Free Round Robin by Joseph Flynn Page B

turd had his nurse give Robin a new, heavier set of metal crutches. Stamped NFL-approved.
    Robin wanted to hit someone. Or scream. Do something to get even. But for the moment all she could manage was a volcanic glare that drove away anyone even thinking of taking the seat next to her at the back of the bus. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to hang on. She’d be home soon. She could sit in her park, watch the fish, look at her beautiful plants, and...
    She remembered that her home was no longer her own.
    That overstuffed sausage was lurking in her basement.
    A savage grin crossed Robin’s face: payback time.
    The kraut was out.
    Kaput.
    It might not be fair, but so-the-hell what? When had life ever been fair to her? She’d write him a check for fixing the furnace and tell him to hit the bricks. He didn’t have a lease. If he gave her any trouble, she’d call the cops. Tell them to bring a crane if Sluggo got balky.
    Robin looked up and saw a guy angling toward the empty seat next to her, looking elsewhere to avoid the daggers she was staring at him, but definitely headed her way. Having no other choice, Robin, oops, accidentally cracked him a good one across the shin with her crutches.
    “Oh, I am sorry,” she said.
    The guy was hopping up and down on one leg, and Robin had a hard time not laughing.
    “Yeah, well, watch out with those things,” he said harshly.
    But he went to stand in the front half of the bus.
    Now that she’d decided to evict Manfred, Robin couldn’t wait to get home.
     
    Dan Phinney walked toward the rear of his daughter’s house with his toolbox in his hand. At first, he thought he heard the sound of someone taking a whiz against the back of Robin’s building. He was about to dig a wrench out of his box and apply it to the head of whatever lowlife thought he could pee on someone’s private property when he realized the volume of water he heard was far too great for human plumbing. He bent over and looked in a window at the side of Robin’s basement.
    A pipe had burst.
    Water was gushing everywhere.
    And a giant was standing in the middle of the deluge looking like he was trying to squeeze two ends of a pipe shut with his bare hands, all the while cursing loudly in German.
    Dan hustled around the corner of the building and ran down the stairs to the basement door. He took a monkey wrench out of his toolbox, brandishing it as a weapon just in case, and opened the door with his key. A wave flowed out that reached his calves. Then a hand grabbed the head of the wrench and jerked him into the basement as easily as he might have plucked a dandelion from his lawn.
    Suddenly, Dan found himself standing next to the giant, who politely said, “Bitte,” and relieved him of his monkey wrench.
    The man turned and was looking for something. Even with the door open the water was a good six inches deep. Then Dan realized what the giant wanted. He rushed over to help him.
    “You’ve got to get the shut-off valve,” he said.
    “Ja, I tried. It broke off in my hand.”
    Dan quickly showed him where it was, reaching under the water.
    “Here, put the wrench here.”
    He nimbly stepped aside, giving the German room to fit the wrench to the valve and with great strength and equal control turn it clockwise to shut off the water. The giant turned to look at Dan as he worked.
    “Must be careful. These pipes are very old, very brittle.”
    But, inch by careful inch, Dan watched the guy get the job done. The wrench turned, the water slowed and finally stopped. Dan couldn’t get over the size of this guy, the way he could see all those immense muscles at work right through his wet shirt. He stared at the ends of the pipe he’d seen the guy squeezing. They weren’t watertight, but they sure weren’t circular anymore either. They looked as slitted as a cat’s eyes in sunlight.
    Dan felt a large finger tap his shoulder and he turned.
    “Your wrench, Mein Herr. Danke.”
    Dan took the wrench, knowing