Day 9.2, Word Count: c. 7,675

A little more before bedtime
McGruder couldn’t keep looking into the woman’s eyes. God, he wanted to, but he just couldn’t do it. There was too much anger there. But more than that, there was too much contempt.

Or maybe it was disgust.
“Well? I’m waiting,” Jenny Garcia said and – mercifully – turned back to the freshly poured coffee in front of her.

“You ever here of the Family?” McGruder asked.

“You mean the Mafia, Terry? Jesus, I knew you were wasting my time,” the professor said as she started to get up from the counter of the dinner.

McGruder placed a hand on her forearm. Gently, but firmly. Holding her in place. He was relieved that she didn’t instantly yank it away or belt him in the face.

“Not that Family,” he said.

“Then which family,” she said, sitting again. “Spill.”

“In Kansas, about fifteen or so years ago, Ma and Pa Kent got sick of the liberal media, Hollywood, and the immoral politicians in Washington shoving filth and tolerance down their throats,” he began. “They decided that the rich Republican businessmen they’d backed for years were just as bad as the Eastern Democrats and intellectuals they voted against. So they started to vote for more Conservative candidates--”

“I’m a goddamn political science professor with a doctorate, Terry, I know what the political landscape is like in Red State America. Get to the point,” Garcia nearly spat at him.

“Fine,” he said, getting a little hot under the collar himself. “Then I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the Family.”

“I don’t really study theocracy in America too much. My specialty’s more in urban politics, if you remember,” she shot back.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, just give me another minute to set this up my way, all right?” he asked.

“Isn’t it always you’re way, McGruder?”

“Yeah,” he responded quietly. “Sure it is.”

Jenny looked at him again. For a second, McGruder thought, it was the way she used to look at him. There wasn’t any contempt in that look. It bolstered him.

“Go on,” she said.

He took a breath, a sip of the now cooling coffee, and went on. “So now, Kansas – and most of the other Midwestern, Heartland states – have a bunch of evangelical, Creationist, anti-women, free-market, fundamentalists in Congress and the Senate, because some farmers and unemployed hicks don’t like what NBC’s showing on Wednesday nights.”

McGruder took another sip of coffee and then continued. Now he was looking right at Jenny, and she was looking back, without tracking her eyes around the room in an effort to avoid his. At least I’ve got this moment to take away from this, if nothing else, he thought, and nearly smiled. But he held it back.

“But all of these congressmen and senators and county seat wardens and whatnot didn’t get into these positions solely on the backs of crazies and wingnuts. They got the votes of a lot of formerly moderate Republicans who were basically fed up with the system and saw this as a way to lower their taxes and get more capital gains. And, that moderate backing helps hide some of these politicos real agendas – banning abortion, taking evolution theory out of schools, women’s suffrage repeals for Christ’s sake. They don’t have to go out and look like crazed martyrs all the time, because they’ve set up organizations to do that sort of recruitment for them – the Mainstream Coalition, and the like.”

“Sure, Operation Rescue and other groups, I know who and what you mean. But where’s this going, Terry,” Professor Garcia asked, feigning exasperation, but clearly interested.

Terry smiled. “I’m getting to it,” he answered. “Most of these splinter groups aren’t affiliated directly with the Republican party, even though they’re working mostly at the ward leader’s behest, but they are out in the open, acting publicly and loudly. They thrive on calling attention to themselves, in fact. But not the Family,” McGruder finished.

“The Family likes to keep it on the Q.T.”

Day 9, Word Count: c. 7,010

Back on track, but way behind. Read on below Blind with rage, Robin continued to walk towards the East side, not knowing or caring where she would end up, just moving to move. Then, out of nowhere, she was knocked off her feet and flat on her ass. Bam!

"What the FUCK!" she yelled. For the third time that day, she had to repress the tears that threatened to cascade down her face.

A skinny white guy with bright red hair was standing over her. He was looking down with a mingled expression of fear and awe. "Uh un, uh . . ." he stammered.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing?" Robin screeched at him.

The kid – because now Robin saw how young this guy really was – in the scruffy jeans just continued to stare at her with that wide-eyed shocked look.

"I'm sorry," he said. So quiet she barely heard him. "I didn't see . . . I was . . . you were . . . thinking."

He started to move (finally, she thought) towards her and reached out a hand to help her up. Grasping his outstretched hand, rising and wiping at her butt at the same time, Robin put on her best bitch face.

"Pay-fucking-attention next time."

"Sorry, really. I - I, well . . . sorry," he finished lamely.

Some of Robin's anger at the kid started to leech away. The kid was just so . . . innocent was the thought that came to mind. Maybe simple was a better fit though. "You should be sorry," she said, the edge mostly gone from her voice. "Hip-checking perfectly innocent women is not really considered acceptable behavior."

A slight smile broke out on the kid's face and his whole aspect changed. He actually wasn't bad looking when he wasn't so slumped and drawn in. A little skinny, sure. But there was something there to work with.

Robin was a little surprised at how she was reacting to this whole situation and how fast her mood had changed. Standing before her was the perfect target for all of her day's (the year’s) pent up anger and frustration. She should be ripping this jackass a new one.

But there was just something about him that seemed to suck the venom out of her.

"I'm sorry, really," he said, meek all over again, head down, studying the dirt on the path they both stood on.
"Listen. No big deal. Shit happens," Robin said. She looked at her watch. It was nearly five o'clock and she had a date to get ready for. It was supposed to be a celebration, but now it was just going to be a chance to let go of the day. "I gotta motor. Watch where you're going, kid."

Robin surprised herself again by giving the redhead one of her patented 1000 watt smiles.

"Oh- okay," he said, some of the cheer back in his face. "Sorry again, miss. Really."

"Don't worry about it," Robin said. "I've been through a hell of a lot worse today." She started to walk off again and was surprised to see the kid still standing there, watching her walk away when she turned to look back at the edge of the park.

Weird kid, she thought, but I guess it takes all kinds. Robin hesitated, and then for some reason unknown to her, she waved to the kid. He waved back - tentatively - and then disappeared behind some of the trees further along the path. Robin turned and entered the human river of traffic pouring out of the offices of Fifth Avenue, not giving the boy another thought.

Chapter Nine

Abraham Krebs stood behind the large oak tree, just peeking around the edge of it, only his left eye exposed. He could barely see the girl anymore in the throng of people moving up and down the avenue, but he had no problem tracking her movements.

He knew he had to get to the brownstone and report in. Should have already been there in fact. But he couldn’t turn away from the girl. Couldn’t stop thinking of the brilliant smile she’d favored him with. Even amidst the dirt and grime of the park, that smile had shined through. In spite of the gloom it had shined.

So, without giving it another thought (Abraham, we’ll see, is definitely a creature that acts on instinct ninety percent of the time) stepped out from the cover of the tree and moved quickly across the park towards 5th.

The whole time he moved, he never took his eye off the girl. He was a pretty good tracker, he’d been trained well by his pa and uncles back on the farm, but even that training wasn’t even needed here. That pink suit of her’s is like a spotlight, the young man thought to himself. He marveled at a woman that was daring enough to wear such an outfit.

Krebs had seen a lot of bizarre, strange, and even frightening style choices on the residents of this city, but never had he seen someone – especially a woman – wear something so bold. If he had seen someone wearing something like that back home he (and everyone else he knew) would’ve have thought the person was off their rocker.

But on the girl . . .

On that girl it was like the most beautiful wedding gown on the fairest of fairy princesses.

This thought stopped Krebs dead in his tracks. Someone actually bumped into him from behind, but he ignored their muttered curse words. A voice deep in the recesses of his mind told him that thoughts like that one he’d just had were dangerous things. That following some random girl into the heart of the city was a very dangerous thing. That same voice continued to drone on, and Krebs knew he should listen to it. Knew he should heed it. Somehow though, for the first time, he was able to ignore that voice.

Abraham Krebs’s eyes had been slightly out-of-focus as that voice spoke to him. Now, though, they came back to sharp pinpoints and he looked up just in time to see the girl crossing the next block and moving diagonally towards 23rd street.

Krebs continued to follow her.