A Dangerous Man

scandy: what about a phone number or something?

henryhunter: Someone might have one. But they would have gotten in illegally so they’d be pretty cautious about sharing it or talking about it.

scandy: you know someone like that hh? I bet you do!

henryhunter: I might know something. But this isn’t really what I’d call a secure connection. I could maybe help, but I’d need your private email to send it to you.

scandy: ok

henryhunter: And then maybe we could like exchange some emails. I’d like to hear how things are going with your therapy and stuff. We could even sinc up. Chat some more.

scandy: sure thing, hh! I’d love that! But I have to get back to the club! If I give you my address can you send that number right away?!? Then we can make a date to chat! That’d be cool!

henryhunter: Great! scandy: super! My address is [email protected]

henryhunter: I’ll send you a message as soon as I sign off.

scandy: TY, HH! You’re my hero!

USER SCANDY HAS SIGNED OFF

– Fucking great. Now I’m going to have to change my private e-mail. Do you know how big a pain that is? All my charges go there. My PayPal. My eBay. Shit.

I point at the screen.

– Candice?

– Candice Sandra Talbot. Sandy Candy. Like it was meant to be.

– It’s a nice name.

– Whatever.

She logs on to her e-mail account. She hits the check mail button four or five times until a new message pops up. She opens it.

Sandy,

It was cool chatting with you in private. I think you’re making the right decision trying to get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Everything I read about them and all the stuff that was on TV made them seem like very good people. It’s not their fault their son did the things he did. They’ve probably suffered from his crimes as much as anyone. Please don’t share this number and please delete this email. Like I said, “someone” (wink-wink) probably had to do some illegal hacking to get this. Write me back and let me know your MSMessenger account. We can chat anytime. I live in Ohio, which isn’t so far from Pennsylvania, so maybe we could even meet! That would be great. Good luck and I can’t wait to hear how it goes. Have fun dancing.

HH

(But my real name is Sam)

Sandy scribbles the number at the bottom of the screen onto a scrap of paper.

– Ol’ Sam probably started jerking off to a picture of me as soon as he hit send.

SANDY GOES TO the bathroom while I pay for our time on the computer. She comes out and walks past me. I grab my change and run after her. She’s walking fast down Forty-second on her way back to Private Eyes.

– Sandy. Wait up.

She keeps walking.

– Hey.

I catch up to her, but she keeps storming along.

– What do you want? You got the number. Go use it.

– Yeah. Well.

– What? You want something else?

– I just.

– What?

– I could use a place. For a couple hours. To make my call and think for a little while.

She nods.

– So, what, you thought maybe my hotel room or something?

– Whatever. I just need someplace quiet to make this call. And I need to sit and-I have to get back to the club.

– Sure. I just. I.

– Need more help?

– Yeah. I do.

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk and the Saturday night traffic splits and flows around us.

– Jesus! What have you ever needed from anyone but help?

– Sandy.

– That’s your fucking MO.

She cups her hand over her mouth and talks into it like it’s a radio.

– Calling all cars, calling all cars. Be on the lookout for a mass murderer that often needs help and who fucks up people’s lives.

– They’re. They’ll kill my mom and dad.

She raises her eyebrows.

– So. Fucking. What.

She puts her face close to mine.

– Your parents. Your fucking mom and dad. Like no one else was ever born. Like no one else has a mom and dad. My mom and dad are in Phoenix. They got problems. My mom is a bank teller and she’s worried about all the weight she’s been putting on since she turned fifty, and my dad just took early retirement from his job with Xerox so they wouldn’t lay him off. Their biggest problem is their stripper daughter that they don’t understand and can barely talk to. But at least she never did anything to put their lives in danger. And I didn’t do anything to put yours in danger, either. It’s not my fucking fault. It’s yours. So you fucking save them.

She turns to start walking and I grab her arm. She looks at my hand and then back up at my face.

– Let go.

– I can’t. I. I just. Sandy, I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone else.

– I wonder why that is. Could it be because everyone who helps you gets killed? Let go of my arm.

I don’t.

– Let go of my arm or I will scream.

I let go. She jerks her head and leads me away from the middle of the sidewalk.

– Just so we’re clear. I don’t like you. You fucked up my life. I was already pretty messed up. I mean, stripping at Glitter Gulch, dealing grass and fucking Terry the steroid king wasn’t the greatest way to live, but at least I didn’t wake up screaming five nights out of ten. I want you to leave me alone.

I look at her. I look at the Lucky jeans and the Michael Kors top she changed into when we left the club. I look at the Louis Vuitton shoes on her feet and the matching bag on her shoulder. She watches my eyes as they inventory these items.

I shrug.

– You seem to be doing pretty well out of the deal.

She nods. Smiles.

– Yeah. Pretty good. Pretty good with the creeps that come out of the woodwork every time I turn around. Pretty good with the guys who like to pretend they’re you. Or with Danny Lester when he gets drunk every couple of months and finds my latest unlisted number and calls to accuse me of hiding you and ends up telling me how much he wants to fuck me in the mouth. Or whatever excop bounty hunter who wants to grill me. I do really good with all the assholes at the clubs who want a lap dance so they can tell their friends they rubbed crotches with Sandy Candy. Fuck you! Fuck you, Henry! You think I want this? You think I want to live off your carcass like those freaks