The Big Bad Wolf

I WAITED FOR the Wolf to answer Potter's insane question. We all did. No response came. Shit. What had I done wrong? I'd gone too far, hadn't I? He was clever. Somehow, he knew what we were up to. But how? "I'll stay on for a while," I said, as I looked around the room. "I want what he has to offer. He knows it. I'm supposed to be horny." This is Potter, I typed again a few minutes later. Suddenly words began to appear on my screen. 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. Wolf: All right then, maybe we'll get you the boy. Be careful! There might not be another! I typed: Then there won't be another hundred twenty-five thousand!!! Wolf: I'm not worried. There are lots of freaks like you. You'd be amazed. Mr. Potter: So. How is your hostage? Wolf: I have to go back to work... One more question, Potter. Just to be safe. Where did you get your name? I looked around the room. Oh, Christ. It was something I hadn't thought to ask Taylor. A voice whispered close to my ear. Monnie's. "The kids' books? They call Harry Mr. Potter at the Hogwarts school. Maybe? I don't know." Was that it? I needed to type something; it had to be the right answer. Was the name from the Harry Potter books? Because he liked boys? Then something from Taylor's office in the farmhouse flashed in my brain. My fingers went to the keys. Paused for a second. Then I typed my answer: This is absurd. The name is from the Jamaica Kincaid novel - Mr. Potter. Fuck U! I waited for a response. So did everyone else in the room. Finally it came. Wolf: I'll get you the boy, Mr. Potter.