Dave Little had spent a lifetime trying to live down his name, and it had not been one of his stellar performances. He was the son of a south Miami stripper, and was certain that one of mom's frequent male visitors was his father. He had learned young that the only thing a father figure had to offer was a slap on the side of the head and a liquor-soaked bark, telling him to 'get outta here kid, can't ya' see I'm busy with your mommy?'
By the age of eight, he'd taken their word for it and found the streets a much safer place to find comfort and a feeling of being wanted.
At 10 he'd rallied a band of ragtag kids, all at least two years younger than himself, because he'd learned what it felt like to have someone look up to you - need you. They had spent their days roaming the neighborhood, finding bottles to return and cans to recycle so they could put together enough money to buy firecrackers to torment the neighborhood pets.
On his 14th birthday, his mother had taken enough notice to find something special to give him from the dwindling tips she continued to earn at the 'club' as she called it. His crew of followers had remained faithful over the years, and they all watched wide-eyed as Dave turned on his first computer.
Sixteen became a red letter year for Dave and his mother. It was the year he'd learned how to pirate the high school internet connection and get on-line time whenever he wanted which brought him the World Wide Web of porn. For his mother, she learned that she just didn't have the body for dancing anymore - something she'd known for the last four years as tips dwindled at the same rate as 'date' offers from the clientele. This had led to a waitress position as she was 'put out to pasture'. At the age of 35, she looked like a hardened, angry woman pushing 50.
The internet had fascinated Dave and his friends as he sat at the keyboard, mouse in hand, explaining how difficult and technical it all was. He took his band of followers places they would never have gone otherwise. It didn't take long for him to learn that his band of buddies would actually pay for him to show them what they wanted to see. Thus, Dave's bedroom became the local 'cyber-café', and he became the proud owner of a second, faster, and better machine.
It was halfway through that year that Dave learned a very important life lesson. He had become quite the 'chatter' and spent as much time as possible talking to his 'chat buddies' - one of which actually became the father figure he'd always hoped for. What really appealed to him was how his special friend took an interest in all he did, like what sites he visited, and even taught him how to get into the 'special sites' that required an adult ID. His friend wasn't judgmental or accusing; he understood that Dave was much more mature than his years - a young man capable of making his own decisions and taking care of himself.
Then, one week in August, his special friend had listened to him go on about his mother - about the lack of food in the refrigerator, the dirty dishes in the sink, and the garbage piled on the back porch - and he'd made an offer that was hard to refuse.
Dave had looked at the occasional electronic photos his friend had sent of his beachfront house, his Mercedes, and a 24-foot speedboat. He'd seen pictures of his special friend with other 'nice young men' that he had met on the internet and who came to his house on a regular basis to visit. Now, it was Dave's turn - the offer of a lifetime - an opportunity to come and hang out with his special friend and a few of the other 'nice young men' that would be staying for the weekend. There would be food in the fridge and access to the latest in computer technology.
He'd spent the better part of the week, bragging to his friends and showing off the pictures, explaining that this weekend he'd be riding around in the speedboat with his special friend. He said he'd be sure to bring them pictures; his special friend had promised to take plenty and give him copies.
His special friend needn't have bothered with careful instructions on not letting his mother know what he was doing; she spent most her time with her own 'special friends' or at the club. He'd left a note on the refrigerator door saying he was staying over at Tommy's this weekend and swore Tommy to secrecy or 'no more computer access'.
Throwing shorts, swimsuit and some t-shirts into his backpack, he'd followed his special friend's instructions to the letter. Taking a city bus to the bus station, he entered one end and went out the other to the pick-up area where people arriving, caught a cab or met a relative who was coming by car to whisk them away. And there he was - his special friend in his silver Mercedes, waiting as promised.
His special friend was older - much older actually - than he looked in his pictures. Dave guessed he was somewhere over 40, tanned and healthy-looking. He'd explained that he owned a construction company that built all the public schools in the state.