Candy Kid by Dorothy B. Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

commanded.
    The boy dropped his hand. Suspicion clouded his eyes.
    Jose spoke in the boy’s tongue. “I have need of a guide. I will give you a dollar if you will serve me.”
    The suspicion didn’t go away but greed crowded it.
    “What do you say?”
    The boy muttered. “You will give me a dollar?”
    “Yes.”
    “I cannot go far,” the boy hesitated. “The old one, my grandfather, leans on me.” Jose followed the gesture to the bent shoulders and gray hair of the man who stood beside the tray of watermelon slices.
    “Is the Street of the Little Burro far?” Jose inquired.
    “But no.” Suspicion vanished in a smile. “He will not know I am gone. Come, Senor.”
    The boy squirmed away, taking care his grandfather did not observe the departure. Jose followed, cutting across to the opposite corner, in the direction he had come, but not on the Avenue now. Up a darkened side street. They had gone but a brief way before the boy stopped and faced him.
    “You will give me the dollar now.”
    “That I will not do,” Jose answered coolly. “If I give you the dollar, you will not lead me to the street of the small she-burro. You will run back to your grandfather.”
    “If I lead you to the street, you will need me no longer,” the boy argued. “You will drive me away without the dollar you have promised.”
    Jose pushed the boy forward, following behind him. “You do not trust me. And I do not trust you. But because the reward is great, you will show me the way and hope I am an honorable man. Which I am, Chico.”
    The boy’s bare feet dug into the pavement. “If you are an honorable man, give me the dollar now.” Jose began to shake his head but the boy’s grimy finger pointed. “This is the street you desire.”
    The words flaked on the wall, Calle de la Burrita. Jose walked quickly to the corner, peered into the narrow passage. “My dollar,” the little boy wailed, tugging at Jose’s coat.
    “Yes.” He reached into his pocket, drew forth a silver cartwheel and pressed it into the small hand. The boy’s eyes rounded with disbelief. The Senor had been an honorable man. It was not often so in his experience. Jose warned, “Say to no one where you have found this.”
    The boy clenched his fingers over the prize. “I will tell no one nothing,” he gurgled. Jose understood. The chico would not risk losing the dollar to someone stronger than he.
    Jose turned into the alley. It was as narrow as the street where the Cafe Herrera stood but it was not elegant, not even in a faded fashion. The houses here were not walled, they crumbled on the street without protection. The street was not paved with tipsy bricks; warm dust sifted over the hard-packed dirt. It had one advantage over Calle Herrera, it was not dead end. At the far corner it twisted into another lane, much like the one he had just traveled with the boy.
    This byway seemed deserted. It showed no light, it made no sound. The faint echo of the Avenida’s merriment whimpered from another world. Jose walked silent as a glimmering ghost, but boldly. If he was under observation from behind dark windows no suspicion should attach to him by reason of his gait. The way seemed to grow darker and more silent, although that was pure nervous stomach and he knew it. He walked the entire length of the narrow lane before coming upon the shop of Senor Praxiteles.
    It was a real shop with a large glass window through which tourists might peer before entering. If they should happen to wander this far from the bridge. Jose did not stop to peer through the undisturbed dust which swathed the pane like mist. He merely made note that the darkness was broken by a flicker, dim as a candle, far in the rear of the shop. The light was so small it laid no color on the street. The entrance was on the corner, there were tip-tilted earthen steps leading to a heavy wooden door, so old the iron of the hinges and the latch were worn black and thin. Above the door was a small iron