Strange Robby

by Selina Rosen

  Carrie smiled. "Yes, I think I do. But the point is that you know how I feel about you, and yet you still question my motives."

  "I guess I still have trouble believing that anyone as amazing as you could actually love someone like me."

  "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I ask myself that same question? Why do you keep selling yourself short? You, my love, are amazing, and I am very fortunate to be loved by you."

  "As long as you keep believing that I guess I've got it made."

  Carrie would have a fit, but she was at work, and what Carrie didn't know wasn't going to hurt her. So Spider had taken off the offending leg brace and driven to the nursing home.

  Spider fixed the pillows behind Henry's head. He didn't sound good today; his breathing was raspy.

  "Hey, Henry! You don't sound so good, bud. I'm sorry I didn't get by for a couple of days, but I got a little shot. Nothing bad, just grazed, but Carrie's treating me like a fucking invalid."

  She told him all about the hostage situation and moving in with Carrie. She told Henry things she couldn't tell Carrie; things she couldn't tell Tommy. As she always did, she looked for any sign that he might open his eyes and come back to the land of the living. There was nothing, just the raspy breathing. Yet she felt him, felt his presence, could feel his emotions as they changed during the course of their one way conversation and knew that on some level he heard and understood her.

  When she was leaving she stopped by the nurses' station. "Henry sounds bad to me."

  "He's had a bit of a cold," the nurse answered. "We all have. As long as it doesn't turn into pneumonia, he'll be all right."

  All right. He was never going to be all right. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just died. And maybe his soul lives a very full life in a world we never see or touch or feel, and maybe he needs this body to be alive to live in that world. Who could tell, who knew? Henry was not brain dead. Who knew what went on in his mind? Maybe his life was like one long dream, sometimes bad and sometimes good. Just like her life. She would rather be dead than be like Henry, because you just didn't know. You just couldn't be sure what his life was like. If it was like anything at all.

  She had seen horrible things, lived through nightmares. But the unknown was the most terrifying thing of all.

  Chapter Eight

  "The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool

  walks in darkness: and I myself perceived also that

  one event happens to them all. Then I said in my

  heart, As it happens to the fool, so it happens even

  to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in

  my heart, that this also is vanity." Ecclesiastes 2:14&15

  A lot of people came to Ninth Street, but not many of them stayed. James Filbert the First was an exception to the rule. Ninth Street was his domain, his turf. He did whatever he liked here, and no one seemed to give a damn.

  He slammed the man's head into the wall again. "I told you, you old fuck," he liked the wet sloppy sound the old gook's head made when he struck him against the wall, so he did it again, "I need my money, and I need it now."

  "I not have money," the old Korean man said. "You said you protect, but you not protect. Last week robbed two times, so have no money."

  James laughed. "You were protected from me, you stupid old fuck." He let go of the old man for a minute and he slid down the wall to fall to a heap on the ground. James pulled on gloves and looked down at the heap without pity. "Guess I'm gonna have to make an example out of you now."

  He was about to grab the old man when a shadow fell across him. He looked up and saw a guy standing there in a purple cape and a ski mask. He had read the papers, and he'd heard the stories, so he was not amused by the man's ridiculous appearance.

  Suddenly he was seeing every evil deed he had ever done play out before him as if it were being pulled from his mind. Then there was a sudden tormentuous burning sensation in his brain. He crumbled to his knees. The burning intensified till his brain felt like it was going to explode, and then he pitched forward onto his face, dying. James cried out as his soul was ripped from his body. He looked down and saw his body, the man in the cape, and his former victim. For a hopeful minute he thought he was ascending into heaven, but the next there was pressure all around him—a dark place full of pain. He was swimming in blood, fighting to breathe. He was dying all over again. He couldn't breathe, and then suddenly there was a bright light in his face. Now he was cold, freezing cold, and something foreign was placed into his mouth. For a moment he thought they were going to suck his lungs right out of his chest. Everything was distorted like a bad acid trip. A huge man was holding him by his feet.

  "It's a girl," the man said.

  A woman with a big, ugly red face glared up at him and screamed. "A girl! I don't want a fucking girl! They said it was going to be a boy this time. My husband is never going to talk to me again."

  "Don't you want to hold your baby?" the man asked.

  The woman cried loudly and screamed, "Get it away from me!"

  James tried to scream out at them, to say that this was all wrong, but all that came out was one loud, long cry.

  Robby adjusted the ski mask to make sure that he was covered before he offered a hand to the old man.

  The old man took his offered hand, never taking his eyes off Robby.

  "You save miserable life. Kim Chung Lee not forget you save life."

  "I wish you would," Robby said. He released the old man when he saw that he was on his feet. "You'd better get some medical attention."

  Robby started to move away fast.

  "Kim not forget you, masked avenger. You ever need help, you ask Kim."

  Robby walked quickly to the truck, counting on the cover of darkness to hide him. He quickly took off his costume and stuffed it behind the seat. He breathed in and smiled. It felt good after all this time to have unleashed the power. Besides, how could he have justified watching as that scum beat the hell out of a defenseless old man? Still, he'd taken a risk. It was always a risk. He knew that now. He started the truck and took off. He couldn't afford to get caught.

  He remembered the tortured look on the scum's face as he died and smiled. He'd had to let too many of them slip away. It seemed unnatural for him to do so. Right now he felt high as a kite. This guy had been a really bad son of a bitch; now he was just one more stiff. Still, Robby couldn't afford to fall back into the pattern he had gotten himself into before. It was just too dangerous.

  He'd have to go back to the way he had been in the beginning. He had been careful and discreet, killing only as he had done tonight when the need to protect over-powered him. Once or twice a year. Since he had killed people that deserved it, no one had even looked for a killer, not really.

  But not getting caught had made him feel invincible and cocky, and he had gotten more and more reckless, till he was killing anyone he saw who was evil. He'd gotten careless and brought the investigation too close to his neighborhood. Too close to himself and his family.

  Still . . . He was a man who had very little control over his own life. His whole life seemed to be governed by other people's faults and their failure to hold up to their responsibilities. Responsibilities that he had to rush to fulfill before he was even old enough to know what he wanted for himself.

  His life was filled with obligations and duties. The whole world wanted a piece of him, and he felt like there was nothing in the world that was just for him. Except this, the rush he got when he changed the whole world by removing a pimple from the ass of humanity.

  Still . . . he had to be careful; he couldn't afford to get caught. That guy he passed in the bar last week, the slimy dick-wad who had mutilated an old lady and cut up cats just for the hell of it. He shouldn't have let him walk away. Maybe he could just kill him, too, tonight. Maybe no one would really notice. Or if they did, they wouldn't know it was him. He'd be more careful.

  Oh, God! She was hot, and so close. "Please, Baby
! Please!" she screamed. The fucking comlink went off. "Ignore it, please."

  Spider ignored it, the problem was that Carrie couldn't, and the moment was gone. She sighed, frustrated. "Oh hell, get the fucking link!" she screamed. Then she laughed and flopped back onto the pillow. "I hate those things."

  Spider got up, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

  "Sorry."

  She picked up her comlink and pressed the reply button.

  "This had by God better be good."

  "Sorry, Detective, but the Fry Guy is back full guns. We've got six corpses, each in a different section of town," he said.

  Spider looked at Carrie and winked. "You owe me a hundred bucks."

  "The Fry Guy?" Carrie asked, getting up and throwing on her robe.

  Spider nodded as she started to record the locations.

  Carrie's comlink went off then. She knew why; Richards had been having her do a whole lot more of the legwork lately. She glared at her reply button.

  "This guy picked a hell of a time to start offing people again," she mumbled.

  Spider walked in, pulling on her shirt. "What's that, Babe?"

  "I was this close," she said, holding up two fingers.

  Spider laughed. "Duty calls."

  "At times like this I wish we were meter readers."

  Carrie punched the reply button. "Hello . . . you called me . . . " She looked at Spider and smiled. "Yes, I had just heard . . . No, I don't mind at all going out to the crime scenes . . . Just so happens I was up anyway."

  Carrie slid across the seat towards her. "Something's not right with Richards. Lately he . . . Well, he used to be very hands on, and now it's like he's having me do everything important."

  "Tell him it's too much," Spider said.

  "I'm not complaining, in fact I like it," Carrie shrugged. "It's just weird, that's all."

  "He's sick. His heart, I think," Spider said matter-of-factly.

  "Come on! He just had his county physical. He's fine."

  "If you say so." Spider let it go. She drove at a quick but even pace, no sense squealing the tires off when you were going to look at corpses. Especially when you were hoping you wouldn't find any evidence.

  "What is it?" Carrie asked.

  "What?" Spider didn't understand her question.

  "Something's bothering you. Now what is it?" Carrie asked as she pushed Spiders hair back away from her face.

  "Do you really think it's such a good idea for you to show up with me at six o'clock in the morning at a crime scene?"

  "You mean because," she put a hand to her mouth, widened her eyes with a mock look of horror, and took in a deep breath, "someone might figure out that we're lovers!"

  Carrie laughed at the disgruntled look on Spider's face. Spider didn't really like to be teased at least not about this.

  "It's not funny, Carrie. I mean, you're the assistant DA, for God's sake. A lot has changed since the days when you could be fired for being gay, but the way most people feel still hasn't changed that much. Some day you could have a shot at DA if you don't blow it by . . . "

  " . . . looking too gay," Carrie finished for her. Carrie just smiled and shrugged, undaunted by her mate's worries. "Someday I will be DA. Which is why I can't afford to have a secret life. People will only trust me if I don't lie to them. If I'm not ashamed—and I'm not—then I show people that it's OK to be gay. In fact, that may be my campaign slogan—Vote for Carrie for DA! After all, it's OK to be gay."

  Spider laughed in spite of herself. "Catchy . . . But seriously, Carrie . . . "

  "I'm dead serious, Spider. I have never been in the closet, and I'm not crawling in there now. I am a public figure, and I am just going to get more public, so you're going to have to come out, too. Are you ashamed of me?"

  "Ah, come on, Carrie, you know that's bull shit." It was hard for Spider to get used to the idea that you could be open about your sexuality. "All right. If you don't care, I don't care."

  "No, I do care. I want people to know."

  "OK. Then I want people to know, too."

  Tommy got to the first crime scene before Spider. He thought about the twenty-five dollars he now owed Spider, and gritted his teeth. He looked at the body, and then had the officer cover the face again.

  He had really hoped that it was over, but it wasn't. The Fry Guy was back. It was his MO; scum ball with his brains fried in his head, no witnesses, and five would get you ten no evidence.

  Spider had said he'd be back. Just once, he wished the bitch would be wrong. He didn't want to catch this guy, but he didn't feel safe hiding him anymore, either, and he knew Spider knew a lot more than she was telling him.

  Spider drove up then. As usual, she was in no hurry. Carrie got out before Spider, and Tommy watched as all the ballistic boys and the detectives looked up and took notice. They were all staring and whispering, and he could guess about what. Carrie went to talk to the coroner as Spider walked up to Tommy.

  Tommy smiled. "Tongues are wagging."

  Spider shrugged. "Let 'em wag. If she doesn't care, why the hell should I?"

  She walked over to the body and raised the shroud, then quickly lowered it. "Yep, that's our boy all right. FBI here?"

  "Not yet," Tommy said. "I expect them in full force in the next couple of hours. We're spread a little thin right now, with crews at all six sites."

  Spider started walking and Tommy followed. He didn't know what she was looking for. Hard to leave foot imprints in pavement, and this guy never left any fingerprints. Even if he did, it'd be hard to pick out in an alley full of prints and partials. DNA? Well he'd have to actually get involved in some sort of struggle with his victims to get enough of that to be detected, and this guy didn't get close enough for there to be a struggle. Without knowing what kind of weapon he was using . . . There were no casings, bullets, or poison to be traced. Even if they were really trying to find this guy, Tommy was sure they couldn't do it. Except of course he wasn't at all sure that Spider didn't know exactly who the killer was.

  "So why six? It's been two months with nothing, and now all of a sudden we've got six corpses. Does that number mean anything? The amount of time in between?" Tommy asked.

  "No. He saw someone he couldn't let slip through, and once he had killed one, thereby alerting the cops that he was back anyway, he might as well finish his list."

  "His list?"

  "He hasn't killed anyone in two months, but he must have run into lots of people who needed to be killed. Remember that our government decided the prisons were overcrowded. He wouldn't have forgotten about them. He would have made a mental list, maybe even worked at figuring out what their patterns were. You know—like when they went out, where they lived. After all, four of these scum were killed in their own apartments."

  "We're on candid camera, Spider. Just because we're not tapped in yet doesn't mean that other people aren't. You've got to stop referring to the victims as scum," Tommy said, shaking his head. He looked away from any comlinks he could see and whispered, "We've got to start trying to solve this case."

  "No, we don't. We just have to look like we are," Spider said with a smile. When she took a quick look around, everyone stopped talking and tried to look anywhere but at she or Carrie.

  "Yes!" she screamed in a loud, clear tone. "Yes! I am sleeping with the assistant DA. In fact, I am living in the assistant DA's very lavish home. Yes, we do have sex, and, yes, she does look every bit as good naked as you all think she does. Now, do you think we could maybe get back to work? We've got six of these scenes to check out, and I'd like to get it done before the bodies start to rot."

  Spider noticed that Carrie laughed, shook her head, and then went right on talking to the coroner as if nothing had happened. Spider started walking around again and Tommy followed.

  "Oh! That was very tactful." Tommy laughed.

  Spider shrugged. Then she smiled and walked up to the wall. She looked at the bloodstain.

  "He started here tonight. I'll
just bet that blood doesn't belong to our scu . . . victim."

  "Our killer?"

  "No. How's this scenario. This scu . . . uh the victim is roughing someone up. He was an extortionist, so that isn't too terribly hard to believe. Our killer sees the attack and he decides to stop the scum-ba . . . victim. He kills him, and once he had killed him he decided to clean up his list. Kind of like you make a list of things you have to do around the house, and you put them off, and put them off, but then once you've done one of them you feel compelled to do everything on the list."

  Tommy looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  "Well, I do, anyway." She turned her comlink on then. "Forensics, I want a man over here."