Strange Robby

by Selina Rosen

  "Insane," Carrie finished for him as she came down the stairs tying her robe closed. She handed Spider a T-shirt. "What the hell are you screaming about?" she asked Tommy.

  "I was supposed to meet him at six. I forgot to set the alarm," Spider said as she pulled on her T-shirt. "I'm sorry, Tommy . . . "

  "You're apologizing to him," Carrie said in disbelief.

  She looked at Tommy. "Tommy, we almost got killed last night. Didn't you check your link this morning?"

  Tommy shook his head no.

  Carrie briefly filled him in on the events of the night before. " . . . We were filling out statements and dealing with the press until three this morning. I," she pointed at herself, "turned the fucking alarm off so that she could get some sleep, because she needed it. The world will not come to a screeching halt if you miss a day of practice. Or even two or three. I would like to wake up just one morning and not be alone, and I imagine Laura feels the same way."

  Tommy heard about half of what she said. "There is no excuse! When you break the rhythm you lose everything. She wasn't doing anything at six in the morning, so she should have been there."

  He glared at Spider. "You should have been there. You should have at least called to tell me that you weren't going to be there so that I could start without you."

  "I'm sorry, Tommy," Spider said though at this point there was a certain, "bite my ass" quality to her voice.

  "If it happens again that's it. I'm not doing this. You're too undisciplined as it is."

  "This is fucking insane!" Carrie said throwing up her hands. "You need a reality check, dude. Didn't you hear a word I said?"

  He didn't have to listen to her. She wasn't part of this. She should mind her own business. She had no idea what was going on. He ignored her. He looked at Spider. "I expect to see you at six. If you're not there I'll start without you, and that's it." He turned and stomped out of the house.

  Spider and Carrie just stared at each other.

  "What's with him?" Carrie asked.

  Spider shrugged. "He really doesn't like to wait? Hell, I don't know. He's never been that mad at me before."

  "What are you doing answering the door without a shirt on?" Carrie asked slapping at Spider's shoulder. Spider shrugged. "I was tired . . . I . . . I really don't know." She rubbed at her eyes. "I think maybe I'm a little punchy after last night."

  "Want to go back to bed?" Carrie asked.

  "To sleep," Spider said starting up the stairs.

  "If you say so," Carrie said wickedly.

  "You're not going to let me sleep until I give you sex, are you?" Spider said with a sigh.

  "No," Carrie said wickedly.

  "Well, come on then, let's get this over with."

  Tommy was still fuming when he got home. He walked in and slammed the door. Laura was sitting watching TV.

  "What's wrong, Baby?" she asked.

  "Spider never showed up! Started whining about having some kind of trouble in a bar last night!" Tommy screamed.

  Laura looked at the clock. It was only 8:30 now. She knew that was way too early for Carrie on a Sunday morning. "You went over to their house?" Laura asked carefully.

  "Of course I did!" Tommy screamed. "I had to make her understand what she had done! You can't break the rhythm. You can't . . . "

  Spider was on the TV. He sat down and grabbed the clicker from Laura to turn the sound up.

  " . . . that is what I said," Spider said, obviously agitated.

  "You took down the attacker with a beer bottle?" the reporter asked.

  "Yes, a beer bottle. What about that is so—beep— . . . ing hard to understand!"

  "Why didn't you use your weapon?"

  "Because the bottle was there, and my gun was hidden in my—beep— . . . ing boot. I wasn't on duty."

  The picture turned back to the reporter in the studio. "That's what the detective said. A beer bottle. And, once again for those of you who missed it. Here is the footage shot on the bar's surveillance camera."

  They played the tape, and Tommy watched, mouth open.

  "Between you and me, I think Detective Webb pulls that off with a lot of style, not to mention bravery under fire," the reporter concluded.

  Tommy turned the TV off and slumped back onto the couch. That was what Carrie had been trying to tell him, and he had been so consumed that it really hadn't registered. He had tuned her out because she was the "insignificant" woman.

  Laura stood up and looked down at him. "You OK, Tommy?"

  Tommy shook his head no. "You know . . . I almost hated my father because he put training and discipline above everything else. I always swore I'd never be like him. I told myself I didn't continue doing Jujitsu because it reminded me of him, but the truth is I was afraid of becoming him. Now look at me. I am my father. Screaming at my best friend over something as insignificant as missing an hour of running. She could have been killed last night! She'd probably had little or no sleep, and all I could think about was that she had kept me waiting. That she had broken training, messed up my rhythm." He looked up at Laura. "I love to fight. I didn't realize how much I missed it. I love the challenge, and Spider is a challenge. I think she could win competitions right now. She already knew hand to hand; she's just adapting what she already knows. She's coming up with an all-new system. It's Jujitsu, but it's not. But I don't love it enough to let it turn me into a single-minded monster like my father. Should I quit?"

  Laura sat down beside him, and then she put her arm around his shoulders. "I think training with Spider has been very good for both of you. I also think you both need to put it into some perspective. It is just a game, a sport, and since neither one of you are interested in competing, I think you might calm down just a little bit."

  "You think I should apologize to Spider?" he asked.

  "Yes, I do. Then I think you should cancel the Sunday night fights and spend some time with me. But I don't think you should quit fighting." She kissed him on the cheek. "By the way, while you're in such a good mood, Mom and Dad are coming to dinner." She laughed at the look on his face, then got up and started for the kitchen. "I'll get you a cup of coffee. Why don't you call Spider?"

  "Because they're probably having sex. They are always having sex." Tommy got up and followed Laura into the kitchen where he stood in the doorway and watched her as she poured him some coffee. "When I got there this morning, Spider came downstairs to answer the door. She was topless, and she was all scratched up. Looked like she'd been mauled by an animal."

  Laura handed him the coffee. "Topless? How do you mean."

  "Topless, as in her boobs were hanging out."

  Laura smiled. "And how were they?"

  "Surprisingly good actually, which was kind of disturbing. Imagine walking in on your sister in the shower and she turns around and she has this dick."

  Laura made a face. "I can imagine. Breakfast?" she asked.

  He nodded, sat down at the table and watched as she started making it. He helped with the housework, but he didn't cook. He sure hadn't learned how as a child, and as an adult he'd never had to. He'd always made enough money to eat out or had a woman to do it for him. He supposed this was sexist; he just didn't care as long as he didn't have to cook for himself . . . or do his own laundry.

  "I asked Spider what happened. She said Carrie did it, and she was grinning like an idiot." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'll just wait a couple of hours and then I'll call. Maybe they will have gotten it out of their system by then."

  "I hope not. Then they'll be as boring as the rest of our friends," Laura said.

  "I don't think Bud and Judy even smell at it anymore," Tommy said matter-of-factly. "Not that you can blame him. She's gotten so goddamned fat."

  "Tommy! What a horrible thing to say," Laura said angrily. "You mean you wouldn't love me anymore if I got fat?"

  "Were not talking fat here, Laura. The woman broke our fucking couch, remember? They had to cancel their trip to San Francisco at the last minute be
cause she couldn't get her fat ass into an airplane seat. That's not just fat. Hell, he'd have to roll her in flour and look for the wet spot, or just put his peter in a wrinkle and coast."

  "That is such a guy thing, Tommy. Did it ever dawn on you that maybe it's his fault she got that fat? They don't have the best marriage you know . . . "

  "Because she is a big, fat bitch. All that woman does is whine, bitch, and eat. I love that shit she does where he always has to get up and go take care of the kids. Says she's resting. Resting from what? Last time I looked, eating a Twinkie was not all that tiring. Bud used to actually be a happy guy. We used to have some good times. Now that bitch won't let us be alone for more than five minutes without her or a screaming, fucking kid."

  "She told me she doesn't think Bud loves her anymore," Laura said. "She's miserable, and that's why she's fat and angry."

  "He doesn't love her because, once again, she is a fat bitch. Give me a break! You know as well as I do that she has never had what you would call a sparkling personality. If she was thin, she'd still be a bitch . . . "

  "Ah! But if she was thin she'd still be fuckable," Laura said. "Because she's fat, she's not even good for that."

  "It's the double threat that makes Lenny go limp. You can handle bitchy, or you can handle fat, but fat and bitchy? No way."

  Laura laughed in spite of herself. "Well, she was bitchy when he married her."

  "Ah . . . but she wasn't fat."

  "You're horrible," Laura said as she set a plate of eggs on the table in front of him.

  "Oh. I'm sick to shit of all this politically correct bull shit. People are fat because they have no willpower and are lazy."

  "It's been proven that there is a fat gene . . . "

  "It's not like it's incurable, Laura. All they have to do is stop eating like fucking pigs. Judy claims she doesn't know how she put the weight on, because after all she doesn't eat as much as anyone else. Next thing you know she's stuffing her face full of fucking doughnuts."

  "That's what I love about you, Tommy, you're so compassionate and understanding," Laura said, shaking her head in disapproval.

  "That's me! I'm a sensitive guy."

  "You know, Tommy, some people don't mind being fat. It's not like it's illegal or anything. Some men actually like fat women."

  Tommy shrugged. "I don't have anything against fat people as long as they aren't bitches."

  She wanted to be mad at him, but she'd have to work at it, and it just wasn't worth the effort. Especially when, try as she might, she couldn't quite clear the politically correct fat hurtle herself. As much as she might want to, she just couldn't sympathize with people who said they couldn't stay on a diet. After all, her entire life from the moment she'd learned that she had diabetes had been one long diet. Every day was filled with things she wanted to eat that she couldn't, and things she didn't want to, but should. Reading the ingredients on everything she bought, asking in every restaurant, measuring her food at home. When she went to the bar and her sugar was all right she could have one wine cooler or a beer; that was it. It was a pain in the ass, but she did it to stay off of insulin and away from needles. Of course she knew diabetics who couldn't stay on their diet, so maybe it really was all a question of will power after all.

  "Will power challenged," Laura mumbled.

  "What's that?" Tommy asked.

  "Just thinking about how you never know what to call people anymore," she said. "You know, all the new labels that are supposed to be better than all the old labels. Like Native American, for instance. That has always bugged the piss out of me."

  "Why?" Tommy asked.

  "Well, tell me how stupid is this. We don't call them Indians anymore because that's wrong since they aren't from India. But we're going to call them Native Americans even though I'm fairly sure that the 'Native Americans' didn't call this country by the name of an Italian explorer."

  Tommy thought about that for a minute. "That is pretty stupid now that you mention it. Why couldn't we just continue to call them Indians when we're talking about all of them, since we all know what we mean, and call them by their tribal names when we're talking about an individual?"

  It had taken Spider awhile, but she'd finally gone back to sleep. Later she would wish she hadn't.

  The faceless woman screamed and screamed. She was in pain. She wanted Spider's help, but Spider couldn't reach her.

  They were poking Spider again. Poking her and talking, but she couldn't really understand what they were saying. The SWTF men just stood around and watched.

  The faceless woman screamed again. Spider was wrong, the woman wasn't in pain, she was mad and afraid.

  "Let her go, stop it!" the woman screamed.

  Spider became aware of her own tears now. She was scared, and it hurt. The poking hurt and she didn't like it; it was scary.

  "It will hurt less if you hold still," one of the men said.

  The car rolled over and over and over. She went out the window.

  There was fire, so much fire, and the woman screamed. She was trapped in the car. She needed help, but none came. Scott was running in circles around the car crying, "Mama! Mama!"

  Then everything was black and it was dark. Scott was crying and crying. She couldn't see him, but she knew it was him. She was scared, terrified, but she couldn't scream, couldn't even cry out, and she was trapped. A single light pierced the darkness, and then there were others. She knew what they wanted, what they wanted to do. They were going to poke her again, and she didn't want that. Finally she screamed.

  "Honey?" Spider heard Carrie's voice, felt her hand on her shoulder and felt reassured. "You OK?"

  "The club . . . it was no coincidence, it was some sort of test." Spider was sitting straight up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Her throat was a little raw and she realized she must have screamed out loud.

  "What?" Carrie asked.

  "Nothing, I'm sorry I woke you up," Spider said. She lay back down slowly, and Carrie curled herself around her. "Just paranoia, me trying to make sense of what happened—and the dreams."

  "Don't worry about me. It's about time we got up anyway. Who would be testing you, us, for what?"

  "I wish I knew. Dammit! It means something . . . I think the dreams are some kind of memory. Something to do with my mother." She shook her head. "Some kind of memory that I've buried or . . . I don't know."

  "I know a hypnotist. Good one. Works with us sometimes on potential witnesses. He could do a regression on you, and maybe see what you're repressing."

  "I don't think that's such a good idea. I'm fairly certain that knowing whatever I have forgotten could get you killed."

  The phone rang, and Spider was only too glad for the distraction. She answered the phone.

  "Hello."

  "Hello Spider, this is Tommy . . . Listen. I'm sorry about this morning. Sorry that I've been such a prick. Let's take today off. Give me a chance to put things back into perspective."

  "But what about the rhythms?" Spider teased.

  "I said I was sorry," Tommy said.

  "Apology accepted, and I'm sorry I didn't at least call."

  "Under the circumstances, I really couldn't blame you. Tomorrow morning at six o'clock?"

  "I'll be there," Spider said.

  "Great! I'll see you then . . . Oh, and Spider?"

  "Yes?"

  "Great tits."

  Chapter Twelve

  "As he came forth from his mother's womb naked

  shall he return to go as he came, and he shall take

  nothing for his labor, which he may carry away

  in his hand." Ecclesiastes 4:14

  Mark tried to leave a little early so that maybe they wouldn't find him. He tried to take a back way, a short cut he knew about that they probably didn't. Maybe then he could get home without getting beaten up.

  He hadn't meant to make them mad, but he wasn't going to give in to them again. His father had told him to stand up to them, but he was afraid. Afraid of
what he might do if they started hitting him.

  He was fairly certain that he'd managed to shake them when someone hit him in the back of the head with God only knew what.

  "Hey, dick head! Where the hell do ya think yer goin'?"

  Two sets of hands grabbed him and drug him into the alley. They slammed him against a wall and his pack broke, spilling its contents all over the ground.

  "Do . . . don't mess with me," Mark stammered out.