Chubby drove at ninety miles an hour on the rain-blind highway. From the back of his throat emerged a whiny high-pitched singsong note, which he repeated over and over as the car swerved and skidded. He was calm, but his eyes were glassy, his foot frozen on the accelerator.

He didn't slow down until he hit the Bronx. He ran stop signs and red lights on the empty streets, pulled the car to a screaming rocking stop half up on the sidewalk in front of his building. He sprinted to the entrance, the busboy shirt pulling away in the back like water wings, his naked gut bouncing and rolling with every step. He hit the elevator button, cursed, punched the door and ran up the stairs. On the fifth floor he collapsed, panting and wheezing, resting his head on the banister. He staggered into the elevator and rode up to eleven.

***

Phyllis paced the empty house, muttering, shaking her hands and pointing her finger in emphatic gestures. As she did this, her face took on a rapid range of expressions, like a street schizo.

"Now, Chubby"—she pointed at Allen Funt, chortling on television—"I want you to tell me straight and don't bullshit me." She glared at the screen. "Who is she?" The elevator door creaked open, and she scooted into the kitchen, heart pounding in her ears, frantically pulling out pots and pans without rhyme or reason. She dropped a griddle, the clatter making her flinch. She crouched to pick it up. Chubby stood wheezing and steaming, dripping wet in the kitchen doorway. His eyes were wide-open crazy and his teeth were clenched. His asthma-stuffed chest, naked and slick, labored with every breath. From her crouch Chubby's head looked like it almost touched the ceiling.

"Chub...

"Hoowah!" His backhand slap knocked her rolling, sprayed the white glossy enamel of the stove with a riddle of blood from her split lip. She sat up on the floor, staring at him in wild-eyed disbelief, lightly touching her wounded mouth.

Chubby aimed a kick at her face, but Phyllis deflected the tip of his shoe with her arms. A sickening crack. She screamed in pain, staring at the limp hand hanging from her broken wrist. The kick threw Chubby off balance, and he flopped backward on his ass with a grunt.

"Chubby! Oh God!" Phyllis tried to drag herself to the corner of the kitchen. Chubby was all business. He crawled after her and dragged her to him by the ankle. On his knees now he held her by the front of her blouse, reared back and punched her square in the nose. A flash of pain like lightning branched out over her face. The linoleum was splattered with rain and blood. The momentum of the punch toppled Chubby over her as if they were in the kitchen for a quickie. From the back of his throat rose that high-pitched whining singsong again. She tried to scream, but the pressure from her broken nose sent shock waves across her face. Chubby heard laughing. He struggled to his knees again, straddling her chest.