Strange Robby Read online

  His mother had often been gone as much as she was home. She spent all their—her's and Robby's—Social Security death benefits on dope and Jimmy Brown, so Robby went to work at a local pizza restaurant. He would sweep the sidewalks and the building, and the owner would give him a large pizza and a big salad every day. Eventually, the man was so impressed with Robby's work that he let him clean the bathrooms and threw in a large soda and ten dollars. The money helped Robby get the kids some of the things they needed.

  One day when Jimmy walked in with his mama they were both high, and Robby saw the blackness for the first time. He saw what the man did, and what he wanted to do. The evil in the man's soul was clear, and Robby felt the power inside himself—the power to stop the blackness from creeping into anyone else's life ever again.

  That night Jimmy ate all the pizza, and the kids went to bed hungry. Then he beat up their mama, stole the last of her money and went off—no doubt to buy more drugs.

  Robby followed Jimmy, pulled along by the darkness that was suddenly as tangible to him as any rope. Jimmy hadn't seen him—hadn't heard him. It was as if Robby couldn't be seen at all. As if for a little while he was hidden in the trail left by Jimmy's overwhelming evil. He followed Jimmy down a dead end alley. In the trash and filth Jimmy looked nervously at his watch.

  "Where the fuck is that nigger?" he cursed.

  Robby walked out of the shadows and smiled at Jimmy as if he were the ice-cream man, and Robby had two quarters.

  Jimmy jumped, startled by the suddenness with which Robby had appeared. "You! What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I want you to give back our money," Robby said.

  "Yeah . . . Well, you know what they say, boy, wish in one hand and shit in the other . . . "

  "Ya fucking bastard, give me our money!" Robby screamed. Inside he could feel the power building, rolling like storm clouds in his belly.

  Jimmy rolled up his sleeves.

  "Now I'm gonna have to kick your worthless half-breed butt." As he spoke, he moved quickly to grab Robby.

  Robby smiled even bigger and struck out with the power.

  Jimmy flew backwards striking the side of the building and sliding down it. Dazed, he looked up at Robby who had moved to stand just in front of him.

  "What the fuck!"

  Robby laughed, exhilarated by the power that surged through him. Power that not only could destroy Jimmy but that wanted to, needed to.

  "Give me back the money," Robby ordered.

  Jimmy got shakily to his feet and dug in his pocket. He pulled the money out and threw it at Robby.

  Robby caught it easily and put it into his own pocket. Then he just stood there staring at Jimmy.

  Jimmy cringed. He seemed to know what he was up against.

  "Now go on, get out of here," Jimmy said. He was too obviously nervous for the order to carry any weight.

  Robby smiled again and shook his head no. "I've seen what you've done and what you have a mind to do. I'm not going to let you do that to my sisters. I'm not going to let your darkness touch even one more soul."

  Jimmy laughed nervously. "So what ya gonna do, kid?"

  "This." Robby unleashed the power. It hit Jimmy like a red hot Mac truck, slammed him into the brick wall at his back, and all but blew him to pieces.

  Robby searched, but could find no remorse for his act. Jimmy was going to hurt his sisters. He couldn't—wouldn't—allow that.

  The police found just enough of Jimmy to figure out who he had been. They asked his mama about Jimmy. What was he doing in the alley? Who were his friends? Had he acted like he was afraid of anyone? But they never asked why Robby was home in the middle of a school day, or why she was stoned out of her head with three babies in the house. No one gave a damn about a coked-out nigger tramp or her bastard children.

  His mother cried because Jimmy was dead. She screamed at Robby and the other kids because she said it was their fault that he'd left. That was when Robby knew he had to get those kids and himself out of there. She didn't care about them, and it would only be a matter of time until she brought in another man. Maybe he'd even be worse than Jimmy.

  Robby called his maternal grandmother. She was old and frail and poor as a church mouse, but she put together the bus fare and sent it to them.

  Robby waited till his mother went off again, then he loaded up the kids and their few belongs, and at fourteen he left LA and traveled half way across the country to Shea City.

  His grandmother had hugs for every one of them, but the house was small—only two bedrooms and one bath—and in bad need of repair. The kitchen sink drain didn't work, there was no hot water, and several windows were broken.

  Grandma said the damage came from raising four kids in a little shack. The house was also filthy, and Robby soon realized why—his grandmother wasn't in much better shape than the house. It was winter, and the cold blew through the walls like they weren't there. It was no wonder; half the underpinning had crumbled away, and there were cracks in the walls you could throw a cat through.

  Robby started boiling water on the cook stove and found what was left of the cleaning supplies. Then he went to work. He got Evan and Janice to help while Granny told them it wasn't necessary and played with the babies.

  All in all, Robby had decided it was the greatest place he had ever lived. For one thing there was a yard for the kids to play in. But best of all, for the first time there was an adult around who actually loved them and cared what happened to them.

  The next day Robby sent the kids off to school, left the babies with his grandmother, and went out to find work. He got a job at a local grocery store sweeping floors and cleaning out the warehouse. It didn't pay much, but it was a great job. It was only a block from their house, and Robby brought home produce, milk, and bread when it was too old to be sold. He told them it was for his uncle's pigs, and they pretended to believe him. They even let him take home boxes, pallets, and metal shelf sets they weren't using any more, which Robby used to repair the damage to the house.

  Some old plastic displays he measured, cut, and used to repair the broken windowpanes. He used the cardboard boxes to cover holes on the inside walls and tore the wooden pallets apart and used the wood to repair the holes on the outside. He cleared the sink drain and fixed the holes in it with duct tape. He got the hot water heater running with a simple good cleaning.

  After he finally got the house squared away, Robby found his grandfather's truck and all his tools out in the shed. The truck hadn't run in years his grandma said, but Robby had a knack for fixing things, and he got the truck running and kept it that way.

  Robby helped his grandmother with the utility bills. When he was sixteen he got a real driver's license. That was when he noticed how much good stuff people threw away. He started to collect the things he found in alleys and used them to fix their home up right. He even found enough paint to paint it inside and out—even though the outside was painted an odd green color because the only way he had enough paint from all that he'd found thrown away was to mix them together.

  Just when things were starting to get good their mother called, wanting to send them two more babies. Robby took them on the condition that his mother send with them a document proving that she'd had her tubes tied.

  Robby had worked long and hard. His grandmother couldn't take care of the new babies during the day, so he started his trash hauling business at night so that he could be home during the day. Evan and Janice would be there to help watch them at night.

  Robby had more than his fair share of responsibilities. He had a lot of people depending on him and a power that wouldn't be denied.

  Chapter Three

  "There is one alone, without a companion; yea he has neither

  son nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labor; neither is

  his eye satisfied with riches: he may say, For whom then do

  I labor, and bereave my soul of good? This is also vanity;

  indeed it is a sorry b
usiness." Ecclesiastics 4:8

  "It's moments like this that make this job bearable," Tommy said as he rounded the corner.

  "It's like a bandage on a bullet wound, but it's better than nothing. God, I really need this to go down right," Spider said, crossing her fingers as Tommy parked the car.

  "Okay, but remember . . . why are we here?"

  "Because they're hiding a fucking suspect in a double homicide in there."

  "But we couldn't prove that, so they wouldn't give us a search warrant. So . . . Why are we here?"

  "Because the sleaze-ball is here."

  "Why are we going to break in without a search warrant?"

  "Because the stupid fucking judge wouldn't grant one."

  "Come on, Spider, work with me," he said with exaggerated patience.

  "We heard a woman screaming for help," she said without any enthusiasm.

  "Exactly." He looked at his watch. "And that should happen any time now, so . . . Comlinks on; it's show time."

  They hung their comlinks around their necks and turned them on.

  "We are staking out a warehouse where we believe Justin Kent may be hiding. He is a suspect in the shooting deaths of his ex-girlfriend, Katie Cando, and a business associate, Bill Smith. The time now is eight o'clock," Tommy said for the comlink's sake.

  "Was that a scream I heard?" Spider asked woodenly.

  Tommy shot her a heated look, and she shrugged. A minute later the woman screamed.

  "Yes, I did hear a scream."

  The woman yelled for help.

  "It seems to be coming from the building. Let's go," Spider said in the same wooden tone. She smiled broadly at Tommy and jumped out of the car.

  Tommy was a few feet behind her when she burst through the front door, and he knew even before he saw the fifteen big hairy guys inside that this was a mistake. Spider was on the jazz, and when she was "rock'n" you couldn't expect anything but pure insanity from her.

  "Where's the girl?" Spider screamed.

  The fifteen men inside just froze in place. There were boxes everywhere. One man held a big bag of what could only be coke.

  "You're under arrest for possession with intent to sell, and . . . " Tommy looked around till he found Justin Kent. "You're under arrest for the murders of Katie Cando and Bill Smith."

  "Where's your search warrant fuzz?" a big man asked.

  "We heard a young woman yelling for help, and . . . " he saw one of them move.

  So did Spider. She didn't fire her gun. Instead, she landed a flying kick into the guy's head. As his gun spun out across the floor, she smashed her own gun and her abnormally large fist into the face of another man.

  Tommy took a deep breath and started kicking some ass. He wasn't a big guy, but he was a martial artist of superb ability, and the way he figured it, the odds were in their favor even if the big shots back at the station wouldn't be. By the time the back-up units got there, all fifteen men were nursing serious wounds, and all the uniformed officers had to do was cuff them and put them into cars—some of which happened to be ambulances.

  Tommy heard his comlink buzz and cringed. Spider walked up to him and smiled broadly with her badly bleeding mouth. He shook his head. The real problem with the woman was that she had a serious death wish and a great deal of tolerance for pain. Tommy answered his comlink while Spider ignored hers and walked over to talk to the other officers.

  "Chan!" the lieutenant nearly yelled. "You and your partner get your asses down to the station right now!"

  "Just our asses, Sir?" Spider asked over Tommy's shoulder.

  "What's that, Chan?" the Lieutenant asked.

  "Be there as soon as we can, Sir," Tommy said with mock enthusiasm.

  "Spider!" Tommy turned to glare at her and she just smiled back. He turned off his comlink and made sure hers was off, too—which it was. "You're either going to get me killed or shit-canned. Come on, let's get back to the station."

  Spider nodded. She knew the lieutenant wanted to scream at them. No big deal. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

  "They were all over me," the Latino girl cried to a uniformed officer taking her statement on his comlink. "Thank God the officers got here when they did."

  Spider looked at her and winked.

  She nodded back carefully. She knew they were good for the money.

  "You better be damned glad that this all looks legit," the lieutenant said. He looked at Spider, and more pointedly at her swollen, bloody lip. "Do you think you could wash your face, detective?"

  "Not just yet. I'm savoring the moment," she said, smiling broadly.

  "Look at you two. Don't think I don't know what you did out there, because I do."

  "We brought in a murder suspect who was right where we said he was. Just for gravy, we brought down one of the biggest cocaine rings in the city. Not bad for a day's work," Tommy said.

  The lieutenant sighed. "I understand all that, but I think what we're talking about with you two is serious burn out."

  Spider looked at her nails and picked at a broken one. "There isn't a cop that's been on the force for over ten years that isn't a burn out. And everyone knows why. You bust some poor shmuk for something you don't really think is a crime—but that the book tells you is—so you gott ah bust them. When you take them in it'll stick like flies to shit, and those poor bastards—who haven't really done a damn thing—will rot in jail, and the brass will all tell us what a good job we did. Meanwhile when we do something like we did tonight to bring some scum-sucking leaches a little justice, instead of saying those fuckers are as guilty as sin and however you got them is alright by me, you immediately start worrying about their fucking rights, looking for any reason to put them right back on the street."

  Tommy buried his face in his hands and wished his partner could ever just think something without saying it.

  "Everyone starts looking for little pockets of the law that they can hide in and save their fucking filthy little asses. You want less burn out? It's simple. Leave decent people the hell alone, and put the fucking bastards away for life, or gas them, or just blow their brains out. But don't waste my tax money and my time letting them dance out of the charges on 'technicalities.' If they had given us the friggin' search warrant that we asked for, there would be no questions asked right now. But to get a search warrant anymore you have to walk on fucking water, or be a cable guy and say someone's a terrorist. Screw that! Instead of berating us you ought to be praising us, because this time the good guys found a way around the system. This time we used the freaking loophole!"

  Tommy could see the look on the lieutenant's face change from one of irritation to rage, and he knew what was coming next.

  It was cold, and they were sitting in the middle of the park on a concrete bench that was apparently created for the sole purpose of giving hemorrhoids the size of grapefruits to anyone who sat on it for any length of time.

  And they were sitting here for the third night in a row.

  Tommy turned and glared at Spider. "I hate you," he said through chattering teeth.

  "Me? Why me?" Spider asked innocently. "It's the friggin' lieuten . . . "

  "All you had to do was sit there and let him bitch. Why can't you ever sit there and just listen, without saying anything?"

  "Because he pisses me off."

  "He pisses everyone off. That's his fucking job," Tommy all but shouted. "Hell, even his wife hates him. But you don't have to open your mouth. Just once couldn't you keep your mouth shut?"

  "Laura still mad at me?" Spider asked.

  "It's our anniversary, and I'm sitting on a friggin' bench on the coldest night of the year on some bullshit stake-out. What do you think?"

  Spider shrugged.

  "She thinks you are the friggin' anti-Christ."

  "Is that bad?" Spider asked.

  "It is to her," Tommy said. "I can't feel my hands. My toes are like frozen rocks in my shoes, and do you know why?"

  "Well, apparently, if I
understand your bitching correctly, it's because I don't know when to keep my mouth shut."

  "Both of you shut up. The frigging suspect is in our sights," a voice inside their ears said.

  "Ah! A voice from above," Spider said.