Spyder
By- David Fingerman
Genre- Suspense
Synopsis
Meet Spyder-a street-wise antihero of inner city society. Experience his strange wisdom, and his twisted sense of humor.Thirty-year-old Spyder doesn't waste time thinking how much lower he can sink. When he finds his girlfriend dead as the result of drugs he supplied, Spyder contemplates his life and decides it's time to do what he's avoided most of his days-join mainstream society. All he needs to do is kick the drug habit, find a job, a place to live, and earn some money. Easy. He's done it hundreds of times, but never all at once. As always, Fate steps in and knees him in the groin. All the dregs he's ever known want their say. George won't stop his pestering, Sal needs a huge favor, Coon is hunting for a certain arachnid, and Spyder's dealer doesn't want to lose one of his best customers. As things spiral out of control, Spyder tangles himself in a web so tight that even he might never be able to escape.
Excerpt
The heat didn’t bother me nearly as much on the way home. I had it planned out that most of my first check would go toward groceries and rent. Heather had been kind enough not to ask, but I figured I owed it to her anyway.
The apartment was exceptionally quiet when I got home. I walked in and Martha, Heather’s mom, was sitting by the open window, fanning herself and watching TV with the sound off.
“Shhhh,” she said even before I got the door closed. “I finally got ‘em to sleep.”
“How were they today?” I asked in a hushed voice.
She let out a long sigh. “They’re a handful. They’re at that age when everything is mine, mine, mine. They fight over everything.”
“I noticed that,” I said. “One kid picks his nose, the other one wants the booger.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Are you going to need the bathroom any time soon?” I asked. “I want to get cleaned up. I got myself a job today.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. Where at?”
“Going to be doing warehouse work. Driving a fork truck.”
“Congratulations. You take your time. I’m fine.”
I filled the tub with luke cool water, stripped, and submerged myself, letting the world float away. It had been a hell of a day. Witnessed an almost accident, an almost fight, a full fledged arrest. For a change none of it involved me. I had no illusions the job was going to be shit, but it was only a temporary thing. Just enough to get me on my feet again. I’d be out of there before that guy the cops carted off came back with a sawed-off and opened fire on anything that moved.
I must have dozed off. No idea for how long. The noise of the rug rats stomping and screaming over something the other one wanted brought me out of my reverie.
Relaxed and refreshed I made my entrance. Martha had already gone home. Heather was ignoring the kids, glaring at the TV. Seeing that look, and learning from experience, it would probably be best to leave her alone. But I had good news, certainly something to cheer her up.
Without taking her eyes off the television, and before I had a chance to open my mouth, she spoke.
“Get out, Spyder.”
Did I hear her right? “What did you say?” I asked.
“You have to leave,” she said.
I guess I heard her right.
If C.G. said something to her, it would be the last time he would ever cross me. Stunned, I couldn’t speak. It couldn’t be about me neglecting the kids. That’s why she had her mother come over every day.
“Go play in the bedroom for a little while,” she said to the kids before they got a foot into the living room. By the tone of her voice, they did an about face without saying a word. I wanted to join them.
Heather looked at me, then reached in her purse and pulled out my bag of weed. I reflexively reached for my back pocket. Empty.
“Oh shit.” It must have fallen out of my pocket and I hadn’t even noticed. “Where’d did you find it?”
“Robbie found it under the chair.”
Oh double shit. The kid found it. “I’m really sorry,” I said.
She flung the bag in my direction.
The heat didn’t bother me nearly as much on the way home. I had it planned out that most of my first check would go toward groceries and rent. Heather had been kind enough not to ask, but I figured I owed it to her anyway.
The apartment was exceptionally quiet when I got home. I walked in and Martha, Heather’s mom, was sitting by the open window, fanning herself and watching TV with the sound off.
“Shhhh,” she said even before I got the door closed. “I finally got ‘em to sleep.”
“How were they today?” I asked in a hushed voice.
She let out a long sigh. “They’re a handful. They’re at that age when everything is mine, mine, mine. They fight over everything.”
“I noticed that,” I said. “One kid picks his nose, the other one wants the booger.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Are you going to need the bathroom any time soon?” I asked. “I want to get cleaned up. I got myself a job today.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. Where at?”
“Going to be doing warehouse work. Driving a fork truck.”
“Congratulations. You take your time. I’m fine.”
I filled the tub with luke cool water, stripped, and submerged myself, letting the world float away. It had been a hell of a day. Witnessed an almost accident, an almost fight, a full fledged arrest. For a change none of it involved me. I had no illusions the job was going to be shit, but it was only a temporary thing. Just enough to get me on my feet again. I’d be out of there before that guy the cops carted off came back with a sawed-off and opened fire on anything that moved.
I must have dozed off. No idea for how long. The noise of the rug rats stomping and screaming over something the other one wanted brought me out of my reverie.
Relaxed and refreshed I made my entrance. Martha had already gone home. Heather was ignoring the kids, glaring at the TV. Seeing that look, and learning from experience, it would probably be best to leave her alone. But I had good news, certainly something to cheer her up.
Without taking her eyes off the television, and before I had a chance to open my mouth, she spoke.
“Get out, Spyder.”
Did I hear her right? “What did you say?” I asked.
“You have to leave,” she said.
I guess I heard her right.
If C.G. said something to her, it would be the last time he would ever cross me. Stunned, I couldn’t speak. It couldn’t be about me neglecting the kids. That’s why she had her mother come over every day.
“Go play in the bedroom for a little while,” she said to the kids before they got a foot into the living room. By the tone of her voice, they did an about face without saying a word. I wanted to join them.
Heather looked at me, then reached in her purse and pulled out my bag of weed. I reflexively reached for my back pocket. Empty.
“Oh shit.” It must have fallen out of my pocket and I hadn’t even noticed. “Where’d did you find it?”
“Robbie found it under the chair.”
Oh double shit. The kid found it. “I’m really sorry,” I said.
She flung the bag in my direction.
During the summer months when the sun is shining and birds are singing, David is perfectly content to sit in his office, with blinds drawn, typing away at the computer. His favorite day of the year is the first day toward the end of summer that’s cool enough to pull a flannel shirt from the closet.
As a student at the University of Minnesota, David realized that if he switched his major from journalism to speech, he could graduate that quarter. It was a no-brainer. After 24 years of working in the court system, he walked away to write full time – another no-brainer.
Two Degrees Closer to Hell will be his second collection of short stories. He has also written three other novels.
David is married and lives in Minneapolis.
Social Links
Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2847989.David_Fingerman
Publisher- http://staccatopublishing.blogspot.com/p/coming-december-2013-two-degrees-closer.html
Amazon Author Page- http://www.amazon.com/David-Fingerman/e/B002BTB4L2
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/David-Fingerman-Author/523160124382574
Twitter- @davfin23
Website- http://davidfingerman.com/
Thank you, Janet!
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