Strange Robby

by Selina Rosen

  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 w
hy.

  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.