she never strayed into the middle of a room, and curbside bushes were her best friends. She sought counseling and made progress, and ultimately it saved her.
She was checking her e-mail one day and accidentally called up Bud’s list of internet favorites. He’d book-marked eighteen porno sites. Patty pulled up one. It was a “fat chicks” site. Another, the same. All eighteen featured grossly overweight woman doing things that slender women would decline in favor of a good headache.
It was a bad time for Bud to walk in. He went ballistic. But his fury was no match for hers. She went for his eyes and got one of them. She went for his unit, but had to settle for his shriveled scrotum. She got one of its inhabitants, too.
That’s where her earlier counseling saved her. That and a great lawyer. His main point was made when a skinny woman walked into the hearing room. Patty had puked her way out of jail and into Imola.
Agnes sat back and smiled. She imagined a personalad in the newspaper and on the Web. Single white male, weightlifter, one eye, one shrunken nut, seeking meaningful relationship with a plus-sized woman without fingernails.
Her thoughts went to Stuart. What was brewing in that darkened room? Would he look at his hand the same after what Patty said?
Agnes didn’t have to wait long. Stuart burst out of his door and shuffled into the Day Room. He scanned the room, locked his gaze on Patty, and lurched toward her. She was ready. She deflected his arms and shoved him aside. He nearly went over, bracing himself against the wall. He came at her again, and again she pushed his arms, partially spinning him, and pushed him at the wall. His shoulder hit this time.
Stuart kicked at her, and she dodged his foot. He faked another lurch, she reacted, and he slipped behind her. His left arm went around her neck, and his right hand thrust down the front of her jumpsuit. He fondled her, hard.
Patty gave him an elbow in the ribs, and his hand came out of her suit. Another elbow, higher, caught him just under the armpit. He let go of her neck. She pushed him back against the wall, and he froze.
“You bitch. I’m going to get you.” He looked around the room. “I’m going to get all of you. You won’t know which one first. You won’t know when. But I’m going to get you all.”
Agnes didn’t notice right away, but Milo McGuinn was on his feet. And he was walking—fast. Faster than she had ever seen him walk. He still lifted his feet high and jiggled them at the apex of each step, and it produced a goose walk that reminded her of the Monty Python skit, “Ministry of Silly Walks.” He approached Stuart.
“Keep your hands off the girls, or I’ll—”
Stuart hit him square in the chest with his fist.
Milo didn’t flinch. Not even an eye blink. He looked down at his chest and then at Stuart, who seemed shocked.
Milo smiled, then reached past Stuart’s left shoulder and brushed off the adjacent wall with his hand. He waved it over the plaster from head-height down halfway to the floor, then stepped back and smiled at Stuart again.
This time Stuart smiled back.
Milo grabbed Stuart by the shoulders and moved him a step to the left and then slammed him into the now microbe-free wall. He pulled him back and slammed him again. Stuart’s head hit hard on the second slam. His eyes gushed tears.
Milo held his left leg out straight, at a forty-five-degree angle, and shook it so hard the bell clapper couldn’t keep up with the casing. He returned his foot to the floor, slightly overlapping Stuart’s right leg. A shove and Stuart fell across his leg and onto the floor right under the spot where Milo had shaken his foot.
Stuart crumpled on the floor. “You’re a bitch, too,” he shouted between sobs. “Only fairy bitches don’t eat meat.”
Milo bent down close to Stuart’s face. “That’s right. I don’t eat meat. But I’ll eat a plateful on the day you go to hell.”
CHAPTER 8
April ran her fingers
She was checking her e-mail one day and accidentally called up Bud’s list of internet favorites. He’d book-marked eighteen porno sites. Patty pulled up one. It was a “fat chicks” site. Another, the same. All eighteen featured grossly overweight woman doing things that slender women would decline in favor of a good headache.
It was a bad time for Bud to walk in. He went ballistic. But his fury was no match for hers. She went for his eyes and got one of them. She went for his unit, but had to settle for his shriveled scrotum. She got one of its inhabitants, too.
That’s where her earlier counseling saved her. That and a great lawyer. His main point was made when a skinny woman walked into the hearing room. Patty had puked her way out of jail and into Imola.
Agnes sat back and smiled. She imagined a personalad in the newspaper and on the Web. Single white male, weightlifter, one eye, one shrunken nut, seeking meaningful relationship with a plus-sized woman without fingernails.
Her thoughts went to Stuart. What was brewing in that darkened room? Would he look at his hand the same after what Patty said?
Agnes didn’t have to wait long. Stuart burst out of his door and shuffled into the Day Room. He scanned the room, locked his gaze on Patty, and lurched toward her. She was ready. She deflected his arms and shoved him aside. He nearly went over, bracing himself against the wall. He came at her again, and again she pushed his arms, partially spinning him, and pushed him at the wall. His shoulder hit this time.
Stuart kicked at her, and she dodged his foot. He faked another lurch, she reacted, and he slipped behind her. His left arm went around her neck, and his right hand thrust down the front of her jumpsuit. He fondled her, hard.
Patty gave him an elbow in the ribs, and his hand came out of her suit. Another elbow, higher, caught him just under the armpit. He let go of her neck. She pushed him back against the wall, and he froze.
“You bitch. I’m going to get you.” He looked around the room. “I’m going to get all of you. You won’t know which one first. You won’t know when. But I’m going to get you all.”
Agnes didn’t notice right away, but Milo McGuinn was on his feet. And he was walking—fast. Faster than she had ever seen him walk. He still lifted his feet high and jiggled them at the apex of each step, and it produced a goose walk that reminded her of the Monty Python skit, “Ministry of Silly Walks.” He approached Stuart.
“Keep your hands off the girls, or I’ll—”
Stuart hit him square in the chest with his fist.
Milo didn’t flinch. Not even an eye blink. He looked down at his chest and then at Stuart, who seemed shocked.
Milo smiled, then reached past Stuart’s left shoulder and brushed off the adjacent wall with his hand. He waved it over the plaster from head-height down halfway to the floor, then stepped back and smiled at Stuart again.
This time Stuart smiled back.
Milo grabbed Stuart by the shoulders and moved him a step to the left and then slammed him into the now microbe-free wall. He pulled him back and slammed him again. Stuart’s head hit hard on the second slam. His eyes gushed tears.
Milo held his left leg out straight, at a forty-five-degree angle, and shook it so hard the bell clapper couldn’t keep up with the casing. He returned his foot to the floor, slightly overlapping Stuart’s right leg. A shove and Stuart fell across his leg and onto the floor right under the spot where Milo had shaken his foot.
Stuart crumpled on the floor. “You’re a bitch, too,” he shouted between sobs. “Only fairy bitches don’t eat meat.”
Milo bent down close to Stuart’s face. “That’s right. I don’t eat meat. But I’ll eat a plateful on the day you go to hell.”
CHAPTER 8
April ran her fingers
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