“Wheee,” Cynthia said in a husky little croak from where she was leaning against the wall. Lana Kline’s brown eyes peered cautiously around the side of the building.
“What is it? What are you shouting ab-” She saw the bleeding man trying to crawl out from beneath the overturned wheelchair, saw the bright malevolence in his eyes, and stopped talking.
“Run and get help,” Gert snapped at her. “security. Right now. Scream your head off.” Norman shoved the wheelchair away. His forehead was only dripping blood, but his nose was gushing like a fountain.
“I’m going to kill you for that,” he whispered. Gert had no intention of giving him a chance to try. As Lana turned and fled, howling at the top of her lungs, Gert landed on Norman Daniels in a flying drop that Hulk Hogan would have envied. There was a lot of her to drop-two hundred and eighty pounds at last count-and Norman’s efforts to get to his feet ceased at once. His arms collapsed like the legs of a card-table that has been asked to hold a truck engine, his already wounded nose slammed into the hard-packed dirt between the brick wall and the fence, and his balls were driven into one of the wheelchair footrests with paralyzing force. He tried to scream-his face certainly looked like the face of a man who is screaming-and produced only a harsh wheezing sound. Now she was sitting on top of him, the jumper’s split skirt hiked almost all the way to her hips, and as she sat there, wondering what to do next, she found herself remembering the first two or three times in Therapy Circle when Rosie had finally mustered enough courage to speak. The first thing she told them was that she had terrible backaches, backaches that even lying down in a hot bath could sometimes not ease. And when she had told them why, many of the women had nodded in recognition and understanding. Gert had been one of the nodders. Now she reached down and pulled the split skirt higher, revealing a pair of vast blue cotton underpants.
“Rosie says you’re a kidney man, Norman. She says that’s because you’re one of those shy guys who don’t like to leave marks. Also, you like the way she looks when you hit her there, don’t you? That sick look. All the color goes out of her face, doesn’t it? Even her lips. I know, because I had a boyfriend who was that way. When you see that sick look on her face, it fixes something inside you, doesn’t it? At least temporarily.”
“… bitch…” he whispered.
“Yeah, you’re a kidney man, sure, I can tell a lot from faces, it’s a talent I have.” She was using her knees to wriggle her way up his body. She had made it almost to his shoulders. ’some guys are leg men, some guys are ass men, some guys are tit men, and then there are some guys, weirded-out assholes like you, Norman, who are kidney men. Well, you probably know the old saying-“To each her own, said the old maid as she kissed the cow.”
“… off me…” he whispered.
“Rosie’s not here, Norm,” she said, ignoring him and wriggling a little higher, “but she left you a little message from her kidneys, by way of my kidneys. I hope you’re ready, because here it comes.” She knee-walked one final step, positioned herself over his upturned face, and let go. Ah, sweet relief. At first Norman didn’t appear to realize what was happening. Then understanding came. He screamed and tried to buck her off. Gert felt herself rising and used her buttocks to thump herself back down on top of him. She was surprised he was able to make as much of an effort as he had, after the pounding he had taken.
“No, you don’t, me foine bucko,” she said, and went on voiding her bladder. He was in no danger of drowning, but she had never seen such revulsion and anger on a human face. And over what? A little hot water. And if anyone in the history of the world had ever needed pissing on, it was this sick fu-Norman gave a vast, inarticulate cry, reached up with both hands, grabbed her forearms, and sank his nails into them. Gert screamed (mostly in surprise, although it did hurt like hell) and shifted her weight backward. He timed her move perfectly and flung himself up again as she made it, harder than before this time, and succeeded in tipping her over. She went sprawling against the brick wall to her left. Norman stumble-staggered to his feet, his face and bald head running with moisture, his motorcycle jacket dripping with it, the plain white tee-shirt beneath the jacket plastered to his body.
“You pissed on me, you cunt,” he wheezed, and lunged for her. Cynthia stuck her foot out. Norman tripped over it and went sprawling face-first into the wheelchair again. He scrambled away from it on his hands and knees, then turned. He tried to get up, almost made it, then fell back, panting, looking at Gert with his bright gray eyes. Crazy eyes. Gert started toward him, meaning to put him down and keep him down. She would break his back like a snake if that was what it took, and this was the time to do it, before he found enough strength to get on his feet again. He reached into one of the motorcycle jacket’s many pockets, and for one stomach-freezing moment she was sure he had a gun, that he was going to shoot her two or three times in the gut. At least I’ll die with an empty bladder, she thought, and stopped where she was. It wasn’t a gun, but it was bad enough: he had a taser. Gert knew a crazy homeless woman downtown who had one and used it to kill rats with, the ones so big they thought they were cocker spaniels who just didn’t happen to have pedigree papers.
“You want some of this?” Norman asked, still on his knees. He waved the taser back and forth in front of him.
“You want a little, Gertie? You might as well come and get it, because you’re gonna get some of it whether you want it or…” He trailed off, looking doubtfully toward the corner of the building. Cries of female excitement and dismay drifted from that direction. They were still distant, but they were getting closer. Gert used his moment of distraction to take a step backward, grab the handles of the fallen wheelchair, and jerk it upright. She stepped behind it, the chair’s push handles completely lost in her big brown fists. She darted it at him in quick little pushes.
“Yeah, come on,” she said.
“Come on, kidney-man. Come on, chickenshit. Come on, fagboy. You want to zap me? Got your phazer set to stun, do you? Come on, then. I think we got time for one more tango before the men in the white coats show up to take you away to Sunnydale Acres, or wherever they store weird fucks like y-” He got to his feet, glancing again toward the sound of the approaching voices, and Gert thought, What the fuck, I only have one life, let me live it as a blonde and shoved the wheelchair at him as hard as she could. It struck him dead-center and he went over again with a yell. Gert lunged after him, hearing Cynthia’s teary, wavering scream just one instant too late:
“Look out Gert he’s still got it!” There was a small but vicious crackling sound-ziiittttt!-and a bolt of chrome-plated agony shot up from Gert’s ankle, where he had applied the taser, all the way to her hip. The fact that her skin was wet with urine probably made Norman’s weapon even more effective. All the muscles in her left leg clenched eye-wateringly tight, then let go completely. Gert spilled to the ground. As she went, she grabbed onto the wrist of the hand with the taser in it and twisted it as hard as she could. Norman howled with pain and kicked out both booted feet. One missed completely, but the heel of the other caught her high up in the diaphragm, just below her breasts. The pain was so sudden and so strong that Gert forgot all about her leg, at least temporarily, but she held onto the taser, twisting his wrist until his fingers opened and the nasty gadget fell to the ground. He scrambled back from her, blood bubbling from his mouth and snorting out of his nose in fine droplets. His eyes were wide and disbelieving; the idea that a woman had administered this beating hadn’t sunk in, perhaps couldn’t sink in. He staggered up, glanced in the direction of the approaching voices-they were very close now-and then fled along the board fence, back toward the amusement park. Gert didn’t think he would get far before attracting the interest of Park Security; he looked like an extra from a Friday the 13th movie.