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Show Acting Alone Page 120 to Sam's homilies, his patented Sambo Sermons, day after day after day. And, of course, in the dossier there was also included a copy of Sam's sex offense record. That's right: public exposure, public indecency. A lady sitting in the booth in front of him at Pizza Hut one afternoon ten years ago had accused him of whacking off. He hadn't been whacking off; he'd been cleaning his glasses with his breath and a stiff paper napkin, and he couldn't seem to get the teen oils to move off the lenses, so he'd really started scrubbing hard - making what in Utah passed for suspicious, lewd sounds: rub-rub-rub; squeak-squeak-squeak; rustle-rustle-rustle; breath-breath- breath; henh-henh-henh, and so on. And, because he'd had long hair and a sullen, seditious face back then, the waitress had believed the lady and had called the cops. The cops, of course, had known Sam at sight: he was that kid who spent his afternoons flagrantly smoking hash and flipping birds and moons and shit at patrolcars in Sugar House Park - but the cops could never touch Sam there because he was always with the sons of the local D. A., and other rich people's sons. But now he was all alone in this Pizza Hut, so they nailed his ass! And the rest was history. It followed Sam around like a monkey's sore tail, this sex offense record. Also there was a photo in the dossier that made Sam cry. When Spikey and Mae Bell and Shanny confronted him with it, this photo literally made Sam cry - silently, but with real tears. It was an eight-by-ten glossy full-color shot of a boy at a Nixon welcoming rally on historic Mormon Temple Square in Salt Lake City back in 1970. It was a boy^ only fourteen years old, six-and-a-half feet tall, skinny as a bean pole, his skin all beardless, hairless, translucently pale |