Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [95]
"Yes," I said. It wasn't a lie this time.
"And I would…I have taken pictures of my boys. It gives us both pleasure in later years to look at this icon to our love, as it once was. A boy is a boy for such a short time," he said, sadness in his voice.
"And you wouldn't sell these pictures?"
"Certainly not. I have no need of money, but that is not the point. It would cheapen the love…almost immeasurably so. It would be a violation of the relationship…something I would never do."
"So nobody would ever see the pictures you have?" I asked him.
"Nobody outside my circle," he replied. "On some rare occasion, I might exchange pictures of my boys with others who share my preferences. But never for money.
"You mean you'd trade pictures? Like baseball cards?"
The man's eyes hooded again. "You have a crude way of putting things, sir. I know you do not mean to be offensive"
I nodded my head in agreement. I didn't want him to stop talking. The Mole's head was buried in his papers, but I could feel him telling me to watch my step.
"My boys enjoy knowing they give me pleasure. And it gives me pleasure to show their love for me to other men who believe as I do." He took another sip of his drink. "To be sure, there may be an element of egotism in exchanging photographs with others I am proud of my success. But—and I'm sure you understand—one must be very discreet at all times."
I understood that all right…gave him another nod of agreement.
"There are those who produce pictures of children for purely commercial purposes. Not those who share my loves…my life style, if you will. But no true lover of boys would buy such pictures. They are so impersonal, so tasteless. One knows nothing of the boy in such a picturenot his name, his age, his little hobbies. Commercial photographs are so…anonymous. Sex is only a component of love. One brick in a foundation. Do you understand this?"
"I understand," I told him. It was true that the devil could quote the Scriptures, as the Prof was always saying. "Would a person ever destroy his pictures…like if he was afraid there was a search warrant coming down or something?"
"A true pedophile would never do that, my friend. I can assure you that, if the police were battering down my door at this very instant, I would not throw my memories into that fireplace."
"But the pictures are evidence…"
"Yes. Evidence of love."
"People get convicted with evidence of love," I told him.
A smile played around his lips. "Prison is something we face all the time. A true believer in our way of life accepts this. Simply because something is against the law does not mean it is morally wrong."
"It's worth going to prison for?" I asked him.
"It's worth anything," he said.
"The people who…exchange…pictures of boys. You'd know how to get in touch with them?"
"We have a network," the man said. "A limited one, of course. You see the computer?" he asked, nodding his head toward the screen.
I nodded.
"The device next to it, with the telephone? It's called a modem. It's really quite complicated," the man said, "but we have something called an electronic bulletin board. You dial up the network, punch in the codes, and we can talk to each other without revealing our names.
I gave him a blank look.
"As I said, it's really quite complicated," he said smugly. I could feel the Mole's sneer clear across the room.
"Can you show me?" I asked.
"Very well," he sighed. He got up from behind the desk, bringing his glass with him. The man seated himself before the computer. He took the phone off the hook and placed it face down into a plastic bed. He punched some numbers into a keypad and waited impatiently, tapping his long fingers on the console. When the screen cleared, he rapidly tapped something on the keyboard—his password. "Greetings from Santa" came up on the screen in response, black letters against a white background.
"Santa is one of us," the man said, by way of explanation.