Sterling 66: Where did U bump into this one, Potter?

The next tidbit I’d gotten from Homer Taylor himself. Actually, I did bump into him. He’s so firm.

Sphinx 3000: Where did you meet him? Tell, tell.

I typed: I was at Harvard for a symposium.

Sterling 66: On?

I typed: Milton. Of course.

Sterling 66: He was attending?

I typed: No—I literally bumped into him. In the men’s room. I watched him for the rest of the day. Found out where he lived. Been studying him for three months.

Sterling 66: So why did U purchase Worcester?

I knew the question was coming. Impulse, I typed. Then, But this boy in Cambridge, that’s true love. Not a casual thing.

Sterling 66: So U have a name? An address?

I typed: I do. And I have my checkbook.

Sterling 66: Worcester won’t be found? UR certain?

I could hear Potter’s voice in my head as I typed. Good Lord, no. Not unless someone goes swimming in my septic tank.

Sphinx 3000: Gross, Potter. I love it.

Sterling 66: Well, if U have checkbook in hand.

Wolf: No. We’ll wait on this. It’s too soon, Potter. We’ll get back to you. As always, I’ve enjoyed our talk, but I have other matters to attend to.

Wolf signed off. He was gone. Shit. He’d come and gone just like that. The mystery man, as always. Who was this bastard?

I stayed on-line, chatting with the others for a few minutes—expressing my disappointment at the decision, my eagerness to make a purchase. Then I left the site too.

I looked around the operation room at my colleagues. A few began to clap, partly mocking me, but mostly it was genuinely congratulatory. Cop-to-cop stuff. Almost like old times. I felt marginally accepted by the others in the room. For the first time, actually.

Chapter 82

Chapter 82

WE WAITED TO HEAR from the Wolf’s Den. Everyone in the overcrowded room wanted to take the Wolf down in the worst way. He was a complicated and twisted criminal, but besides that, the FBI needed a win; a lot of people working their asses off needed it. Snaring the Wolf would be a tremendous victory. If we could just find him. And what if we could get all of the other sick bastards too? Sphinx. ToscaBella. Louis XV. Sterling.

Still, something was bothering me a lot. If the Wolf was as powerful and successful as he seemed to be, why was he involved in this at all? Because he’d always been into lots of kinds of crimes? Or because he was a sex freak himself? Was that it, the Wolf was a freak? Where could I go with that line of thinking?

He’s a freak, and therefore . . . ?