't know that," says Cragen. "He doesn't know what she told us." Stabler grins. "Are you suggesting we lie to the poor man?" "Absolutely not," says Cragen. "Role-playing. Fantasy. Make-believe. The same crap he's been peddling to us about victimless crimes." Role-playing and fantasy with Cragen? Ouch, my mind.
day. Enter the Yachtsman with his YachtsLawyer. "My client is not going to answer any more of your questions," says YachtsLawyer. "Things change," says Stabler. "Like the fourteen-year-old's story." An office door opens, and Jeffries parades Elaine past Yachtsman and YachtsLawyer. Today they've dressed her up in the sort of outfit you'd dress a six-year-old in on Easter. Under her swingy little sailor coat she's got on white tights and Mary Janes. It's the sort of thing Madeline would wear skipping down the street on her way to lycée. The girl couldn't look younger if you stuck a pacifier into her mouth. She turns and gives the Yachtsman an icy look. "Different, isn't it," says Stabler, "when you see the real victim, not some computer-generated image but a real child with a broken heart. At least, that's what the jury will see." "Where can we talk?" asks the Yachtsman. Damn right he should freak. If the case goes to trial, you just know they'll stick Elaine on the stand wearing footy pajamas.
Red ADA lays it out for YachtsLawyer: "Let's start with statutory rape, then we get to the lesser inclusives, which could include soliciting, sodomy, transporting a minor across state lines." YachtsLawyer won't back down: "He'll cops to one act with her, he becomes a registered sex offender, and he joins a program." "No -- he does time, or we're done talking," says Stabler. But YachtsLawyer is willing to deal, saying that Yachtsman may have the names of other men with "the same affliction." "Nine of them," she says. "He'll deliver them in person." The final deal: Yachtsman gets the maximum prison time for sex with a minor, but with six months off for every child molester he turns in that gets convicted. Only one pedophile per coupon, please. Flashers and window-peepers not valid with this offer.
The Yachtsman's in the interview room with Stabler and Benson. "How did you meet the others?" Benson asks him. "There are certain things you say that a child-lover understands that no one else would notice," says the Yachtsman. "Such as?" Stabler asks. How about: "As the manager of the band, I can tell you I'm very, very proud of those boys." The Yachtsman talks about seeing other guys by themselves at roller rinks, "watching the kids -- well, you just know," he says. Makes you think twice about the Hokey Pokey, don't it? He goes on to say that pervs will bond over G-rated movies, which they watch to get to know kids better. "Rapport is crucial," says The Yachtsman. "Like getting their sympathy with that phony story about your poor little daughter's car crash?" asks Stabler. The Yachtsman blanches. Benson continues her line of questioning: "You're talking Pocahontas, but really what you're saying is, 'Are you a pedophile too?'" "That's your term, not ours. 'Do you love children?' is what I say." Oh, yeah, go ahead and give Mr. Rogers an aneurysm right now, okay, Yachtsman? Way to go, bastard.
At the Stabler (And Cleaner, And Fresher-Smelling) Household, Maureen impatiently pokes keys on the computers and slaps the monitor. Look kid, Wing booted you off the Hissyfit forums and that's that! Stabler comes over. "I can't get on," whines Maureen. "That's because I've put a child lock on there," says Stabler. "My homework's on this computer," complains Maureen as Stabler futzes with a few keys. An "invalid password" message comes up on the screen. "Do you know how to fix this?" Stabler asks his kid, who hits exactly two keys and gets to the desktop screen. "Those child lock things are a joke," she says. "When are you going to start trusting me?" she asks Daddy. Stabler explains that sometimes he brings his work home with him. "Right now, I'm chasing a guy in -- 'cyberspace' who goes after little girls . . . this is about fear. This is not about trust." Maureen nods and half-smiles. "Stop reading my e-mail," she says. "Okay," says Stabler. "I promise. And I'm sorry." He kisses her on the forehead. Aww.
Cragen draws a big X on a floor plan sketched out on a chalkboard. "Benson and Jeffries and I will be here in the storeroom off the main event, taping everything until the bust. Munch, Stabler, you'll be in the banquet room with the guests of honor." Apparently the Yachtsman is throwing a big Pedophile Jamboree, and a special surprise reception with the NYPD immediately afterwards. Fun, fun, fun! Munch wants to know what the line on entrapment is. "You're not advocating any crimes, just getting accounts of crimes that have already occurred," says ADA Red. "What if they claim they're play-acting?" asks Jeffries. ADA Red says that's a risk, so they'll need to get as many names and dates and specific details as possible. "So we can follow up and get additional witnesses," adds Cragen. "The tape itself won't convict anyone." "What do child molesters talk about when they get together?" wonders Munch.
Chung-chung! And so the Anvil of Justice falls on Arabell's Restaurant and Lounge, where the pervert party is being held. Another chilling question is: what do child molesters order from the menu when they get together? Baby-back ribs? Little Debbie snack cakes for dessert? I'm getting creeped out. Anyway, there are three large party tables of men drinking beer and having lively conversation, and Stabler and Munch are among them. It seems that the classic dark blazer is the fashion choice for most pedophiles, and you can bet the coat check has never held so many trench coats at once.
As the camera moves on to Stabler and Munch's table, we hear one perv -- let's call him "Humbert Humbert" -- discussing the merits of "the shopping-bag cam," which peers up girls' skirts. Another pederast -- we'll refer to him as "Coach" -- introduces Stabler to another pervert, who I'll dub "Scoutmaster." Scoutmaster met Coach at "Holiday on Ice." Munch, who is enjoying being Honorary Perv for the evening just a little too much, says, "I prefer gymnastics myself -- the girls are younger, the outfits tighter." "The Swedish horse, don't get me started," says yet another perv, who -- okay, okay, we can call him "The King of Pop." At another table, the Yachtsman is talking to "Uncle Tickly" about one of his little friends. "You were with that little redhead -- what was her name? Astrid?" asks the Yachtsman. "Astrid Brooks," says Uncle Tickly. "Sweet sixteen and the hottest babe I ever had, and if I never hear her name again I'll die a happy man." King of Pop is telling his heartbreak story: "She got her driver's license, and it was then that I learned that I was just a glorified taxi service. Sally Ashton." Coach laughs: "I had this girl Pauline, Pauline Drake -- all she wanted was beer and R-rated movies." "She lived in Co-op City, didn't she?" asks the Yachtsman. "Yeah," says Coach. Jeez, guys, would you mind spelling the girls' names out for us? Oh yeah, and maybe rattling off their Social Security numbers too? Thanks. In the room, Benson listens through headphones and writes down girls' names as fast as she can, with pens in both hands and also one stuck between the toes of her right foot. Well, practically. Cragen decides to wait a few more minutes before the bust, because Uncle Tickly has only gotten up to the Rs in his list of teenybopper girlfriends.
Back in the banquet room, the Yachtsman stands up and thanks everyone for coming. "It's always nice to be among like-minded people," he says, offering a toast. "To Greek philosophers," says Munch. Heh. "Hear, hear!" say the pedophiles, raising their beers (aw, no Shirley Temples?). King of Pop says he has some "product" out in the car to sell. Uncle Tickly complains about the lousy quality of some home movies he bought. Suddenly Cragen, Benson, and Jeffries burst into the room. "Up against the wall! Now!" they shout, and set to work frisking the pervs. Munch is about to search a reluctant Scoutmaster. "FBI," growls Scoutmaster. "FBI -- or NAMBLA?" snorts Munch. Go Munch! He's the only one on the show who could ever pull off a snarky joke about NAMBLA. "Check my breast pocket," says Scoutmaster. Munch pulls a badge out of Scoutmaster's jacket and peers over his dark glasses at him in surprise.
Cragen stomps into his office with J. Edgar Scoutmaster and slams the door: "Don't you ever bad-mouth my people in their own station house." J. Edgar bitches at him for blowing an investigation involving nine regional bureaus. "It was an undercover operation! We wanted to bring in the big predators!" "That's why the bad guys are running rings around us," says Cragen. "Why?" says J. Edgar. "Because they're working together," says Cragen, "and we're not." The pervs all get along, so why can't we?
Benson goes into the interrogation room where Stabler is waiting with Uncle Tickly. Stabler holds up a pad of paper with Uncle Tickly's doodles on it. "Butterflies," says Stabler, "now how cliché is that? Delicate, short-lived." "And easy to catch," says Benson. She turns to Uncle Tickly. "Okay, the Brooks girl -- anyone else?" "Oh yes, many more," says Uncle Tickly. "The Internet has opened a whole world of possibilities," he says, in the same kind of diabolically cheery voice that you tend to hear narrating those old science films at school. "No more trees to climb, no binoculars to lug around?" says Stabler, sarcastically. "You can see into a little girl's bedroom with just a click of your mouse." Uncle Tickly looks at Benson. "You see why the children love me?" he says. He nods towards Stabler: "He's so cold . . . so angry." Stabler's like, aw, bite me! Uncle Tickly turns towards Benson again. "The kids from the bad homes, the neglected ones, the abused, when they leave the social worker's office with their anatomically correct dolls, when they leave the police station, they're in tears." "What's your point, Wallace?" says Benson. "When they leave me," says Uncle Tickly, "they're all smiles." He says smiles with a horrifyingly Disney-esque lilt. Fade out on his freaky face.
Then up comes a title-screen afterword: "At any given moment, there are 3.4 anonymous chat room users on the Internet." Including you. Yeah, YOU.