by Selina Rosen
Tommy nodded. "It may be wrong, but it sure feels right."
Robby was working in the shop, trying to fix an old refrigerator. Elvita and Duane played on the floor in front of him with some blocks he had made for them out of scraps from a construction site. He'd cut the wood into workable lengths, shaped some into cars and trucks and animals, and painted them with bright colors. No kids had ever enjoyed a set of Leggos any more than these two enjoyed their blocks. The skyscraper they were making looked wobbly at best.
When a deep but definitely female voice from the door asked, "Are you Robert Strange?" Robby jumped, and the blocks went crashing to the floor. The toddlers laughed, clapped their hands, and started construction all over again hardly taking notice of the new comers. After all, people were in and out of Robby's shop all the time.
Robby knew looking at them that they were police, and he swallowed hard. "I'm Robert, but most folks just call me Robby," he said wiping his hands on a shop rag as he scrambled to his feet. "How can I help you?"
"I'm detective Chan, this is detective Webb." They both showed their comlinks. "We're investigating a murder that took place behind Frank's Tavern. We were told you might have been out there at the time," Tommy said.
Robby was silent, watching the woman. She was watching the kids play. Then she looked at him. Looked him right in the eyes because they were exactly the same height. He saw the blood and the trenches, heard her anguished cries as she watched in horror as those around her died. Exhausted, wounded, running through streets filled with fire and explosions and death fighting a war she didn't really understand for a freedom that didn't really ever trickle down to her. Saw her righteous anger so strong. Like his, and yet not. She understood him. Hell, she was him, and as he was looking into her soul, she was looking into his. Even as his brown eyes were staring to her blue gray ones.
"Mr. Strange?" she asked in a quiet voice.
He looked away from her. "I didn't see anything," he told Tommy and shrugged. "I wasn't in the alley long. I got the trash and I left."
"Your kids?" the woman asked.
"No, my brother and sister. I take care of them. All of them, actually. There's seven all together," Robby said.
"That must be quite a job," the woman said.
"It keeps me out of trouble," Robby said with a smile. "I'm sorry I can't help."
The woman looked at him and smiled a big, friendly smile. "No problem. Thanks for your time."
Robby watched them go. That was it. They weren't going to ask him any more questions. He had thought someone was helping him, and now he was sure he knew who.
"What the hell was that all about?" Tommy asked.
"What?" Spider asked innocently.
"You bloody well know what! Back there, with the garbage man. I think he knew something, and you looked like you were fucking on another planet."
"Would if I could," Spider said with a smile. Then answered the puzzled look on her partner's face. "Fuck on another planet."
"Come on, Spider, you saw something. What the hell was it?"
"I didn't see shit," Spider said. "Just . . . well, didn't you ever meet someone that you felt you were destined to meet?"
Tommy thought about that and had to answer truthfully. "My old Jujitsu instructor, you, and Laura. But the black garbage man, Spider?"
She shrugged. "That's the way I felt; I think he felt it, too."
"What else, Spider? There was something else—something to do with the Fry Guy. What was it?"
"I think you're right. I think he does know more than he's letting on, and I think he's not talking for the same reason we're not."
She didn't tell him what she really thought. After all, they all wanted the same thing.
She got home late. She'd felt bad about not seeing Henry the day before, and so she had spent extra time with him. It had been a long day after a long night, and her butt was dragging out her tracks.
She walked in and froze; there was someone in her bed. Then she saw the briefcase and overnight bag and smiled. She was a little surprised by the wave of relief that swept over her. All day she had wondered if what had happened last night was even real. If it was, did Carrie really want to see her again or was it all in her head? How should she approach her? Did they have to start all over again at square one, or were they past that? Now she could start to relax.
Spider closed and locked the door behind her and walked over to the bed. She stood and just watched Carrie for a minute. In sleep, with all the stress of life washed from her face, she was—if possible—even more beautiful. Spider took off her shoes and crawled in beside Carrie, pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn't wearing any clothes. She took Carrie gently into her arms and as she stirred, kissed her on the back of her neck. Carrie stretched and rolled in her arms to face her in one fluid motion, and they kissed.
"So, who's this sleeping in my bed?" Spider asked, as their lips parted.
"Is it alright, or is it just too crazy for you?" Carrie asked. The confidence Spider had come to associate with Carrie's voice seemed to have temporarily departed. She was putting herself on the line, letting her emotions dictate her actions maybe for the first time in her life. Spider knew the feeling, it was like jumping out of a plane not having packed your own shoot, you just didn't know whether it was going to open or not.
"It's more than all right." Spider pulled her closer. "I like crazy, and you can surprise me like this any time."
"Can I . . . I mean . . . what are we doing? We hardly know each other . . . "
Spider held a finger against Carrie's lips. "We know each other." She moved her hand and held it palm open against Carrie's chest, over her heart. "In here we know each other. Finding you is like finding a piece of myself that I didn't know was missing."
Carrie melted into her arms as all fear of rejection left her.
Spider rummaged around the kitchen until she finally gave up and yelled, "Ramen soup, grilled cheese, or I could send out for pizza or Chinese."
"Chinese would be nice. Chicken Chow Mein?"
"Sounds good to me." Spider called the Chinese restaurant on the speed dial. She walked back into the living/bedroom where Carrie, wearing a skimpy black robe tied at the waist, was looking at Spider's books. Carrie pulled out one entitled History of the Paranormal and held it up.
"A little light reading?"
Spider took the book and put it back. "I like to read."
"Apparently so. Nothing fictional?"
"I don't have time to read the things I want and still read strictly for pleasure; if that makes any sense . . . I put on some tea." Spider walked over and sat down in her chair.
Carrie came over, sat in Spider's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck.
Spider laughed and held her close. "I'm not complaining, but when the food gets here I'm eating and going to sleep."
"Can I stay? Wake you up in the morning?" Carrie asked with a seductive smile.
Spider laughed. "You know I've never been a sex object before. I think I like it."
"I really don't hop into bed immediately with every woman I meet," Carrie defended.
"I know that," Spider said.
"You do, don't you?" Carrie said. It was obvious that she had something more in mind.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you do know. You're psychic . . . or something."
Spider laughed nervously. "Ah, come on, Carrie. You're an intelligent, professional woman . . . "
"Exactly, and part of my job is solving puzzles . . . Everyone has seen things in their lives that shouldn't have happened and did. I don't think you have to be an idiot to believe in the paranormal. I'm serious. You're psychic, aren't you? At very least you feel what I feel. That's why you're so good in bed."
"You think I'm good in bed?" Spider was very pleased.
"Please. You know you are. Don't try to change the subject. Are you psychic?"
Spider took in a deep breath. "Carrie there is no such . . . "
; Carrie caught Spider's glance and held it. "Don't give me any shit, girl."
"Maybe . . . I don't know," Spider said with a shrug.
"Oh, how very, very noncommittal, Detective Webb. Yes or no?"
"I seem to know what people are . . . not thinking . . . but, what they're feeling. I seem to be more empathic than just about anyone else. It's not always a plus in a relationship, or in life for that matter."
"It's a plus as far as I'm concerned."
Carrie kissed Spider on the neck, then moved to her lips. When they parted Carrie looked deep into Spider's eyes.
"Do you know what I'm feeling now?" she asked in a low tone.
"Lust," Spider said with a smile.
"No," Carrie got up and moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Spider. "You don't really know me. If you did, you'd know that this is not like me. Begging to be set up with someone. Sleeping with a woman on the first date or coming back the next night and flashing my DA badge to get into her apartment. Waiting naked in her bed. I just don't do that. Or I didn't till I saw you. The first time I saw you I wanted . . . no, needed you. I needed to be with you. So I asked Laura to fix me up with you. I don't have any trouble getting dates."
"I didn't figure you did. I'm very flattered."
Carrie felt like there was a fist in her throat. She wasn't going to say it, but then it felt like it was choking her, and she said it before she really knew she was. "I . . . I know this sounds crazy . . . I love you."
Spider didn't hesitate. "I love you, too, and you're right, it is crazy."
They spent most of the night making love and talking.
Carrie rolled over and looked at the clock. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. She almost panicked before she remembered it was Saturday. She yawned, stretched, and rolled back over. When she saw that Spider wasn't there she was mildly annoyed. Spider walked out of the bathroom carrying her comlink, and it was then that she realized that it must have been Spiders comlink that had woke her up. Spider sat on the edge of the bed and let Carrie drape herself around her waist, which made them both happy.
" . . . Uh huh, uh huh . . . . You're fucking shitting me!"
Carrie jumped a little, startled by Spider's sudden outburst.
"Our serial killer . . . You're sure?" She sighed, obviously resigned. "OK I'll get dressed and meet you there." She closed transmission. "Fuck!"
"Have to go to work?" Carrie asked, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice.
Spider lay down on the bed and kissed her. "I'm sorry. Dammit, I could happily lay here all day." She got up and walked back into the bathroom.
"You have a serial killer?" Carrie asked carefully.
Spider poked her head back out the door. "You know the Fry Guy is one of our cases?" Stupid question, really. As the assistant DA, she no doubt knew as much about the case and who was on it as anyone. "He fries bad guys' brains in their heads, so I personally think we ought to be giving the guy a round of applause instead of trying to find, stop, and prosecute him. Anyway, that's one of our cases. Well, ours and the fucking Feds. He just broke his pattern. He killed a cop."
"Maybe the officer was on to him . . . "
"I doubt that. I think this guy has a very good sense of justice. I don't think he'd kill someone just because he was afraid of being caught. Maybe the cop was dirty. Maybe there's something we don't know about this cop, and that's why our boy killed him." Spider was waiting for Carrie to be appalled by the way she was talking about this killer, as if he were one of the good guys. But if she was upset, she sure as hell wasn't showing it.
"How would he know?" Carrie asked.
"Same way he knew the other guys were bad." Spider shrugged and went back into the bathroom.
"You think maybe he's an ex-cop?" Carrie asked, walking after Spider.
Spider shrugged, slipped out of her robe and turned the shower on. "Might be, but I doubt it." Spider screamed over the water.
Carrie had a thought.
Spider was scrubbing the last of the sex off her body when Carrie crawled in the shower with her. Spider laughed. "I have to go to work, Baby."
"This won't take long."
"Where the fuck were you?" Tommy asked.. Spider grinned stupidly, and Tommy shook his head. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
Spider shrugged and walked into the crime scene. Officer Lambosto was lying in the middle of his shop floor. Fried-eyed just like the others. Spider looked around at the workbenches and tools and smiled. Five hundred dollar chain saw. New radial arm saw. Brand new motorbike.
"Why are you smiling?" Tommy asked. Then added in a whisper. "This guy was one of us. Maybe if we had done our jobs this killer would be off the streets right now. This is our fault."
"The guy's wife work?"
"How the hell would I know?" Tommy asked.
"Why would our boy change his pattern now?"
"Because this guy was on to him," Tommy answered.
"Oh, please! Like this blue jerk could figure out what neither we or the Feds could."
"We aren't really trying, remember?" Tommy said in a whisper. "It wouldn't be the first time a uniformed officer tried to get a promotion by cracking a really big case." He punched up Officer Lambosto's files. "See, he's tried to get a promotion to detective class three times."
"And he couldn't, so he went on the take. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened, either. Look around you. Look at this shit. He was a uniformed officer, so where's he getting the money to buy this crap?"
"God! I can't believe you. This guy is dead, and you're trying to fucking ruin his reputation to justify the actions of your precious serial killer."
"Our guy hasn't whacked anybody yet who didn't deserve it, why would he start now? Besides, he's our serial killer. I don't remember you bitching about him yesterday when he whacked Barney Jones."
"Barney Jones was the scum of the earth. This guy was a cop. Maybe Lambosto figured out who he was, and . . . "
"Lame, Tommy. Five will get you ten that if we start checking on this guy he's a low life just like all the others . . . "
"Spider, for God's sake! He's a cop."
"There is no reason for the Fry Guy to break his pattern, so either this stiff was a creep, or we've got another wacko with the same weapon."
"Detective Webb," one of the uniformed officers called. Spider walked to where he was. "Look at this, Sir." He pointed at something behind the workbench. "Looks like you were right."
"Five will get you ten that's the missing coke from last week's bust," Spider said.
"How the hell . . . " Tommy started.
"Elementary, my dear Chan. He was one of five people who went into the evidence locker on the day that the coke came up missing." She pulled up the information on her comlink. "This same locker came up short six months ago, but there was so little missing that they couldn't be sure it wasn't just a counting error. He's probably been doing it for awhile, just taking a little here and a little there."
"But he only signed into the evidence locker once, the computer . . . " Tommy noted.
"Is easier to get around than an attendant in a lot of ways. He could have gotten in without being logged in. It's not all that hard to do." Spider turned her attention back to the officer. "Good work. Take it down to the station and have it tested. See if it really is the stuff out of the evidence locker."
She turned to Tommy. "Let's go talk to his old lady."
"God please don't let her ask the widow if he dealt smack to first graders," Tommy mumbled as he followed her to the house.
The woman who opened the door had obviously been crying, and she'd also obviously just taken one hell of a beating. Spider looked at Tommy and smiled.
"You're a sick bitch," Tommy whispered in Spider's ear as they walked in.
The woman motioned for them to sit down on the couch and they did.
"We're very sorry to hear about your husband," Tommy said.
"Yeah," she cried.
Spider,
never one to beat around the bush, looked right at the woman, smiled warmly, and asked, "So, did your old man beat the dog shit out of you, or was it the perp?"
"Christ on a crutch!" Tommy swore.
The woman looked at Spider and snarled. For a second she was silent, and then she started to cry. "That bastard!" She was shaking now. "When I saw him lying there . . . like that. You know, all burned up, I figured God had finally heard my prayers and struck the fucker dead."