Robert Tanenbaum - Enemy within

"Is he?" Grale sighed. "Maybe he'll find peace there." A thin smile. "Sometimes it's hard to love them the way I should. I am further from perfection than I would wish."

"Oh, stop it! You do more than anyone else."

"But it's never enough. The poor you have always with you, always, always, always." He lit another cigarette. "Sorry. I'm tired. I just have walked ten miles today. I'm really worried about Jingles."

"What, you think…?"

"It's a possibility. This guy, whoever's doing it, he can't, you know, be a stranger, like those kids a couple of years back who were squirting lighter fluid and setting guys on fire. Nobody's seen any strangers around and, believe me, I've asked. I'm starting to think the worst."

"You mean it's one of the guys?"

Grale nodded. "It could be. And it can't be one of the nutcases either. If it were, they'd be walking around with blood all over them, holding the knife and talking to the Martians. No, this bastard is smart, and well-organized, with a grudge against the world and a place to hide. And he gets around, too. There's been one in Chelsea, one up in Clinton, and one under the old highway near the West Village. You're shaking your head, but you got to admit it's a possibility."

"It can't be Canman," said Lucy vehemently. She thought of the man in the paper house that afternoon, the look of fear and rage on his face, the long, shining, sharp blade in his hands.

"I know it's hard to believe someone you like would do horrible stuff like that," said Grale, "but I mean, face facts. You said yourself he was nervous. Maybe that's why."

She was about to protest, but as she looked in his face, she saw he had that look on, what she secretly called his St. Francis face: guileless, kind, humorous, utterly sweet. Irresistible.

"What should we do?" she blurted instead. "Not the cops…"

"No, of course not. I'll go find him and talk to him."

He doesn't like you, Lucy thought, but said only, "What if he goes into the tunnels?"

"Oh, that's okay," said Grale easily. "I know the tunnels. I have lots of pals in the tunnels. And look, don't worry. I can't believe he's the one either. But maybe he's scared because he saw something. I'll find out."

As he had promised, Karp was waiting on the corner of Grand and Crosby at four-thirty when the bus from St. Joe's pulled up and disgorged his twin sons. He spotted them, they spotted him, and there was that little jolt of love, mixed on this occasion with irritation, which he consciously suppressed. He waved and grinned.

The Karps had never gone in for stupid twin games, such as identical dressing, but their twins had taken differentiation to an extreme. Isaac, called Zak, the elder by two minutes, had already, at eight years, turned into something of a roughneck, hot-tempered, an athlete, and the self-appointed protector of his gentler brother from all save himself. Giancarlo, called Zik (a name he had borne in the days when they were two indistinguishable lumps) only by his brother, was an artist, a musician, and a diplomat of sunny disposition.

"Yo, Daddy," called Giancarlo happily. "Where's Mom?"

"At work."

"Can we get pizza?"

"Of course," said Karp. "How was school?"

"Okay, except Zak got in a fight."

"Shut up, Zik!' yelled Zak, and stalked away up Grand Street. He had the hood of his parka pulled up, and he was walking hunched like a old monk to keep it covering his face. Karp took a couple of steps, grabbed his son by the shoulder, and tipped the hood back, revealing a magnificent shiner.

"You're such a rat, Zik," snarled the malefactor.

"Oh, what were you going to say?" Giancarlo responded. "You walked into a doorknob? You know the school's going to call."

This was true, and it would not be the first time. The kid got into fights. The parent-advice columns were unanimous that this was not a good thing. Karp himself had not been much of a fighter beyond the usual school-yard scuffles and arguments around games. He was now at something of a loss. As he recalled, his own father had never been involved in any disciplining of Karp and his brothers. And certainly he had never met a school bus. Raising the kids was Mom's job. Karp had on this occasion been obliged to cancel a late meeting, one of those affairs that he had arranged and which would take a week and any number of personal calls to reschedule. Marlene did not have to cancel any of her meetings. Marlene was making more money than he did now, by a little. Was that the reason? But he had the more significant career, they both agreed about that, so why wasn't he getting cut some slack there? He loved his family, but still… And did he, in fact, have a career? He wasn't DA. He wasn't going to be DA. A couple of years ago he had been DA in all but name, but now there was Norton Fuller snapping at his heels. Fuller was nearly ten years younger and unencumbered by wife and three. Norton was at his desk right this minute, or maneuvering or conniving or cranking out paper, and would be in there long after dark, just as Karp used to. Norton wasn't halfway down the dreaded mommy-track, sitting in a gritty Original Ray's settling an argument about pizza toppings. Down in Karp's subbasement, the Wounded Patriarchy shook off its uneasy sleep and rattled its chains. If you had married someone normal, the beast whispered, someone regular, you wouldn't have this problem. No one else has this problem. You would have normal children…

Karp took several long, shuddering breaths, as he had learned to do before foul shots, and whipped the beast back into silence-for the moment.

"So, Zak, you going to tell me what happened?" Karp asked when the pie had been delivered and served out.

"Nothing happened. Derek Rafferty got in my face."

"It was my fault, Daddy," said Giancarlo. "Derek pushed me down and Zak came over. He wasn't even playing with us, and he told Derek not to do it, and Derek socked him, and he socked Derek. Twice. And his nose bled all over. It was like ER."

"Why did Derek push you?"

"Oh, well, we had these tubes? Like paper tubes from Christmas paper, and we were playing samurais with them, bopping each other and yelling 'euuuahggh!' like they do, and talking pretend Japanese and making karate sounds, and I said some real Japanese, like Lucy taught, and Derek said it wasn't real, and I said it was, and my sister could speak Japanese perfectly, and he said I was like BSing, and we yelled and then he made his eyes, you know, slanty with his fingers, and he said 'Karp's sister is a Jap, Karp's sister is a Jap.' And I put my tube down, and I said if he was going to be a racist and insult my family, he could bite it, and he called me a faggot and I walked away, and he came up behind me and pushed me down. And then Zak came over."

"He's the faggot," added Zak.

"Let's not use language like that, Zak," said Karp, eyeing the crowded restaurant for flapping ears.

"Well, he is!"

"Really. Do you happen to know what the word means?"

A brief look was exchanged between the brothers, a microburst of raw information. Karp simply knew that whatever science might say, these two particular little people communicated telepathically. Giggles first, the pair growing and feeding on each other, then helpless laughter, Coke squirting through nostrils.

"Homosexual," Zak got out at length. The boys were leaning against one another in the booth, shaking and blowing bubbles.

"And what's a homosexual, hm?" Karp asked.

Giancarlo said, "It's a boy"-giggle giggle giggle-"who likes… dolls and dresses and stuff."

"I see. And do you have any evidence that this Rafferty likes dolls and dresses? And stuff?"

"He does, but it's secret," said Giancarlo, sitting up, with the crazy art-light agleam in his eyes. "He has this secret room, like in his house, that he built into his closet, and he goes in there at night, after dinner, and there are shelves and shelves full of dolls and dollhouses, and he goes in there and takes off his regular clothes and puts on a pink dress and white tights and those little shiny shoes with buckles and a curly blond wig and plays with his dolls, and he has a Quake demo going on his computer so his family won't know. One day his little sister finds out because so many of her dolls are missing; she sneaks into his room and finds out his secret, and he realizes he will have to kill her…"