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I read, Wolf: That’s redundant, Potter. I know who you are.
I typed some more words in Taylor’s strident “voice.” UR rude to make me wait like this. U know how I feel, what I’m going through.
Wolf: How could I? You’re the scary freak, Potter, not me.
I typed: Not so. UR the real freak. The cruelest of all.
Wolf: Why do you say that? You think I take hostages like you?
My heart raced. What did he mean by that? Did the Wolf have a hostage? Maybe more than one? Could Elizabeth Connolly still be alive after all this time? Or some other hostage? Maybe one we didn’t even know about?
Wolf: So tell me something, faggot. Prove yourself to me.
Prove myself? How? I waited for more instruction to come. But it didn’t.
I typed: What do U want to know? I’m horny. No, not really. I’m in love.
Wolf: What happened to Worcester? You were in love with him too.
The chat was heading into uncharted waters. I was guessing, hoping I could maintain continuity with things Homer Taylor might have shared before. The other question made me edgy: Was this really the Wolf I was speaking to?
I typed: Francis was incapable of love. He made me very angry. He’s gone now, never to be heard from again.
Wolf: And there will be no repercussions?
Mr. Potter: I’m careful. Like U. I like my life; I don’t want to be caught. And I won’t be!!!
Wolf: Does that mean Worcester rests in pieces?
I wasn’t sure how to answer. With a cruel joke of my own? Something like that, I typed. UR funny.
Wolf: Be more specific. Give me the bloody details, Potter. Give!
Mr. Potter: Is this a test? I don’t need this shit.
Wolf: You know it is.
I typed: The septic tank. I told you that.
No response came from the Wolf. He was rubbing my nerves raw.
So when do I get my new boy? I typed.
A pause of several seconds.
Wolf: You have the money?
Mr. Potter: Of course I do.
Wolf: How much do you have?
I thought I knew the correct answer to that, but I couldn’t be sure. Two weeks earlier, Taylor had taken one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars from his account with a money manager at Lehman in New York.
Mr. Potter: One hundred twenty-five thousand. The money isn’t a problem. It’s burning a hole in my pocket.
No response from Wolf.
I typed: U told me not to be redundant.
