He lifts his shoulders. What else are whores for?

– But he is not a normal man. Fucking is not enough for this man. He likes also to beat my whores when he fucks them. This he has done before. And this night, two days past, he does it again. And he does this girl great harm.

His lips tighten. He sips his drink, exhales, and his lips relax.

– My family is from Armenia. This whore’s family is from Armenia. She is from a family that I know from when I was born. Am I close to this family? No. If I were close to these people I would not let their daughter be a whore. But I knew her father and he was not a bastard. And she is, this whore, she is my daughter’s age. Her hair. The same color.

He swallows the rest of his drink and places the empty glass on the windowsill.

– One whore beaten more or less. What is that? Nothing. But this cop has done it many times, and now he does it with a girl I have met. A girl who could be my daughter.

He rubs tears from his eyes, looks at his fingers, and then shows them to me. You see, you see how I feel these things in my soul?

– So I tell Branko what will be done. And I tell him you are to do it. Why? Because these are the things you are meant to do for me. You are meant to do difficult things. Things that would make most men throw up their dinners and crap like babies in their pants. This is how you are meant to pay your debt to me.

David reaches out, puts his hand on the side of my face, the tip of his index finger touching the scar, and gently turns my head to face him.

– But you do not do these things anymore. You fail again and again, and Branko must do your work for you. We have talked about this?

I can feel his fingers on my face, but not the one that rests on the patch of wrinkled, white skin.

– Yes.

– Yes, we have. And you try. I know this. I know you take these pills not just for the pain in your face. So today, this job? It was a gift for you. A man to hurt that truly deserved to be hurt.

He smiles at me, crinkles the corners of his eyes. You see how I care for you, how generous I am with you?

– But you must do better. You must get back the taste for this work.

His hand drops from my face.

– Soon.

He walks to the bed, sits.

– You understand this?

– Yes.

– That is why I ask to talk to you. So you understand this. I am being unreasonable?

– No.

– Good. That is good. Then.

He settles back into his nest of pillows, crosses his legs at the ankles and picks up the remote.

– The flight was long and I will take a nap now.

– Sure.

I get up and stand there looking for a place to put my nearly full bottle of juice.

– Take it with you. For your blood sugar.

He smiles. I nod and walk toward the door. I have it open when his voice floats up the hall.

– There will be more work for you this week. You are free?

I stand there with the doorknob in my hand.

– Yeah.

– Of course you are. Go home and rest. You are tired.

I nod back down the hall toward the room, where all I can see of him are his stocking feet.

– Yeah. Thanks.

I step out into the hotel corridor, and before the door is closed I hear the sound of the TV click back on, chattering about the artificial beach behind the hotel. I walk to the elevators and push the button and stand there wondering how long I have left before David Dolokhov sends Branko to kill me, and whether he’ll send him to kill my parents before or after I am dead.

MY APARTMENT IS shit. But that kind of goes with the territory. The territory being my shitty life.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t help myself. I type in the address and wait while my shitty dial-up connects and loads the home page for www.sandycandy.com. It takes forever because the main feature of the page is a huge glamour shot of Sandy in one of her stripper outfits. Once the entire image of her embracing a chrome pole has resolved, I run the cursor down the menu. I start with public appearances. Not much. She’s doing another Howard Stern, but things have certainly slowed up for her in the last six months. No more afternoon talk shows or Court TV interviews, and just the same entry that tells her fans to keep looking for her E! special, but still no date. That one was probably bull anyway. Like the 60 Minutes interview that never happened. I skip going to the merchandise page, I’ve seen it all: Sandy Candy hats, T’s, panties, DVDs. I could check out the discussion forum. It’s been a week since I’ve been here and there will be plenty of new posts. Then I see she has a new entry in her diary. I click over.

Wow! Tough couple of weeks! I just got back from a tour of clubs in Florida. South Beach rocks! I was the guest dancer at Club Madonna (no relation to Madonna!), Club Pink Pussycat, and Coco’s Lounge Living on the Edge! I was dancing topless and totally nude (which you know I love. So much freedom!) And I had a great time and everybody was great! Special thanks to Sissy and Aura for letting me crash at their place! The fajitas were great! I just posted some pics of me on the beach in my bikini (don’t worry, spf 30 for Sandy Candy’s sensitive skin). Members can log on to the pay site and see pics of me with some of the other girls doing our thing! If you’re not a member yet this is the time to join. Trust me, these Miami girls are hot! I also added links on the links page for all the clubs I was dancing at. Check ’em out when you’re in Miami. So much fun!

On a more serious note. I want to thank all you guys who have been writing in to check on me and asking how my counseling is going. I still have some nightmares, but I really think I’m getting better and I’m learning to forgive and let go. Being kidnapped and seeing people killed just isn’t something you get over easy. But having all you great guys (and girls) looking out for me sure helps.

Well, that’s enough of the serious stuff. I’m gonna take a couple days off (“me time!”), but I’ll be back out there real soon. All you guys in the Big Apple should keep an eye out because I’ll be dancing there this weekend at Private Eyes, and then get ready for me out in Kansas City, guys, cuz I’m coming your way!

Everybody take care and I’ll see you soon!

Luv,

SC

Kansas City. That’s as far west as she’s come since she moved to Pennsylvania. How far is it to Kansas City? I almost go looking for a map, but really, what’s the point? After all, I’m the kidnapper she’s talking about. Anyway, it’s not like we were friends or anything. She was just a stripper with some connections, someone in Vegas who T thought could help us. So what if she ended up setting us up instead. She didn’t know how bad that was gonna turn out. Besides, what do I think I’m gonna do? Drive out to KC, find her in a club and say, Hi, remember me?

I log off and head for the bathroom and my medicine cabinet.

The mirror on the front of the cabinet is broken. I broke it six months back when I mixed up my meds a bit too much. The Xanax I’d been taking was starting to bring me too far down so I’d started cutting it with some straight Dexedrine. I looked in the mirror one night and saw the face that isn’t mine and got pissed at it and tried to punch it out. Proving yet again, thinking is bad for me.

So the mirror’s still busted and I never got around to pulling the shards of glass out of the frame, just taped over them with black gaff tape. It worked out fine, now I don’t have to look at myself when I go to the bathroom.

I open the cabinet and take out the two Ziploc bags full of pill bottles. I was right about going on Sandy’s site, it was bad for me. Now bad thoughts are creeping into my head. Thoughts like, maybe I should contact her, just send her an e-mail and ask her what happened to T. That’s all I really want from her anyway, to know where T is; to know if he’s OK. But thinking about Sandy and T just starts up thoughts about New York, about what happened there. Thoughts about the people who’ve died. And that gets me thinking about what I’ve been doing since then. About the jobs for David. Next thing you know, I’m thinking about ways to get out of this shit. And those are the worst thoughts.