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Chapter Nine

 
"Surely he gives to a man that is good in his sight,
wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the sinner
he gives the task of gathering and heaping up, that
he may give it to one who is good before God. This
also is a vanity and a striving after wind." Ecclesiastes 2:26

Robby stared at the man at the end of the alley. He watched as the man disappeared around the corner.

Six, six at least. He preys on women, old and young, he doesn't care. He takes from them something that they can never get back; their peace of mind.

He wrestled the washer into the truck. He had work to do, a family to support. They counted on him for everything.

They count on me to keep them safe, and here I stand letting a rapist walk away. I can't do it, and I won't.

He pulled his gloves on tighter and went in the direction he had seen the man go.

 

Tommy looked at the clock. Two o'clock in the morning. "Why can't this guy pick a more reasonable hour to kill people?"

"Scum come out at night," Laura suggested sleepily. "If you prey on scum, you've got to come out in the dark, too."

He looked at his comlink. "I'd better make like a baby and go. Spider's already on her way."

"Poor Carrie, this has been a hell of a day for her," Laura said.

Tommy had to agree. Richards had come through surgery OK, but he had suffered a pretty major stroke, and had struggled to announce that he would not be running for re-election. In a statement dictated at great personal cost, he asked his supporters to vote for Carrie. On her way out of the hospital Carrie had run into a wall of reporters. They asked her if she was going to run. She said yes. They asked her about Richards and about her campaign. Mostly they wanted to know if it was true that she was a lesbian, to which she answered yes. After that they had bombarded her for fifteen minutes until the police were able to pull her through the crowd to her car.

Tommy had finished dressing. He bent down and kissed Laura. "Hopefully I'll be home before I have to get up and go to work."

"Be careful. I love you, Tommy."

"I love you, too."

 

"How am I supposed to get worked up about the death of scum like this?" Carrie asked Tommy in a whisper.

"You just said a mouthful," Tommy agreed.

Spider had wandered off and was checking out the crime scene. Tommy had worked with her long enough that he knew when she just wanted to be left alone.

"So, things cool off a little?" he asked Carrie, even though he could guess at the answer.

Carrie shrugged. "Before or after Spider tore the phone out of the wall and threw it in the pool?" She sighed. "I don't know, Tommy. Maybe I shouldn't run for office. I think I can take the heat, but I'm not sure about Spider. People were calling all evening. Very few of the calls were supportive. Most of them were . . . 'We don't need no fucking dyke running the country'. Ignorant fucks who don't even know what the DA does. Telling me shit like God's gonna strike me dead. Threatening me, calling me a pervert. I've never seen Spider so mad. I was upset, and she knew it, so she started taking the calls. After the third one I heard this popping sound, and the next thing I knew the phone was flying through the air into the pool. Then she crawled up on the roof with a high-powered rifle and sat there for three hours just waiting for anyone to try anything. So I'm guessing the last one was an actual death threat."

Tommy didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Carrie. Listen, I'll talk to Spider."

"Can you talk to every idiot in this city? Because I've got to tell you that I was happy to see the phone gone, and the whole time I was trying to talk her down off the roof I was wondering if maybe she wasn't right where she needed to be," Carrie said. "You know, every time I think we have evolved farther than this I realize that we never should have crawled out of the mud. It's the same old shit. When people have a belief that is hard to defend and impossible to prove, they either persecute or kill the people who disagree with them. That's why mankind becomes more and more stupid. Because all these self-righteous idiots keep destroying anyone with a brain." She walked away mumbling something about breeding a generation of culls.

Tommy started looking over the crime scene just because he wanted to make sure he looked busy.

Spider was talking to one of the Feds, but this time she didn't look agitated. In fact, they seemed to be having a normal conversation, which would of course make it abnormal.

 

Spider had approached Harry Sullivan with caution.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked. He nodded and walked over to her.

"What is it, Webb?" Obviously he was ready for an argument over something.

"What's up with the idiots in black?" she asked.

"You mean the So-what-if guys?"

"Damn! I thought I coined that."

"Sorry to disappoint you. We've been calling them that for years," Harry said.

"So, what the hell are they?" Spider asked.

Harry shrugged. "I've been doing this for fifteen years, and this is only the third time I've ever seen them. Never for this long, either. They usually come in, a bunch of evidence comes up missing, and they're gone. Every time it was a case like this. Someone was using a weapon no one could identify."

"Anything else?" Spider asked.

Harry looked at her and smiled an all-knowing, smug smile.

She wanted to slap it off his face. She sighed. "All right, all right, but you're going to think I'm nuts. That's the only reason I haven't told anyone what I think."

Harry nodded.

"It's not a weapon. I think this guy, maybe he's some sort of mutant or shit. I think he sees evil. Justice is blind, but this guy isn't. If he was an ex-cop, or even active, he would have shown up on the comlink system by now. It's a simple process of elimination. You know that because you know how the system works. Our boy is not a cop, he knows these people are crooks because he sees it."

"OK Webb. So far what you're saying makes as much sense as anything else I've heard, but what about the weapon?"

"You'd better have some good shit for me, Harry," Spider said. She looked around again to make sure no one was watching them. "All right. First, if there was a weapon like this it would be on file somewhere. There would be some information on it. The FBI would sure as hell know about it, and it's obvious that you are as clueless as we are. The only thing that I could find on my link that would come close to delivering this kind of damage weighs about six hundred pounds. If our boy were carrying something around like that, someone would have seen him—and it."

"I have the same information. We were thinking maybe some other country had developed . . . "

"And you guys don't know about it? Not very damn likely. I think this guy is the weapon. Now, I don't know how he came to be—or why. But I think he's pyrokinetic. I think he sees their evil and has the power to do something about it."

The G-man wasn't laughing. "The SWTF guys were bugging me, too. So I started sifting through some old files. You know, anything I could find that might give me some clue as to why they were here now. I came across a file marked . . . ." He looked around quickly and then, just to be on the safe side, pulled her out of line of sight of anyone. "The project was called Better People through Chemicals. Their idea of a joke or something. It was a locked file, and took a sixth level clearance, which I don't have. I got in, not going to say how. It was a list of names and dates. I thought at first they were dates of birth. But then I came across the word 'fertilization'. I noticed a pattern—five fertilizations at a time. Every three years."

"What the hell was it?" Spider asked.

"I think the government is dabbling in genetic engineering. I think the Strange Weapons in Strange Weapons Task Force are people. I think these guys show up when one of their 'weapons' gets away from them." He looked around again. "They're following you because they think you know who their weapon is. If you do, you'd by God better play dumb, because if you tell them what you just told me, there's a real good chance you're gonna wind up dead."

Spider nodded. "That's what I thought. There is no winning with them. Don't find him and they follow you around, and you don't know what they're going to do. Do find him and they kill you because then you know too much."

"You said it, sister," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Sounds to me like you'd better watch your back, too," Spider said.

"Believe me, I already am."

 

Neither one of them had gotten enough sleep to make them really happy about being at work. Spider was driving. Tommy was almost asleep, and they were heading down to the morgue to talk to the coroner so that he could tell them what they already knew. Microwaved brains.

A bus went by. Someone had hit Richards' campaign photo in the chest with a red paint ball.

"Now, ain't that sweet," Spider hissed.

Tommy looked over to see what she was talking about and grunted his agreement.

"What were you and Sullivan talking about last night?" Tommy asked.

"You really don't want to know that, Tommy," Spider said. "I'll just tell you this. The So-what-if guys that have been following us and bugged our car are nobody to fuck with."

Tommy nodded. Since he wasn't one hundred percent sure that he didn't have one of those tiny little bugs on him, he wasn't going to press the issue. He looked out the window. It was a beautiful spring day. Not too warm and not too cold. He'd like to take Laura and a blanket, go to the park and just hang out. That was the problem with life; 'responsibility' got in the way of enjoying it. You were constantly doing what you had to do instead of what you wanted to do.

Tommy's whole life had been that way.

"When I was a kid, maybe six or seven, Uncle Lop Sing was hiking in the woods. Way off in the middle of nowhere he found this old campground that had been built by the WPA or the CCC, abandoned and forgotten years before. Not even the road had been maintained, so that you had to hike five miles to get there. There were eight small rock cabins and one huge meeting building. It became a family tradition that once a year the whole family would hike up there together and stay for two weeks. It was a beautiful place with a running creek, and it was so quiet. The whole family was together. My mom and my aunts would cook huge meals. My uncles would fish and play ball with my cousins. I always wanted to fish, too. I always wanted to play catch. But my father said it was a waste of time. It was one thing to go on vacation, and another to stop training. So while everyone else was playing, I was training. It was my responsibility. Since all of my cousins were girls, I had to carry on the tradition. It was my duty."

"Duty sucks," Spider said, with no elegance but a whole load of camaraderie.

"I always wanted to go there and just play catch," Tommy finished with a sigh.

"Then why don't you?" Spider asked.

Tommy just stared at her, mouth open for a second, then he laughed. "You know . . . maybe I will."

Spider readjusted the rear view mirror. The SWTF guys were right behind them. She turned quickly and drove down what she knew was a blind alley and they followed.

"Spider! What the hell!" Tommy screamed as he was thrown up against the side of the car.

Spider braked to a stop, jumped out of their car and ran back to the car that had pulled in behind them. She got there before the SWTF men had a chance to back up.

 

"What the hell is she doing?" Kirk asked.

"Calling our bluff," Jason answered.

Kirk rolled down his window as she approached them. Her partner was not far behind her. "See how well they work together? Now why can't we be more like that, Jason?"

"Because I don't like you, and you don't like me," Jason said bluntly.

Spider knelt on the ground beside their car so that she was looking in the window. Tommy stood at her shoulder.

"OK, I'll bite," Spider started. "Why are you spooks following us?"

"Orders, detective. I'm sure you understand orders," Kirk said heavily.

"No, can't say that I do. Why are they ordering you to follow us? Why did you bug our car?" Spider said.

"Orders. I hate to bust your bubble, detective, but we don't have to tell you anything. We don't have to give you any reasons. We don't even have to smile when we say fuck you."

Spider smiled at him a moment. Then she jumped to her feet, grabbed him by the collar, and jerked him quickly up so that he was half way through the window. She then shoved him into the car roof until his back made a funny little popping noise.

Tommy hurled himself across the hood and slammed the car door into Jason as he got out of the car, successfully pinning him in the doorway. Then Tommy held him there, giving him a look that dared him to so much as breathe funny.

Spider glared down at Kirk. "I know people like you. You've been in my face my whole fucking life. You think you've got some kind of power over me. That you can kill me any time you like. Well listen up you fucking walking carcass. I could kill you anytime I like."

He tried to look away, and she jerked on him till he was forced to look at her.

"I could snap you in two right here right now, and feel no remorse. So, if you want to play fucking games, then you play fucking games. But let me warn you. I'm like a dog; if you try to corner me, I'll eat your fucking face."

She let him go and started walking away. Tommy did, too, although he kept his eye on Jason, who, for his part, put his hands in the air indicating that he didn't want a fight.

Kirk moved his hand toward his gun.

Spider spun in a single motion, her gun in hand, pointed at his head. She smiled at him. "And bang! bang! would make you dead."

Kirk put his hands up, then lowered himself into the car. Jason got back into the car, too, and they backed quickly out of the alley.

Spider put her gun away, and Tommy slapped her, palm down in the shoulder, hard enough to rock her back.

"Are you fucking out of your tiny little mind?" Tommy screamed. "Did you not just tell me that you don't fuck with those guys?"

"I was torn," Spider said.

"Torn!" He popped her in the shoulder again. "What the fuck does that mean? One minute you're telling me that they are bad juju guys, and the very next minute you're pulling them over and kicking their asses. Which I'm here to tell you is going to piss them off."

"I was afraid to do nothing," Spider said. "I was afraid to do nothing, and afraid to do anything. I was torn. Now whatever happens, at least I'll know what caused it."

 

"What is that smell?" Jason asked, flagging his hand in front of his face.

Kirk was driving quickly, putting as much distance between them and Spider Webb as he could.

"What is that fucking smell?" Jason demanded again. He saw the color go up Kirk's face, and started to laugh. "You shit your fucking pants!" He laughed harder. "Big bad Kirky shit all over himself. Oh man, that's one for the books."

"Shut the fuck up!" Kirk screamed. He'd never been more terrified in his life.

"Well, one thing's for sure. She has the push. No more wondering about that."

Kirk's hands would be shaking if they weren't on the wheel, and he hadn't shit his pants since he was three. So, as much as he would have liked to disagree with Jason, he couldn't.

"I'm gonna go change my pants, and then we'll make a call to Deacon." Kirk glared at Jason. "I swear, if this ever leaks out . . . "

"What? The fucking seat will be ruined?" Jason laughed uncontrollably.

Kirk didn't think it was funny.

 

Spider didn't stop by the hospital that day; she went straight home. Carrie wasn't home yet, and probably wouldn't be for another hour, so now was as good a time as ever.

She dug through her drawer until she found what she was looking for. Then she stuffed it in the top of her pants quickly.

She grabbed her old TV, headed for the door, shoved the TV in her truck and headed out. She went the long way, making sure that no one was trailing her. A quick diagnosis of her truck had turned nothing up, and she had made a habit of only wearing clothes after she had run them in the drier on high ten minutes first.

Still, she hoped that she wasn't making a big mistake. Hoped that she wasn't giving the So-what-if guys just the break they needed.

 

Robby was working on a microwave. Evan was helping him and telling him about his day. Things between them were seemingly normal, although Robby doubted their relationship would ever be the same again.

" . . . Roseanna looked at me and asked me if I would help her with her math. 'Cause of me being so much better at it than her."

Robby laughed. "I think you'd better work on your English."

"I'm just excited." He slowed down. "I'm sixteen now, Robby. I got my driver's license. I know you don't want me to work, but the guy at the market said I could have your old job, and I'd help out with the money around here and still have something left over . . . "

"And then you could buy a car and go out with Roseanna," Robby teased. "Hand me that pair of pliers."

Evan handed Robby the pliers. "Well, yeah," he said more than a little embarrassed.

"What about your grades, Evan? You don't make great grades anyway, except for math. If you start working, you're still going to have your chores here, and then you'll have less time to study," Robby said. He grunted a little as he pried on the screw head. Someone had striped the head out, and a screwdriver wouldn't work on it.

"I swear I'll keep my grades up, Robby. You let Donna and Janice and Devan work, and they're younger than I am," Evan begged.

"Donna and Janice are just babysitting a couple of nights a week here at the house. Devan mows lawns and rakes leaves here in the neighborhood, so that's not really the same. Besides, they make a lot better grades than you do," Robby said. The damn screw finally came out.

"Please, Robby! I'll work double hard."

Robby thought about it. Evan had turned his act around and was acting more responsible. Besides, why shouldn't he bring in some money to help with the family? "All right, but here are the rules. Your grades suffer and that's it—no argument . . . "

"Deal," Evan said.

"Wait, I ain't finished yet, boy. Second, you still do your chores around here, no questions asked, and no complaints."

"Deal."

"I'm still not finished. Ten percent of what you make goes to the house, and another ten percent goes into your bank account—just like the girls and Devan."

"Great! Can I go tell old man Cooper I'll take the job?"

"Get going," Robby said with a laugh.

Evan took off through the side door for the house.

"Bet that gets to be a handful."

Robby started and turned to face the woman who had just walked in the garage door carrying a TV set. Even if her coloring hadn't been so strange, he still wouldn't have had any trouble remembering her. She set the TV down.

Robby stood up and wiped his hands. He looked at her and again he saw the visions—remnants of a life filled with war and hell. "Something tells me you didn't come here to get your TV fixed."

Spider Webb pulled something out of the front of her pants and threw it onto the workbench.

He stared at his glove for a moment then looked at her. "I dropped it. I knew where I must have dropped it, but I didn't dare go back after it . . . If you knew, why didn't you turn me in right then?"

"I never really wanted to turn you in at all. But after I found that I really couldn't, could I?" She held up her hand. "I noticed your hands the minute we walked in. I could feel you in my head, just like I'm sure you could feel me in yours."

Robby walked over and slowly put his hand against hers. It was almost a perfect match, with his fingers being only slightly longer than hers.

"I can never get gloves. Where the hell did you get this?"

Robby moved his hand and picked up the glove. "I make them. See?" He held it out to her. "I take two pairs of work gloves, cut the ends out of the fingers on one pair, cut the whole finger off the other and sew them together. If they had found this . . . "

"They'd go back up the line with it and sooner or later someone would remember that the garbage man had abnormally large hands, DNA evidence in the gloves. You'd be gone, and I don't think I'd be far behind you," she said.

"Do you . . . could we be related?" Robby asked. In his whole life he'd never seen anyone with hands like his except in a picture of his father.

Spider shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe distantly. My mother and my brother both had this . . . I'd call it a deformity, except that besides getting me teased I've never found it to be anything but a plus. Except for you, I've never seen anyone outside my family with these hands before." She paused. "I know that you have psychic ability . . . "

"And so do you," he said.

She nodded. "It's not lethal like yours, but yes I do." She paused again and then continued. "There are some nasty fuckers hanging around. Call themselves the SWTF, stands for Special Weapons Task Force. They're investigating your case, and they're following me. I'm not going to tell you everything that's going on because I'm not really sure I really understand it. But I will tell you this. I never had any plans to come near you again; it's just too risky. But, Robby, you have got to quit killing people, man."

 

Harry Sullivan was looking over the dock at the water again. A view he was becoming increasingly irritated by. They slammed the plastic pipe into his back again, and this time he threw up.

"I asked you what you sent her," Kirk said.

"And I told you. Nothing!" Harry said through clenched teeth.

Kirk hit him again.

He saw stars. They were going to kill him no matter what he said. He knew that, and knowing that, there was no reason for him to tell them a goddamned thing. He just wished they'd kill him and get it over with. He'd tried fighting them, and they'd broken both his legs for his effort. They spun him around, putting pressure on his badly broken limbs, and he almost passed out. Then they slapped him in the face till he was almost conscious.

"I'm going to ask you one more time." Kirk put the barrel of his gun against Harry's forehead. "What did you send the cop? What does she know?"

Harry forced a pained laugh. "It's gonna kill ya man. You'll never see it coming; you'll just be dead. You bastards built this thing, and now it's gonna kill ya—if she don't get ya first." He spit in Kirk's face. "I'll see you in hell."

Kirk pulled the trigger. Harry's body poured over the rail and into the river with a splash. By morning his body would be in the next county, if the catfish didn't eat him outright. But he wouldn't be going to hell.

 

 

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