Candlemoth by R. J. Ellory Read Free Book Online

unmistakable presence.
        'I said
what did you do, Marty?'
        'And
what the hell business is it of yours what I did?' he snapped back.
        'You
touched her,' I said. 'You damned well touched her, Marty.'
        Marty
bared his teeth in contempt. 'I'll damned well touch you, Daniel Ford,' he
said.
        I
pushed Marty Hooper.
        Marty
Hooper laughed and pushed me back.
        'Freakin'
loser,' he hissed. 'Freakin' loser, Ford.'
        The
kids in the soda shop stepped away simultaneously, and suddenly there was an
arena, a boxing ring, and I realized even in that moment that I was gonna get a
pounding.
        Marty
Hooper was faster, taller, stronger, but more importantly he possessed greater
confidence than me. I was defending Sheryl Rose's honor, perhaps the greatest
and most powerful motivation for an all-out onslaught against this criminal of
the heart. But Marty Hooper had done this before, and I had not.
        The
first roundhouse collided with my left ear.
        I was
sure I tasted blood. I saw thirty-five colors in stereo and howled like a stuck
pig.
        Larry
James was laughing. 'Asshole,' he was saying. 'What an asshole this guy is.'
        Sheryl
Rose turned away, her expression one of terror and grief and panic and sympathy
all rolled into one.
        I
came back then, came back like a rabid hound, and even as I started in on Marty
Hooper I felt this hand on my collar, and suddenly I was jerked backwards,
almost lifted wholesale from the ground.
        Before
I knew what had happened I was standing near the window and Nathan was there
ahead of Marty Hooper, his fists raised, his eyes wide, his teeth bared like a
mad thing.
        'You
want some too?' Marty asked. He started laughing. 'This asshole wants some too…
come on then, asshole, come get a piece of me.'
        When
Nathan Verney hit Marty Hooper, Marty went down.
        He
didn't so much fall as go down.
        It
was hard to describe, harder to demonstrate when we spoke of it later.
        Marty
Hooper just flat-fuck fell.
        Boom.
        Down.
        Like
a stone.
        And
Marty didn't get up.
        There
was silence.
        You
could have heard a gnat's fart.
        I
stood there, jaw to the floor, eyes like a bug, hair on the nape of my neck
standing to attention like a porcupine.
        Larry
James said it. No doubt about it. I even remember the way he said it. Like the
smack of a baseball bat. Like a gunshot.
        Nigger!
        Marty
Hooper stirred.
        Someone
came forward and helped him to his feet.
        When
he realized what had happened he was even more shocked and embarrassed than before.
But now the source of his ridicule was neither Sheryl Rose nor me. It was the
tall black teenager standing just three or four feet from him.
        Nathan
Verney had put him down with one punch, and he believed he could never live
that down.
        And then
he said it too. 'Nigger! Damned nigger!'
        And
though he didn't say it the same, it sounded worse.
        Now
it was out there. Now it had been repeated by someone, and there were those
among that crew who would have said or done anything to remain involved with
these people.
        And
so someone else said it. I don't know who. It didn't matter.
        Nigger!
        By
the time it had caught and become a chant Nathan Verney was already at the
door.
        I was
beside him in a heartbeat, and we went out through that door quickly and
quietly and hurried down the boardwalk towards the street.
        'Go,'
Nathan was saying. 'Go, Daniel… just go!' I could read a real sense of panic
and terror in his eyes, something that I would see only years later when we
were grown.
        I
remember the feeling of the sun. It was brutal. I felt naked.
        I
remember glancing back towards Sheryl and she was looking right at me. Her
expression told me everything I needed to know. She felt for us,