"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."
A man came over and Carrie followed him.
"What you got?" Carrie asked.
"Some blood on the wall there. I think the scum . . . "
Both Carrie and Tommy scowled at her.
"The victim may have been trying to extort money from someone. Then the Fry Guy saw that and killed the scu . . . victim. Whoever this guy was, he might have seen the Fry Guy. I'd like to take samples of the blood and run the DNA."
"That's a long shot," Carrie said. "There still isn't that much DNA on file yet, just criminals, municipal employees, and the military. You know what the odds are that you'd find a match?"
"True," Spider said. "But in the meantime we can look around the neighborhood for people who've taken a beating. Ask around. See who the sc . . . victim had been extorting money from. When we find him you can check to see if his DNA matches."
"Very good," Carrie said.
The forensics guy looked up from scraping the bricks. "Why don't you just run a spot on TV asking this guy to come forward? Offer a reward for information about the Fry Guy?"
"Because . . . " Carrie and Spider started at once.
Spider nodded and Carrie finished, " . . . the Fry Guy saved this guy from a beating. Maybe even saved his life. There is already a reward for information leading to the capture of the Fry Guy, and everyone knows that. If this guy was going to give the Fry Guy up, he would have left the crime scene immediately and called the station. As it is, a delivery man found the body."
"Isn't there a chance that this might actually be the Fry Guy's blood?" the pathologist asked.
"Well, duh, Flaggerty," Carrie said without much charity. "I have a weapon which fries people's brains in their heads at long distance, but I'm going to get close enough that you can knock me up against a wall. Get real."
She looked at Spider and Tommy's comlinks, obviously in the on position.
"Damn!" she muttered and walked away.
"I was just wondering," Flaggerty mumbled.
"It's OK, man," Spider said. "She's in a pissy mood. Comlink rang just before she reached climax."
"Jesus Christ!" Tommy cursed and stomped away.
"I hate it when that happens," Flaggerty said laughing.
The coroner's reports would prove that, indeed, the alley guy was the first one dead. The other crime scenes turned up no evidence and no witnesses. They were investigating the third crime scene when the FBI showed up.
Then there were the other guys. Two of them, from some agency they'd never heard of, but that the FBI seemed to know all about. The SWTF—short for Strange Weapons Task Force—turned out to be legit, and to have a higher clearance than anyone else on the scene. They hung around not really looking at anything. They didn't even ask any questions. They just stood around, watching and listening.
"Those So-what-if guys are giving me the creeps," Spider said.
Tommy nodded. "What the hell are they even here for? I expected to see them checking for weapon residue or something—anything. All they're doing is watching and listening to the rest of us. They don't even take their friggin' hands out of their pockets. There's something about them . . . It's all I can do to keep from walking over there and kicking their asses."
Spider nodded in excited agreement. "That's so funny! That's the way they've been making me feel all day. Listen, this is the last corpse. What do you say we go and see if we can find the witness?"
Tommy nodded and they left.
Carrie saw Tommy and Spider leave. The So-what-if guys watched them go, too, and then they started whispering. Carrie discretely called one of the policemen over.
Jacobs ran over only too willing to serve. "Sir?"
"I don't like the way those So-what-if guys . . . "
"So-what-if guys, Sir?"
Carrie quietly cursed Spider for giving them a nickname that was going to stick in her head better than their real one. "The SWTF guys. I don't like the way they're acting. They're spending more time watching our investigation than anything else. I want you to keep your comlink focused on them whenever possible. You understand? I want you to keep an eye on them while they're here."
"You mean spy on them, Sir?"
"It looks to me like they're spying on us. I think a little cautious scrutiny is in order. We didn't need them before this, so why are they suddenly here? I have a feeling that they know something we don't, so keep an eye on them. That's all."
He nodded and started to walk away.
"Jacobs!"
"Yes Sir?"
She pointed to her own comlink. "A link-eye, Jacobs. I want this on the record."
"Understood." Jacobs walked happily away. A personal assignment from the assistant DA! Acting on behalf of the DA! It wasn't every day that something like that fell in the lap of a rookie detective.
The So-what-if guys started to leave then. Jacobs looked at Carrie, and she nodded for him to follow them. He grabbed his partner and did so as discretely as possible.
He shook his head no, smiling, and seeming distressed at having to disagree. "Kim not know what you mean. Kim fall down stairs, have accident. That is all Kim know. Kim very clumsy old man."
Spider knew the old man was lying. She could make him tell the truth, but there was no profit in that for her. "Come on, old man, who do you think you're kidding?"
"Kim not good at English. Not understand what mean," Kim said.
Spider laughed. Tommy was not as amused. He took the old man's playing dumb as a lack of respect for his intelligence. The old man was staring at Spider's hands again. It wasn't unusual for someone to notice; it was pretty hard not to. But most people were polite enough that they didn't stare. He was a rude old fuck, and Tommy didn't like him. He reminded him too much of his father.
"Do you think we're stupid?" Tommy hissed in Korean.
The old man looked more than a little perplexed.
"Here's the shit," he continued, still in Korean. "They got your blood off the wall in the alley. We get a little blood from you, match it, and we know it was you in the alley when the victim was killed. We know that James Filbert was extorting money from you. If you're not careful, you could become our one and only suspect in the Fry Guy killings. Are you the Fry Guy?"
The old man seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he stuck his frail wrists out to Tommy and answered. "Yes, yes I am. I am the Fry Guy."
He had confessed to the Fry Guy murders, so they had to take the old man in whether it made any sense or not. The old man was weaving a tale about ancient ways passed down from the generations of his father. Telling how he looked around him and saw the corruption in the city and decided to lash out against it. It was a good story, but of the twenty-odd detectives, cops, and G-men that were hearing it, there wasn't one of them that believed it. They did, however, believe that he knew something. Finally, after four hours of intense questioning, the old man's story began to fray.
"Your store was open at midnight the night the murder of Jason Reeves took place, and witnesses saw you in the store. So how did you kill a man half way across town?" Carrie asked. She'd started getting tired of this two and a half hours ago.
"The ways of the ancients are mysterious and . . . "
"Cut the crap, old man," Spider screamed at him.
Carrie and everyone else in the room glared at her.
"Give me a big, fucking break. We all know he ain't the Fry Guy." She was hungry, and tired, and she wanted to go home sometime this week.
"Are you the Fry Guy?"
"No," Kim answered, and wondered why he had.
"Do you know who is?"
"No."
"Did you see him?"
The old man started to sweat. He didn't want to answer the question. He didn't want to hurt his benefactor.
"Ye.. yes."
Spider carefully worded her next question.
"Was he wearing a mask and cape, so that you couldn't see what he looked like?"
Kim was relieved. He wouldn't have to tell them anything they didn't already know, and that thing had left his brain so he could lie. "Yes, yes he was. He was very tall, very fair. I could see that around the mask."
"Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?" Carrie asked with a sigh. "Why did you pretend that you were the Fry Guy?" she demanded. She was tired and hungry, too. Besides, it had been a long day that had started with the ultimate frustration. When and if she ever got the bitch home, she was going to . . .
"He saved my life. I didn't want him to be punished. He is a good guy. Why you go after him and let bastards like Jimmy Filbert go free? Is this justice?"
It was a good question.
Carrie lectured the old man, slapped him on the wrist, and let him go; much to the astonishment of the detectives and G-men there assembled.
One of the G-men pulled Carrie aside. "You can't just let this guy go. He may have vital information . . . "
"This is my jurisdiction, and I can do whatever I damn well please."
"He could be our only witness . . . "
"We have five other witnesses that have seen the same thing. After extensive interrogation they told us no more. Less, in fact, than this man. He at least seems to have some idea of height and skin color, although I wouldn't trust anything he says."
"Why do you say that?"
"He was willing to go to jail for this guy. Do you really think he's going to give us anything that might really help us catch him?" Carrie asked.
The G-man nodded; she made good sense.
Carrie walked out of the room and doubled her speed to catch up to Spider and Tommy. She put her arm around Spider's waist.
"I'm done for the day. What about you, soldier?" Carrie asked with a wink.
Spider smiled down at her. "Do I have to warn you again about sexual harassment?"
"I think maybe I'll have to be debriefed," Carrie said.
Tommy threw up his hands and started walking away quickly. "That's it! I'm outtah here. See you tomorrow."
Spider laughed. "See you, Tommy."
Tommy drove home the long way. Kim had stirred something in him he thought was long dead.
He was thinking about his father. Something he tried very hard not to do. Too many bitter memories. Too much guilt. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty. It was his life, and he had a right to live it any way he liked. Intellectually, he knew that, but emotionally the loss of family and heritage seemed a high price to pay to go your own way. Still, it hadn't been his decision to be disowned.
When he had given up martial arts to take up a career as a cop, his father—and therefore the rest of his family—had separated themselves from him. If he went back to the constant training and the competitions, if he restored the family's honor, all would be forgiven.
Tommy didn't come back. Then when he divorced the wife his father had picked for him to marry a "round-eyes," there was no going back. He had been completely disowned and disinherited. Attempts to contact family members by mail were unanswered. Attempts to call were met with silence and slammed receivers.
To them he was little more than a nagging memory. In his father's mind, he had given Tommy everything, and Tommy had slung it back into his face. Tommy remembered a childhood of ritual and routine. Schoolwork and friends were placed in a position of little importance. Training and discipline were all that really mattered.
Tommy still trained, but not with any regularity. He took time to live, to feel, to love—his father never really had.
For all that they were lacking, he still missed his father and family and wanted to be a part of their lives. But they had cut him off and thrown him away, like a tumor that had been removed.
Did they even think of him? If they did, did they ever remember anything pleasant, any of the happy times they had shared? Or did they remember only that he had gone against their wishes and their customs; that he had broken discipline.
With a little help from Spider Webb, he'd become quite good at breaking the rules.
Laura had taught him how to relax and enjoy life. More important, she had made him believe that it was all right for him to be his own man. Laura believed that he had worth, no matter what he wanted to do, and so it wasn't hard for him to believe, either.
If you lived long enough you eventually learned the inevitable; sometimes to win is also to lose.
"It is not!" Carrie laughed as she walked across the kitchen to the refrigerator.
"It most certainly is!" Spider flopped down on a chair at the table.
"You want a beer or a coke?" Carrie asked, still laughing.
"Coke . . . . and voyeurism is a victimless crime."
"How can you say that? Many victims say they feel as if they have been raped," Carrie insisted.
"That's because they haven't ever really been raped. Besides, my point was that if you don't know you have a peeper, then it is a victimless crime."
"It won't hold water in a court of law, detective," Carrie said.
"We're not talking a court of law, madam DA, Sir. We've already established that the person involved doesn't know they have a peeper. So we're talking about the real world. If a woman or man doesn't know they're being watched, why should I bring it to their attention? As long as they don't know, they're not victims. I tell the perp to quit and I check to make sure he does. It's that simple."
Carrie sat down across from Spider. "OK . . . all right. I'm too tired to argue with you tonight. You hungry?"
Spider shrugged. "I could eat a sandwich. Want me to make you one, too?"
Carrie smiled. "I'd love you forever."
"You're easily bought." Spider got up and headed for the fridge. She pulled out the ingredients, and started making sandwiches.
Carrie looked down at her hands nervously. "You make judgment calls a lot, don't you, Spider?"
"What do you mean, Hon?"
"You . . . make up your own law, and you abide by that even if it's against the written law."
"Where is this coming from?" Spider asked with a laugh. "I thought you knew what kind of cop I am. You've seen my record; it more or less speaks for itself. No, I don't always play by the books, but I think I'm just. I'm not dirty, if that's what you mean."
"I know that, but . . . You know who he is, don't you?"
When Spider dropped the knife she was using, that was answer enough.
"You can't do this, Spider. You can't protect him. You've got to give him up," Carrie said. "I understand your frustration—believe me I do. But, Honey, they're bringing in the big guns. These SWTF guys look like they play for keeps. Did you know that they followed you today? I know because I had them followed. I don't like them, Spider. I think they're the kind of people who make people disappear, and I don't want you to be involved in this."
Spider quit what she was doing and looked at Carrie without really seeing her. How much should she tell her? How much did she dare . . .
"Carrie, I'm . . . I think I'm already in too deep."
"What about Tommy?"
"Tommy's not involved."
"Oh, please, Spider. Don't try to lie to me; you're horrible at it. You can't do this, it's too dangerous . . . "
"I'm not going to tell you what I know, Carrie. Not because I don't trust you, but because it's better for you if you can truthfully say you don't know. Plausible deniability and all that. There is nothing I can do now that will make this any less dangerous for me. I've reached a 'damned if I do damned if I don't' point. This is a lot bigger than I thought it was. Bigger than the government wants anyone to know. I don't know how, but the Feds are in it up to their beady little eyeballs, and so am I, whether I want to be or not."
In the next two weeks there were no Fry Guy killings, and no new leads in the case. There were fewer and fewer G-men, but the two SWTF guys were stuck on Tommy and Spider like glue.
Spider didn't like them. She tried to feel them out, but she could never get a real good handle on them. Worse than that, they seemed to be more interested in Spider than the case, and she was pretty sure she knew why.
Like Carrie and Tommy they must suspect that she knew who the Fry Guy was, and that she was protecting him, and unlike Carrie and Tommy Spider was pretty sure that the SWTF guys knew exactly why. Well, if they were waiting for her to take them to him, they had a long wait, because she didn't plan to go anywhere near him, ever.
She had told Carrie the truth. She was damned either way. In fact she was pretty sure that the best way to make sure you wound up dead would be to actually bring the Fry Guy in.
She was driving in spite of Tommy's protests, as she had been all week. This way she could keep an eye on the So-what-if guys. She looked in her rear view mirror, and there they were. She could lose them in traffic any time she wanted, but she didn't want to just now. Right behind them she could see Jacob's car. She was pretty sure that the So-what-if guys knew they were being followed, and that they knew that she knew that they were following her. They just didn't give a damn. That worried her.
It was, without a doubt, the most futile waste of the taxpayers' money that she'd seen in years, and she told Tommy so.
"I don't think it's so fucking funny," Tommy said. He looked nervous. "Those spooks give me the creeps. Why don't you just shake them?"
"Because they give me the creeps, too, and I don't want to give them any reason to shoot my ass," Spider said.
Tommy nodded; he supposed that made sense. He decided to change the subject. "So, Laura tells me your in-laws are coming in for the weekend."
Spider mumbled something incoherent and Tommy laughed.
"It won't be that bad."
"I really don't think I'm ready for this." Spider took a deep breath. "I can't believe she sprung this on me. Maybe I'll get shot."
"What are you so worried about? They know that Carrie's queer, so when she invited them to come and meet you I'm pretty sure they weren't expecting you to have a dick . . . "
"And did you know that you can't rent one for the occasion?" Spider asked, facetiously.
Tommy laughed and punched her in her upper arm. "You know what I mean. It won't be a shock. You're a good catch . . . I guess."
"Are you kidding? These are rich people, Tommy. I'm living in their daughter's house. It's going to look like I'm living off her. Which, guess what, I am! It's going to be the most uncomfortable weekend of my life."
Tommy laughed. "Worse than a pit in a prisoner of war camp."
"Hey! At least there I didn't have to worry about impressing anyone," Spider answered.
"You don't have to worry about impressing anyone now, Spider. You're a good person. Anyone should be proud to know you. Few people have done the kind of things that you have done. Personally, I have never known anyone I was more impressed with. You are courageous, loyal, and you always have minty-fresh breath."
Spider was more than a little taken aback, and embarrassed. "Well, thanks, Tommy. I feel the same way about you, except for the breath part."
"If you can make it through the weekend without farting and yelling Thar she blows! the way you always do, you ought to be OK."
Henry had been breathing funny again, and while trying to get him sorted out she had forgotten what tonight was. It wasn't until she pulled into the driveway and saw the strange car that she realized what she had just done.
"Holy fuck!" She looked at her watch. It was six thirty, and Carrie said dinner would be ready at seven o'clock. But she had expected Spider to be home at five thirty to help. She got out of the car and looked down at her clothes, on top of everything else she was filthy.
She rushed in the house and tried to get upstairs unnoticed so that she could get a shower and change.
"Honey, is that you?" Carrie's voice rang out from the living room.
"No, it's a fucking burglar. I just happened to have keys to your door," she mumbled to herself, then replied, "Yes. I had to work late." It was just a little lie. She still hadn't gotten up the courage to tell Carrie about Henry. Wasn't at all sure that she would understand, and didn't think now was the time to talk about it. "I'll just run upstairs and get cleaned up . . . "
"Well, come and meet Mom and Dad first," Carrie yelled.
"And when you're done meeting Mother and Father, I'll just run my fingernails across the black board about four thousand times," Spider mumbled as she drug her way towards the living room.
She'd seen pictures of them before, so there were no shocks. Tall, slender, slightly gray people who'd obviously had everything lifted and tucked at least once. They were attractive in a generic way, impersonal in a plastic-wrapped furniture sort of way, and looking at her as if they expected a genie to pop out of her butt.
"Hello," she said nervously.
"Mom, Dad, this is Spider. Spider this is my father, Robert, and my mother, Jill," Carrie said. Then she walked up and hugged Spider. If it were possible, Spider felt even more uncomfortable. She sort of hugged Carrie back without ever really touching her.
Robert walked up to Spider and shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. We've heard so much about you. Saw all your service medals—most impressive."
Spider met his wet-noodle handshake with a firm, confident grip that she didn't really feel. "Thank you, Sir."
Carrie's mother, Jill, hugged Spider. Spider tried and failed to figure out what to do with her own hands until she was released.
"I'd better go up and change," Spider said. "Excuse me."
Spider left at what she no doubt thought was a nice, even pace, but was in reality almost running.
"She seems very nice," Jill said.
Carrie sighed. She was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake. Spider was obviously miserable.
"Mother, all she said was hi."
"A police detective . . . " Her father said thoughtfully. "What kind of money does that bring in?"
"Don't start with that, Dad," Carrie warned. "It bothers her that there is such a difference in our incomes, so let's please just not talk about salaries."
"I was just interested," Robert said. "So, what can we talk about?"
Jill looked at Carrie and said, "She's not all sulky and sullen like that last friend you had, is she? I hate to see you going after the same type over and over . . . "
"Do we have to talk about every old girl friend I've ever had every time there's someone new in my life?" Carrie said, shaking her head in disbelief.
"There's something else we can't talk about," Robert said. "Better start making a list, Jill."
"Honey, you do tend to rush into things. You've known this woman for what, four, five months now? And, look, you've moved her into your home," Jill scolded.
"Could you just maybe give her a break?" Carrie screamed. She lowered her voice. "I love Spider. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."
"Well, gee! There's a new one," Jill scoffed.
"Do we have to do this? Christ, I've never done this before. I've never even lived with someone before. I've certainly never gotten this close to anyone after knowing them for such a short period of time . . . " Carrie realized she wasn't exactly helping her case. "If I said anything like that before it was . . . well it was bullshit so that you wouldn't bitch at me for sleeping with someone . . . " This also wasn't particularly helpful. "I love you, I want to see you. Why do you have to make me crazy?"
Her parents laughed.
"I'm sorry, Carrie," Jill started. "But did it ever occur to you that it isn't any easier or more comfortable for us to meet your new friend than it is for you, or for her? We love you, and we want what's best for you. We're not here all the time, so we have to find out as much as possible while we're here."
"I notice she's got really big hands," Robert said with a laugh. "I suppose that's got to be a plus."
"Robert!" Jill shrieked in disbelief.
Carrie blushed, but laughed anyway and shrugged. "It certainly doesn't hurt."
Spider picked at her dinner, not so much because she was nervous, but mainly because Carrie was a horrible cook.
"It's very good, Carrie," Jill said.
Spider was surprised when she realized Jill wasn't lying. She looked at the old man, and one look at his face told her that he felt the same way about the food as she did. This could mean only one thing; that Jill was as bad a cook as Carrie.
"What a world, what a world," Spider mumbled.
"What's that, dear?" Jill asked.
"Out of this world," Spider said.
"You are such a shitty liar," Carrie said with a smile. "Spider's a good cook," she told her parents. Then said to Spider, "I should have let you cook."
"I will next time," Spider said.
"So, working on any interesting cases?" Robert asked.
Spider opened her mouth.
"None that she should talk about at the dinner table," Carrie said with a warning look. The only case that Spider had that was interesting besides the Fry Guy cases was a mutilation down by the docks. Neither made for very pleasant dinner conversation.
"So . . . " Robert said with a smile. "How many girl friends have you had?"
"Daddy, for God's sake!" Carrie said, shaking her head in disbelief.
Spider smiled. "I've really only had one serious relationship besides Carrie."
"So, what happened?" Robert pried. "Why'd you break up with her?"
"Robert!" Jill protested. "You don't ask questions like that."
"Well, excuse the hell out of me, but how am I supposed to keep up? Every time I turn around there's something else I'm not supposed to talk about. You're making my head spin."
"A mortar hit her during the raid on Baghdad; she died instantly," Spider answered, not without emotion.
"I . . . I'm sorry," Robert said. "I didn't know."
"It's all right . . . " Spider said with a shrug. "How could you have known? I don't mind talking about her. She was a great gal, but she wasn't Carrie."
Carrie looked at Spider and smiled. She was proud of the way Spider was holding up under her parents' scrutiny.
"Was your father a police officer, or a service man?" Jill asked.
"My dad was a drunken plumber. My mother died in a car accident when I was three. I went into the military to get out of the house. While I was in the Middle East my brother was murdered, and so when I got back state side I became a cop."
Robert looked at his wife and smiled broadly. "So, now who asked a stupid question?"
Spider had gone to bed. Carrie and her parents had stayed up talking. After about thirty minutes Robert excused himself and headed for the guest room.
"She's led a very hard life, hasn't she?" Jill asked Carrie.
"Yes she has. But she hasn't let it make her crazy. She's a little nervous tonight. She's normally very animated, very funny."
"She have a death wish?" Jill asked seriously, looking at the wall where all her medals hung.
Carrie thought about that for a moment. "I think she did have. I like to think I've changed that. She . . . it's hard to explain, Mother. She can't walk away."
"What do you mean, dear?"
"If she sees something wrong, she can't just walk away. I don't think that will ever change. She's very good at what she does. It's amazing to watch her work."
"She must be good if they put her on the Fry Guy case."
Carrie nodded silently. "It's really sad. No one in law enforcement wants to catch him. Except maybe the Feds, and I'm convinced they just want him for his weapon."
"Any leads?"
"Not really." Carrie shrugged.
"I noticed her books . . . " Jill walked over to the bookshelves and started looking. "Unless of course your taste in reading has changed."
"They're hers."
"I can understand why she'd have an interest in criminals and criminal behavior. I guess that makes sense. But what is the fascination with the paranormal?"
Carrie was not about to answer by telling her mother that her girl friend had psychic powers. "She believes, or would at least like to believe, in the existence of psychic ability. The power of the mind."
"Everyone's had something happen that they couldn't explain. People who say they absolutely don't believe are lying, just as much as the guys who get on TV and tell you they can predict your future. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there," Jill said.
This started a conversation about the paranormal that lasted for two more hours.
Things were happening; things she couldn't understand. The SWTF guys were all around her. They were like giants. The faceless woman screamed and screamed, but Spider couldn't understand what she was saying.
The doctor said something to her father, something she couldn't hear. Was she sick? What were they doing to her? Why were they doing it? She felt fine until they kept poking her. Why did they keep poking her?
The faceless woman called to her. She tried to go, tried and couldn't. There was something between them. Something that she couldn't see. All she had to do was reach her.
Where was Scott? She couldn't see Scott. She screamed his name, but he wouldn't come.
The faceless woman said he was OK, told her to come on to follow her, but she couldn't get through the barrier and the SWTF guys were yelling at her and someone kept poking her.
She woke with a start and she was back in the hole. A pit with a lid. It was too hot to breathe. The stench from her own shit wafted up through the air, and the flies were as thick as water. They flew up her nose, and she brushed them away.
She was naked and filthy and filled with black hatred. She looked up and up to the roof of her prison. Twelve feet of sandy dirt. The hole was only six feet across and made out of sand. It didn't take a genius to figure out that if you tried to climb out the walls would cave in and you'd suffocate. Once every three or four days they pulled her out of the pit just long enough to wash her down with a high-pressure hose. They screamed at her to tell them where her base of operations was. Then they fought over whether they should screw her or not. So far the commander's insistence that she was unclean and was not to be touched was saving her from at least that. They'd beat her, kick her through the dirt till she was as dirty as she had been before the spraying, and then they'd sling her back into the hole. She'd tried to mentally push them, and had learned that the language barrier did more than stop her from talking to them.
There was no escape. No way out. Only sand and heat and flies, and yet she still wanted to live. Wanted to live and kill them all.
She yelled for Scott, but Scott was dead, he couldn't help her now. No one could help her now. She yelled for him any way, and the bastards threw rocks on top of the tin covering her hole. The sound was deafening, and she covered her ears and cowered into a corner. Maybe she should try to climb out. Better to die trying to escape than die like a neglected hamster in a cage.
There was light—too much light. She was blinded by the intensity of it, and they snared her by the shackles on her wrists with a curved pole before she had a chance to even put up a fight. At the top of the pit she looked into the eyes of the two turbaned bastards. They were alone. No doubt they weren't afraid of becoming unclean. They had just made a terrible mistake. She grabbed the pole one of them held with both shackled hands, ripped it out of his hands and slammed it into his head in one movement. Then she spun and hit the other. Both landed at her feet.
Most of them slept during the heat of the day. No doubt these two bastards had decided to use that as an opportunity to wet their winkies. One of them twitched, and she lifted the pole high and slammed it into him, crushing his face with such force that his brains oozed out of his head. She drug the dead men behind a wall out of sight. Neither one of them had any keys, but one of them had a knife. After several tries she was able to pick the lock and get the shackle off of one of her hands. She closed the loose end up over the other cuff. She grabbed their side arms first, and then she striped one of them and put on his clothes. She smiled because she knew now that she was very close to freedom. No one had sounded an alarm yet, so no one had any idea she had escaped.
She looked at the hole and then back at the now naked dead man. She quickly drug him over and dropped him in. Looking from the light into the darkness of the pit they might not even notice that it was a naked man instead of a naked woman. She quickly put the tin over the hole and quietly made her way through camp towards the motor pool. Even the guy in charge of guarding the motor pool was sleeping. The few people she'd seen moving around hadn't seen through her disguise. She got in a truck and turned the key. She was almost out of the motor pool when the alarm sounded. She sped up.
At the gates two guards stepped into her path, firing. She shot one, but before she could kill the other one a bullet struck her in the stomach. It was hard and hot. She crashed through the gates and down the road out into the desert. She didn't know how long she drove or how far. It was hot. She'd packed her wound, but something was wrong, and she was going to need medical attention soon. Problem was she had no idea where she was. The jeep started to act up, and she realized that she had run out of gas. She looked up at the blazing sun. It was still a long time till nightfall. The jeep sputtered and died.
She dug a pit under it and crawled in to hide from the rag heads and the sun. She had survived the situation, but she was God only knew where, she was badly wounded, and the water stored on all of the vehicles wouldn't last forever. There was a stench coming from the wound that she knew only too well. The bullet had hit a section of bowel. With or without medical attention, infection would set in. Without that attention, she wouldn't survive. It didn't look good. She looked at the gun she held in her hand and decided. She'd take a nap. If she woke up and was in too much pain, she would just shoot herself.
When she woke up she was in the hospital. The SWTF men where there, too. They were arguing with the faceless woman, and people were poking her. Her stomach was better, so why were they poking her?
"She's very important to us," the SWTF men said.
The faceless woman was calling to her, but she couldn't reach her. Somehow she knew that everything would be all right if she could just reach her.
Spider woke with a start and sat straight up in bed. She took several long deep breaths, wondering if she was really awake this time.
"Spider, are you all right?" Carrie asked.
Spider jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. She ripped off the T-shirt she was wearing and stood before the mirror looking at her stomach and the scar that ran across it.
"Spider," Carrie said sleepily from the door. "Are you all right?" she asked again.
Spider turned to look at her. She saw the light of false dawn struggling to get through the drapes just behind Carrie. She turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over her stomach.
"Yeah, I'm all right. I just had a nightmare."
Carrie came up behind her and hugged her.
"It was so real. One of those things where you dream that you wake up, but you're not really awake, and then when really horrible things keep happening you think they're real."
"I'm so sorry, Baby."
"The worst part was that part of the dream was something that really happened. So it was like the whole thing must have happened, do you know what I mean?"
"Yes . . . " Carrie said. "They're the worst kind. Hard to tell for a while where fantasy ends and reality begins. Want to talk about it?"
"Not really." She slapped herself in the head with the palm of her hand hard enough that it hurt, then turned to face Carrie. "I know why I had the fucking dream. I'm going to kill Tommy."
"Why?" Carrie asked.
"I was complaining about your parents staying with us. Tommy said if I'd lived through a prisoner of war camp I could live through a weekend with your parents. That's why I dreamt about the camp. The hole." She was thoughtful then. "But what was all the other shit? With the So-what-if guys and the faceless woman."
"Why were you looking at your stomach?" Carrie asked carefully.
"I don't know." Spider forced a smile. "I was weirded out, and I guess I thought if I saw the scar instead of a bloody wound I'd know I was awake."
Spider looked into the mirror at the scar on her stomach and the one on her shoulder, and hip. Her body was littered with scars, some small and some large, and all of them had a story. Most of the stories weren't pleasant, but they were hers.
"I'm kind of fucking beat up."
"I think you're beautiful," Carrie said. She wrapped her arms around Spider's waist and lay her head on her shoulder. "I like your scars; they're part of you."
Spider laughed. "You're a little sick, Honey, but I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I'm certainly lucky that love is indeed blind."
"Can you go back to sleep?" Carrie asked.
"Maybe, but I don't want to," Spider said. "Why don't you go back to bed, though? I know you came in late."
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Spider said. "I have a lot of nightmares, Carrie. I always have. Even when I was a kid, way before the war. It's normal for me. Now go on back to sleep. I'll be fine."
Carrie was too tired to argue.
Spider watched Carrie lie back down, and then she found her T-shirt, pulled it on and headed downstairs. In the kitchen she started a pot of coffee, and then she punched up her comlink to see what the night's events had been. Mostly to see if the ballistics information had come in on their case. The whole time she was doing it she was trying to figure out what the fucking dream meant. If she could ever figure out who that faceless bitch was, what her presence meant, then maybe the nightmares would stop forever. At the very least, maybe the faceless woman would move out of her head.
Ballistics still hadn't processed their evidence. No doubt they'd have to wait till Monday now. She turned her comlink off and got a cup of coffee. She looked at the kitchen clock and cringed; it was only six thirty. God only knew when she'd gotten up, or when Carrie finally would. She could spend hours rattling around the house, trying not to make any noise until the rest of them got up. Then she would have to spend a whole day in parent hell. Why couldn't the comlink buzz her in to work now? The fucking thing only buzzed you in on your day off when you were supposed to do something you wanted to do, or were in the middle of sex.
"Life sucks," she muttered.
She'd never really had parents as an adult, so she really didn't know what was expected of Carrie by her parents or what Carrie expected of them. As a child, her father had expected her and Scott to stay the fuck out of his face and she had expected him to be passed out drunk by eight o'clock. Somewhere between her own memories and TV families must lie the norm.
She sure as hell didn't know what any of them expected of her. Was she supposed to make herself scarce for the remainder of the visit? Or was she expected to be constantly there, struggling to act entertained. Or was she expected to entertain them, and if so, how?
"I could show them my scars," she muttered.
She took a sip of coffee; it was too damn hot. So she spit it back into her cup and went to the sink to get a long drink of cold water. After a minute, she decided there was no permanent damage. Sitting back down at the table, she stared at the offensive cup of coffee. It was going to be a long day.
Spider had no idea there were this many antique stores in the entire state, much less the city. The first couple had been interesting enough, but how much old junk could you look at?
Carrie moved up beside her and took her hand. "You're bored now, aren't you?"
"No. I was bored three hours ago. I can't even tell you what I am now, because no one has made a word for it yet." Spider forced a smile. "I suppose I'll live. I'm just tired."
"Thinking?" Carrie asked.
Spider nodded. "That damn dream. It keeps playing over and over in my head. I can't understand what my imprisonment has to do with the rest of the dream."
"It's just a dream, Honey. Dream's are like that, weird and . . . " She shrugged. "Well, distorted. If you try to figure out what they mean, you'll go crazy."
"Oh, Carrie! Look at this," Jill cooed from across the store. "Wouldn't this just be divine in your dining room?"
"No!" Spider said adamantly in Carrie's ear. Spider was damned if she was going to stand by and watch Carrie spend more money on a, what-ever-the-hell it was, than she made in an entire year.
Carrie smiled and let go of Spider's hand.
"I'm just looking," Carrie said. She started across the store.
After only a moment's hesitation, Spider hurried to catch up to her.
"Carrie, wait!"
Carrie turned to face her.
"It's your house and your money. I shouldn't have said anything, and I'm sorry."
Carrie just smiled at her and shook her head. "It's our house, and you have the right to say what you want or don't want in it. But, for the record, if I wanted the damn thing, I'd buy it." She poked Spider on her chest with her finger. "And nothing you could say would stop me."
Spider smiled back. "So much for my dreams of dominance."
"Carrie, come here," Jill demanded.
"And mine," Carrie smiled helplessly, shrugged, and went to join her mother in ooing over the breakfront.
Spider started looking around the store. She smiled at herself. I've got to learn to relax. I've got to quit apologizing for everything I do. Carrie wasn't mad at me. She doesn't really get mad. She just lets things slide and . . . What the fuck!
Spider took a step back. Then she picked up the picture with trembling fingers. It was an old, antique, sterling silver frame, but that wasn't what was giving her the shakes. It was the picture. It was a picture of a young woman with an infant on her lap. A little boy stood at her knee looking at the infant. The boy was undoubtedly her brother, Scott.
She flipped the frame over, undid the clamps, and took the photo out. On the back of the photo it said Scott, four & Spider, six months. She put the frame down and turned the photo over. She looked at the woman in the photo long and hard. She was finally seeing her mother. Tall and slender . . . My God I look like my mother! She quickly dried the tears from her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat.
"You there! What are you up to?" the shopkeeper asked as he approached her.
She looked at him.
"How much?" she asked.
"Three hundred and fifty dollars," he said, and looked at her as if to say I know you don't have it.
"I don't want the frame," Spider spat. "I just want the photo."
She looked around to make sure that Carrie and her parents weren't paying any attention to her. They weren't. She pointed at the picture.
"This is a picture of my mother, my brother and myself," Spider whispered. She turned the picture over and showed him the back. "I'm Spider, my brother's name was Scott. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father got rid of all her pictures. This is the first time since I was three that I've seen my mother."
The man's expression changed immediately. He looked from the woman in the picture to the woman that held it and had no trouble believing her story.
"Tell you what, kid. The frame is what's for sale. Why would I charge you for the photo when it's obviously yours?"
"Thanks. Thanks a lot," she said.
"I'll put it a sack for you."
He did so, and she thanked him again.
"So, what did you buy?" Carrie asked when they were back in the car.
"I'll tell you later," Spider said quietly, but she was smiling, which Carrie didn't really expect.
In fact, Carrie couldn't remember ever seeing her this happy except right after they'd had sex.
Carrie started to look in the sack.
"Please, Carrie?" Spider pleaded.
Carrie put the sack down and nodded.
"Must be for you, dear," Jill said.
"Leave the kids alone, Jill," Robert said. "Can we go home now? My legs are about to fall off my body."
"It's too weird," Carrie said looking at the picture Spider had handed her a few moments before. "You didn't know what your mother looked like."
"No. Like I said, I was about three when she died. My father got rid of all her pictures, put them away, or sold them. Makes sense that he'd pawn them off for the frames."
"Still, what are the odds?" Carrie said.
"Apparently pretty good." Spider took the picture from Carrie and looked at it. "Is it just wishful thinking, or do I look just like my mother?"
"Except that you'd never be caught dead in a dress, I'd think that was you. Even her hands are . . . ''
"Freakishly large," Spider said with a smile.
"Well, I don't think they're freakish." Carrie was embarrassed, and she was blushing. Something she just didn't do. "I like your hands."
Spider laughed at her back peddling. "Carrie, I'm not self-conscious about the size of my hands. I guess I should be, I mean it's not like I don't know that they're abnormally large, but it just doesn't bother me. Never has. Scott had big hands, but Dad didn't. So I always figured it was a good thing."
Carrie grinned wickedly. "A very good thing."
Spider put the picture carefully on a shelf and lay down on the bed beside Carrie. Spider was quiet, pensive.
"What's wrong?" Carrie asked, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Spider's face.
"I was just thinking how different my life might have been if I'd had a mother, or if Scott were still alive. I spent a big chunk of my life working very hard at not caring too much, because, let's face it, I just don't have a very good track record. Sometimes it worries me that I love you as much as I do."
Carrie thought about it for a second. "I'm glad you love me, and I don't believe that it means I have been marked for impending doom. In fact, I have never felt so safe in my whole life. I don't believe in curses or bad luck."
"Me neither, not really." Spider snuggled close to Carrie. "So, you want to have sex?"
"Oh my God, Spider!" Carrie screamed sitting straight up in bed.
"OK, all right. We don't have to. I understand if you're a little up tight what with having your parents in the house and all," Spider said quickly.
"That's not it," Carrie laughed and turned to look at Spider. "Spider, the faceless woman in your dreams . . . "
"Yes?"
"It's your mother."
It was so obvious that Spider could have kicked herself. The dreams almost made sense now. The child inside her equated safety with getting to her mother. Of course she couldn't reach her mother, because her mother was dead. It was kind of disturbing if you thought about it, which Spider tried not to. The woman had no face because Spider didn't remember what her mother had looked like.
The department shrink didn't seem to see any significance in her finding a picture of her mother. Or in Spider's realizing that her mother was the faceless woman in her dreams. In fact, she wasn't even sure that he was awake until he asked a question.
"What do you suppose the SWTF men represented in your dream?"
"I don't fucking know. I thought that was what the department was paying you for."
"And why do you think you dreamt about being a prisoner in a hole?"
"Well, duh. Because I was a prisoner in a hole for five weeks, and my stupid-assed partner reminded me of it," Spider said. "Do I really have to keep coming in here? Because if you're just going to sit there while I answer all the questions, you're wasting my time."
"You don't think that I'm helping you?"
"Well, no," Spider said. Is this guy a fucking idiot or what . . . How fucking stupid is he? The fucking department is paying him a small fortune to sit on his ass and look bored. Guess he isn't stupid at all if you think about it. He is, however, a fucking asshole.
"Why don't you think our sessions are helping you?"
"Because you ask me stupid assed questions and you never seem to be listening to me when I answer them. Also, I'm not any better or worse than I was when I first came in here. So I have flashbacks. Big fucking deal. Everyone remembers stuff. It has never gotten in my way at work, never caused any real problems. It's not like I run around trying to shoot people or anything. I figure that these so-called post traumatic shock episodes come with the territory. If you'd been through what I've been through, and seen the things I've seen, you wouldn't be able to erase it from your brain, either. You try sitting in a fucking pit for five weeks. Smelling your own dung. Getting the crap beat out you on a regular basis. So fucking hot you can't breathe. No idea what tomorrow's going to bring, or even what day or time it is. Then see if you don't change forever. All of the therapy in the world is not going to put me back where I was before I stood in a trench and had pieces of my dead lover's body slap me up-side the head. I'm not sure I would want it to. To be so called normal after that, to my way of thinking, would make me one sick fuck. The bottom line is that you don't give a damn whether I live or die, and I know it. So how the hell could talking to you help me?"
"What makes you think I don't care about you, or what happens to you?"
I'm fucking psychic, you dork. "I can tell. I'm not a fucking moron, you know."
"I don't think that you are. I am listening to you . . . "
"You fucking annoy the hell out of me," Spider said throwing up her hands. "I try to tell you something I think is very enlightening, and you're blowing me off. Only to ask some stupid assed question about the So-what-if guys."
"I think you may have trouble with authority figures," the shrink suggested.
"I have trouble with you!" Spider spat back.
"And why do you suppose that is?" he asked.
"Because I don't like you. You're a big, dumb, never-been-anywhere, never-done-anything, had-everything-fed-to-you-on-a-fuck-ing-silver-platter JERK!"
He looked at his watch, then at her. "Well, that's our time for today. I think we've made a lot of progress."
Spider got up and headed for the door. When she reached it she turned and looked at him. "I suppose if I told you to eat shit and die, I'd be fucking cured."
Tommy met her in the hallway. "Well?" he asked.
"He's a friggin idiot," Spider said.
Tommy laughed. "Why do you say that?"
"He thinks I'm well on the way to recovery because I hate his guts."
"Makes sense to me," Tommy said. Spider just stared at him and he smiled. "If the guy knows he's an asshole, maybe that's how he knows someone else is sane; whether they hate him or not."
"You keep trying, but it's just not working for you, Tommy. Thousands of comedians out of work, and here you are trying to be funny," she said. They were almost out the door when their comlinks buzzed and they were called back into the lieutenant's office.
"Come in," the lieutenant ordered.
Tommy wondered why he always did that. Did he really think they were going to stand in the hall like dorks till he told them it was all right to come in?
"Better sit down."
They did.
"DA Richards just suffered a major heart attack. The doctors say it's bad. They're hopeful about his recovery, but in the mean time . . . " He looked at Spider. "Your . . . whatever the hell you call her, is the acting DA. Don't think that gives you one damn bit more privilege than anyone else in this department."
Tommy worked hard at not smiling. It was easy to see that this really chapped Toby's ass. It was no secret that he disliked Spider Webb. Toby liked to think that you could do things by the book and get results. Tommy and Spider proved almost daily that you could get a hell of a lot more done if you weren't afraid to bend the rules.
Toby could tolerate Tommy. Tommy wasn't as abrasive or openly insubordinate as Spider. Tommy knew when to keep his mouth shut. He knew how to look as if he had been duly chastised, and to a superficial bastard like Toby that was all that really mattered.
Tommy looked at Spider. She was obviously upset, more than he thought she should have been. He knew she liked and respected Richards, but he doubted that was the reason that she looked like she was going to strangle Toby with his own testicles.
Tommy steeled himself for her attack and the repercussions.
"I call her Baby. I'll be sure to tell her just how much respect you have for her and our relationship." She glared at him. Then she stood up, walked over and put her fists on his desk.
Tommy waited for Toby to order her to get her hands off his desk, as he usually did.
But Toby could see Spider's face, and knew before Tommy did just how mad Spider really was. Toby kept quiet.
"You're way the fuck out of line!" Spider screamed. "If I was the kind of pencil pushing, paper crunching geek that you are, I'd probably be bringing you up on charges right about now. Don't you ever accuse me of asking for or receiving special treatment, or I'll have your fucking job. And don't you dare bring my private life up when either of us are on duty or in front of my partner. You got trouble with me? Then you meet me after work somewhere, and we'll discuss it then. Not here where your fucking rank protects you."
She stood up straight and left the room.
Tommy looked at the lieutenant, shook his head, and followed his partner. He had to run to catch up with her.
"Pencil pushing, paper crunching geek!" Tommy laughed in spite of himself. "That's pretty bad, even for you."
Spider stopped dead in her tracks and turned to glare at him. "You think this is funny, Tommy?"
Wow! She really is mad! "I'm sorry. I just don't get it. What's the big deal? He's said worse things and you didn't get nearly this pissed off."
Spider started walking again, and he followed.
"No, you don't get it, do you, Tommy? Because in a way you're just like him. You don't really think of mine and Carrie's relationship as being the same as you and Laura's. This was a personal attack on Carrie's integrity as well as my own," Spider said. She seemed to calm down a little. "That little crack, calling Carrie my 'whatever the hell I call her.' He wouldn't do that to you, or to any straight person on the force. He obviously has no respect for me—that I can live with. But he doesn't respect Carrie. He thinks he's better than her because he's straight and she's not. As if the true test of a person's worth is who they fuck. I knew he didn't like me, but now in know he hates my guts, and I haven't done anything to deserve that."
Tommy nodded. He understood now. If someone said something he didn't like about Laura he'd have to kick their ass. "Spider, don't lump me with him. I'm on your side, always have been, always will be. Just because I don't wear an 'I love my gay friend' T-shirt and march in a freaking parade doesn't mean I don't understand that you're the same as us."
Spider nodded silently as they walked across the parking lot towards their car. Spider even let him drive without an argument. Tommy slid into the driver's seat as Spider climbed in and shut the door. Tommy started the car.
"If you feel that strongly about it, why don't you bring him up on charges? He's a dick; maybe this is our chance to get rid of him."
"Are you nuts!" Spider said.
Tommy shrugged and pulled the car out into traffic.
"If Richards is down for the count—and I hope he's not—but if he is, Carrie's going to be running for DA with less than six weeks left to campaign. She wants to be DA. She'd never run against Richards, but if Richards is out . . . I can't help not having a dick, but I'm sure as hell not going to do anything else to ruin her chances. She'd never forgive me if I did. Hell! I'd never forgive myself." She took a deep breath. "Besides, I have to work here. Most of the guys we work with wouldn't understand why I was making such a big fuss. Hell, most of them aren't any more comfortable with me than he is. If not because I'm gay, then because they know I can kick their fat, fucking, out of shape, donut-eating asses."
Tommy nodded. She was right. He would have liked to tell her she was wrong, but he knew it was true, because they felt the same way about him. The ones who weren't uncomfortable around him because he was Asian didn't like him because they knew he could kick their fat, fucking, out of shape, donut-eating asses.
"Yeah, if you brought charges whether you won or not you'd lose the respect of every other cop on the force. We have enough trouble getting backup as it is. Unless of course they all hate him as much as we do."
"Even if they hated him . . . Face it, he was out of line, but if I brought charges against him it wouldn't be because I felt that I had permanent emotional scars, but because I don't like him."
Spider grabbed the rear view mirror and repositioned it even as Tommy protested.
"Goddamn it, Spider . . . "
"Hey!" She repositioned it again. "Well, I'll be damned! The So-what-if guys have stopped following us."
"They were only following us in the first place because they think you know who the Fry Guy is. Which you do," Tommy said, readjusting the mirror so that he could actually see.
"Shush . . . shush . . . shush. Don't say shit like that when we're in the car. First off, I don't know who he is. Second, how do you know our fucking car isn't bugged?"
Tommy laughed. "Now you're just being paranoid. They wouldn't bug our car."
Spider knocked on Tommy's head. "Hello! Is anyone home?"
"Ow! Stop it!" Tommy pushed her hand away and rubbed his head. "That hurts!"
"Well, wake the fuck up, then. If they're going to follow our every fucking move for weeks, I don't think they are above bugging the car."
Tommy nodded. She had a point—and not just the one on the top of her head. "We'll go back to the garage and have the mechanic run a diagnostic. That should turn up any foreign objects in the car."
"That's not a bad idea," Spider said.
They turned around and went back to the station.
"What did you fuck up now?" Ricky the head mechanic asked.
"Nothing, butt head," Spider said. "We might have a bug in the car."
"So spray a little raid on it . . . "
"Not that kind of bug, ya fucking moron," Spider spat.
"Could you just run a diagnostic scan over the car?" Tommy asked.
"What good will that do?" Ricky asked, wiping his grease-covered hands on the hood of their car and glaring at Spider as if daring her to say something about it.
Spider didn't give a damn if the car was dirty, but she didn't like the fact that he was trying to push her buttons.
"Ricky, you goddamn weasel faced little creep . . . "
"Could you just run the diagnostic, Ricky? Then we can go," Tommy said.
Ricky nodded, popped the hood and started hooking the car up to the diagnostic.
"Don't know how this is going to help, but if it will get that bitch out of my hair . . . "
"Why you little . . . "
Tommy grabbed her arm and stopped her forward momentum.
"Did you ever hear the old saying, 'You get more flies with honey than you do with shit'?" Tommy asked in a whisper.
"He started it," Spider whispered back. "You'd think they were his fucking cars."
"Spider, the car you hit in the parking lot was his car," Tommy reminded her.
"That was five years ago. It was completely his fault, and his fucking insurance paid for the damage. Why can't he let it go?"
"Oh, I don't know, Spider, maybe because you keep calling him a moron?" Tommy suggested.
Spider smiled. "Like it's my fault his fucking parents were brother and sister."
Tommy laughed and shook his head.
"Except for trash and crap in the ashtray, under the seats and on the dash board it looks clean!" Ricky screamed from his place at the computer screen. "Lots of dirt in your carpets."
Spider and Tommy joined him at the computer screen.
"What's that?" Spider asked pointing.
"That's a tiny piece of dust in the overhead light, bright spot," Ricky laughed.
Spider went to the car with a screwdriver and pried the cover off the dome light. It took her several minutes of searching, but she found what she was looking for. She retrieved it and took it over to Tommy. It was no bigger than the head of a pin.
Tommy looked at it. "What the hell is it?"
"I think it's a bug," Spider said.
"Fuck me." Tommy breathed. "Ricky, you have a magnifying glass?"
"Why would I have a magnifying glass in a garage?" Ricky asked, looking over Tommy's shoulder.
"So you could see to pee," Spider answered.
"Oh, you're so funny, Webb," Ricky said without humor. "Why don't you get your own sitcom?"
"Good idea. I wonder if they could get me some fat, balding dickless fuck with thick glasses to play off of . . . Hey! What are you doing next week?"
"You call me a moron, meanwhile you think a piece of dust is a fucking bug," Ricky said.
"Shut up, both of you!" Tommy looked around, then he grabbed Ricky's glasses off his face.
"Hey!" Ricky protested.
"Just need them a second," Tommy said. He held the glasses over the speck of metal on Spider's finger, and he was looking at a bug. "Damn, we're fucked."
"You're a genius, Tommy," Spider said looking at the bug through the glasses.
Tommy handed Ricky his glasses back.
"What now?" he asked Spider.
"We throw the fucking thing into traffic so that they have to start following us again."
And she did.
"Goddamn it!"
Kirk Anderson slung the headphones across the van, as loud street noise filled her ears.
"They found the fucking bug."
Jason Baker rubbed his chin. "It's all right. We still have the others. Sooner or later she's gonna slip and give him up. When she does, we'll have both of them."
"One of those fucking things . . . " Tommy was still whispering as they were driving. They had thrown every spec of trash away and vacuumed the car, but he still didn't feel safe. "It could fucking be anywhere, in our clothes. Hell, there could be hundreds of them everywhere and a normal bug detector would never find them."
"The car scan did," Spider said thoughtfully.
"It's a diagnostic program set up to look for anything—even a piece of dust in a fuel line. It has a complete schematic of the car programmed into it. A normal detection device wouldn't have a chance. That thing wouldn't, couldn't emit enough energy. Who the fuck are these guys, Spider? Where did they get equipment like this, and why the hell are they after us?"
Spider stared out the window, obviously deep in thought.
"Well!" Tommy demanded.
"I don't know," Spider said after a moment's thought. "It's not just the Fry Guy thing. I'm sure of that."
Tommy glared at her. There was something she wasn't telling him.
"I swear, Tommy, I don't know any more than you do."
He glared at her again.
"Not about the So-what-if guys, anyway. They don't know any more than Toby does about what I know about the case—they couldn't. We certainly aren't suspect enough for them to tail us and bug us. So there has to be something else."
Tommy nodded. "But you do know who the Fry Guy is. I know that, and if they've been bugging us, you . . . then they might know, too."
Spider nodded. "I guess, but I don't think that's all of it."
"So what now?" Tommy asked.
Spider thought for a moment. "Well, I don't know about you, but after much consideration I have decided to take a personal day. Richards is down, and Carrie'll need me."
She punched up her comlink and in put the necessary data into the main computer. "Take me back to the station so I can get my car."
"Spider . . . ." He turned the car around. "What the hell are we going to do about this?"
"Well, I hate to answer a question with a question, but what the hell can we do?" Spider said. "If it's any consolation, I don't think they're after you. I think they're my problem. Since I have no idea who they are or what they want, I'm just going to have to wait for them to make their move and hope I can handle it when they do."
Spider found Carrie at the hospital with Richards' wife. Carrie ran to meet her and threw her arms around Spider's neck. Spider held her tight. Carrie'd obviously been crying.
"I was at work, but I thought you might want me here."
"I do," Carrie said. She dried her face on Spider's shirt and then drug her over to meet Mrs. Richards.
The woman was obviously anxious and upset. Spider felt the woman's pain, and was glad. She had often talked to wives or husbands in hospitals. Too many times there was nothing but relief and a hope that the person would die. Usually, if there was any anxiety, it was because of the bill. For most couples the love didn't last, it got torn apart by promises unkept, dreams unfulfilled, and resentment over lost time. They were trapped in a relationship they couldn't get out of without losing everything they'd worked for, or breaking vows they didn't want to keep. For them death was a welcome answer to their problems
Spider saw a world most people didn't. A world with the niceties and the bullshit striped away. Usually it was a real downer, but Mrs. Richards loved her husband and was hoping that he would come back to her healthy and whole. It made Spider feel good, and she had to work at not smiling.
She'd learned early on that you couldn't let your features show what you were getting from other people. For instance, if a man was telling a supposedly very heartfelt, touching story about his late wife, you couldn't snarl at him because the feelings you got from him were joy and a sense of freedom. You had to act as if you believed his bullshit story.
"So, how's he doing?" Spider asked Carrie when they walked down the hall to get coffee, leaving Mrs. Richards behind.
"I don't know. He's still in surgery. It doesn't look good; he's had a pretty massive heart attack. I don't really know what they're doing to him. Someone said something about an artificial valve. They're afraid he's had a stroke, but they really can't tell till he's conscious. I'd like to know what the fuck they do know. At any rate, he won't be coming back to work at any time in the near future. I don't know what's going to happen with the election. If he is able to work it's not likely that he'll be able to convince the voters that he's healthy enough to be DA. His work means so much to him. I don't know what he'll do if he can't work."
There was no triumph in Carrie. Maybe it hadn't even dawned on her yet that she might run for DA. Her only concern was that a man she liked and admired was horribly ill. Her only desire was that he make a complete recovery. Spider was glad. She forgot herself and smiled, which was, of course not what she should have done, and Carrie glared at her.
"What the hell are you so happy about!" Carrie was obviously mad. "It's not worth it to me for Richards to die because I'd like to be DA someday. Hell, I'm not even ready yet."
"I . . . I know that," Spider stammered. "That's why I was smiling. I was happy that you were so virtuous."
Carrie nodded. "I'm sorry, Honey. I forget sometimes that you're not always on the same page as the rest of us."
They had reached the coffee machine. Spider started getting the coffee as it had been ordered.
"I feel so guilty."
"You . . . Why?" Spider said.
"Because you told me he had heart trouble. I should have said something," Carrie said.
"First off, they would have thought you were crazy," Spider said, handing Carrie one cup of coffee. "That's for Mrs. Richards." She started the next cup. "Second, he knew he had heart trouble, or at least suspected, otherwise I couldn't have got it from him. I can't predict the future. He was worried about his heart . . . Worried that he was going to have an attack the day of the hostage situation in the bank."
"But his physical gave him a clean bill of health," Carrie reminded Spider.
"Doctors and tests don't catch everything. He knew he was sick." She handed a second cup to Carrie. "That's yours." She started getting her own coffee.
"So, is forewarned really forearmed?" Carrie asked.
Spider grabbed her coffee and they started back.
"Well?" Carrie prompted.
"I'm thinking," Spider answered. She thought only a second longer. "It's saved my life at least twice, and helped me save others. So I can't come right out and say no. But it has made it impossible to lead a so-called 'normal' life, who knows how many wrong turns I've made because I knew how someone felt, so I couldn't say yes, either."