It’s 1:30 in the morning, you’re just getting out of a club and are waiting for an Uber. You’ve had a few drinks but you’re not drunk. Across the street in a parking lot four men stand around a large, tall, white, windowless van. The door is open but you can’t see inside. They spot you standing there, give you some waning attention. Your Uber arrives and you forget about them as you step in and relax against the seat. The city floats by. A stop sign, a deli, some bikers, a stop light.
Suddenly the door next to you rips open. What the fuck, you think, and there are hands on you, more than two, tearing you out of your seat. It’s so silent and quick, it’s so simple seaming. They tear you out of your seatbelt and pull you into their van. At the last second you see your Uber driver and are horrified to recognize complicity in his eyes. He was a part of this. No one will be calling the cops.