“Boys?”

“Yeah, I got some faggots, too. Like the birdies you saw helping me out. Those two were over eighteen, but not when I first met them. No straight boys: I used to take them in… nothing but problems. They’d pester the girls and get into dogfights with me over the alpha spot. You can imagine who won out. Pains in the ass— all of them.”

“You pimp them.”

Donatti looked up at the ceiling. “Pimp is a very loaded word, Decker. I do them favors. In return, they do me favors. Matter of fact, they’re so grateful to me that they can’t wait to do me favors. The way I look at it, I’m the final railway stop, a last-ditch effort to save their asses from the real cold characters. Sometimes I even buy them from the bad boys if they look good enough. I have places where I let them dry out. I give them food, a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and drugs if they need it. About twenty-five percent leave after a few days, another twenty-five leave after a week. Usually, if they stay more than two weeks, I’ve got ’em hooked.”

“Hooked?”

“No, not on drugs…on me. I’ve got them convinced that they can’t survive without my protection.” Donatti spoke patiently. “I’m practical, Decker. I don’t overwork the racehorse. The last thing I want is for them to be wasted sexually. I want them fresh and sassy-looking. A healthy-looking young nasty girl spreading her legs is a turn-on. A sexually abused waif cowering in the corner isn’t.”

“You use them for your magazine.”

“That’s the whole purpose, Decker. To get young pussy for my various enterprises. But to do that, I first gotta get them to eighteen. Ideally, I’d like to keep them without having to farm out their services, but right now I have a cash-flow problem because I’m on my own. See, with the Family, if you want something, there’s always money, but no savings plan. When Joey ran out, he simply took what he needed from whoever had it. Me? I’m looking for the long term.”

“Lots of adult magazines in the racks, Donatti.”

“Not to mention the videos and the interactive displays on the Internet. Which is why I’m going for the niche market. Not the hipsters, Decker, like in GQ or Esquire. Or the losers who gawk at silicone boobs in Playboy or Penthouse. Can you—as an older married straight male—relate to any of that shit?”

“I don’t buy those magazines, Donatti.”

“Because they don’t talk to you, Lieutenant. Who do I talk to? Committed married men in complacent but dull marriages. Those who don’t want to throw away everything by having a sleazy affair, but their sex lives have gone to seed. They’re a beleaguered lot. Maybe not in your case, Decker, but lots of middle-class guys can use a little empowering. Having been trapped in a hideous marriage for three and a half years, I know what I’m doing. I know all about the Internet and the Web pages and the self-directed on-line porno sites— I’ve got plans for those, too—but in the end, it’s inconvenient to take a laptop into the can to whack off. The wife might suspect something.”