Ken, that’s whohe’d check out first. He looked at the list of first names that he had written down. Ken lived the closest to him. They liked to talk on their private chat on the dark web. He knew Ken was in the downtown Vancouver area, while a couple guys were out in the valley, and one was even in Richmond. But Ken was close. That made him a really good place to start.
But he didn’t have a photo or much else to track him down. Just a few tidbits gleaned from their conversations, where Ken often commented on walking to Stanley Park. It was one thing to have someone by the university, or maybe over by the Richmond International Airport, but close to downtown? That wasn’t cool. That meant the two of them were hunting the same grounds; why hadn’t he considered that before? He tapped his foot angrily on the floor. “Like hell I want competition that close by.”
His notes said that Ken preferred boys. So another problem, as he himself liked boys. He liked girls too, but he didn’t want Ken hunting the same boys.
As he sat here, he got angrier and angrier. If, for no other reason, he should go find Ken, kick him out of the city. Besides he’d be helping the cops now, wouldn’t he? And, if he happened to find Leonard in the process, even better. He studied his list. It was incomplete. A bunch of people in the group didn’t say anything at all. And, of course, it was a small group, which was a little disturbing too because what if other pedophiles were in the area that he didn’t know about?
And, of course, there were. It seemed like pedophiles were on every corner. Now how could he find them? He knew in the US, they tracked pedophiles on a nation wide website, but Vancouver hadn’t adopted that system yet. What the police didn’t realize down south was that they were actually helping pedophiles to find other pedophiles, so they could join together in the hunt for more kids. Or pass around used goods. Although most pedophiles didn’t want to share, and that fear and need for secrecy that surrounded what they were doing often caused them to maintain a very isolated lifestyle.
If he dug deep enough, he could always find court documents that would give more information. But it didn’t always tell you where the defendants were living, after they had been released. And that would be helpful. At most the paperwork would give a town or a city but not street addresses.
Now to see Ken’s neighborhood. He put on his boots and grabbed his jacket and his list and his wallet. He had a pretty good idea of Ken’s favorite haunts. He talked about them all the time. Like a restaurant called Stevie’s Place. He would check that out first. See if he could spot him.
Besides, he was hungry; he checked his wallet and still found twenty bucks cash. That would be enough for a meal. He didn’t even remember the last time he ate more than bread and peanut butter. He frowned, picked up a can of Coke, opened it, and walked out of his tiny apartment, carrying his drink.
He used to live in much nicer places, was raised in a mansion. Getting back to that lifestyle would be impossible without help, like from his family. His sister had helped for a long time but not now. He wondered if she was still as broke as she said she was. Hardly. He should go to her place, just to make sure that she was still living at the same level as he was.
He doubted it, and it was okay if she were a little better off, but he wouldn’t tolerate a ton better. That was just wrong. They were twins, siblings in mind and nature too. He should be doing as well as she was. Sure, he hadn’t gone to school, and he hadn’t gotten a medical degree, like she had. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have something good to offer.
He was just in between jobs now. It pissed him off when people said that he needed an education, that his experience wasn’t anywhere near as good. He knew they were wrong. Experience was worth its weight in gold. And screw all these people who didn’t believe him.
Stevie’s Place was a hamburger joint that stayed open late every day of the week, in one of the worst areas in town. Known for large portions, good food, and cheap prices. He could do much worse than having dinner here tonight. A big chalkboard was outside, with a handwritten menu on it. The prices had jumped. His twenty bucks could still buy him a meal, but it would no longer buy him anything he wanted. And that pissed him off too.
“What can I get you?” asked the gum-chewing young woman with brassy hair, who looked like she’d seen way too much of the world already.
He gave her a half smile. “Just figuring out what appeals tonight.”
“Well, there is the steak burger,” she said. “That’s tonight’s special. It comes with fries.”
He looked at it and said, “That’s pretty reasonable.”
“It is,” she said. “It’s the biggest burger you ever saw. The fries are decent too.”
“Can I get gravy on the fries and pickles on the burger?”
“Comes with the pickles,” she said, writing it down. “Gravy is an extra buck.”
With that decided, he ordered his dinner and grabbed the number that she gave him and headed off to find a table. Stevie’s had tables on the sidewalk as well as inside. The rain had cleared, so he sat just under the overhang. It was warm with his jacket on, but it was a nice place to sit and to watch the world go by. He hadn’t ordered a drink to go with his burger, so he just sat here, sipping his Coke. People came. People went. It was just that kind of an evening.
No children were out now, nothing to put a smile on his face. Everybody was eighteen and over, except for maybe a couple little chicks hanging around the corner. They looked like they were sixteen, maybe dolled up to look like they were twenty. But the look in their eyes said they were heading to forty.
Being a hooker at that age was hard. It sucked the life right out of you, turned your body into an ancient organic waste dump, and took your soul and spit it out in pieces. Good thing he hadn’t had to resort to that kind of a life. Nothing over the age of eleven appealed to him at all. That was just gross.
When he heard his number called, he looked to see a big platter of food set off to the side on the front counter. He got up with his number, took it over, and exchanged his number for the plate, adding ketchup on the side, taking his plate with a fork outside to his table. He stared down at the food in amazement. It was a lot of food; he was lucky if he could eat it all. Maybe he could take it home for tomorrow. Leftovers were gold in his world. He didn’t cook but had a microwave, so that was his lifeline.
He picked up half the burger and took a big bite, munching, as he watched the world go by. Down at the end of the block, he studied a man who approached. Just something about him set his jaw back a little bit. He chewed on his burger, slowly watching the man’s progress. He looked at the girls with interest, talking to them in a cheeky, flirting manner, as if he were some friendly uncle.
Friendly uncles like that, he knew all too well.
They ended up being the kind who coerced little kids into their bed. He should know; he was that kind of friendly uncle. And he recognized another who was just the same.
It wasn’t long before the same guy approached one of the other girls on the opposite corner, laughed, gave her a dollar, for whatever reason because it’s not like it would buy her a coffee. It sure as hell wouldn’t put more clothes on her body. Then the man stepped into Stevie’s.
Watching him, he followed the stranger’s progress, as he walked up to the counter and placed an order, without even looking at the menu. That’s how often he came here.
He slowly worked his way through the first half of his burger, keeping an eye on the man.
The friendly uncle walked over, chose a table closer to the wall but still on the outside patio. Soon the uncle’s order was ready. After he picked it up, he fixed his burger. He lifted the top bun, added ketchup and mustard, extras of both, took the pickle and tossed it off to the side.