Spider Kiss by Harlan Ellison Read Free Book Online Page A

palm, and extended it to the older man. "Water fountain up the line, Colonel," Shelly said, jerking his head in the direction.
    Laboring under his bulk — not fat, just girth — Colonel Jack Freeport (Savannah, New York, Cannes and London) made it briskly to the fountain, popped the tablet onto his tongue and washed it down with irregular gulps of water, managing to avoid spilling on his jacket.
    "I'll see to the bags," Freeport said, straightening. "You call George Wharton at the State Fair Headquarters, and under no circumstances are we to be bothered by their sending some incompetent down to drive us. I want to get cleaned up and rested from that cursed plane ride, without having to meet anyone." He waved an imperious hand in the direction of the phone booths. Then he moved off toward the baggage claiming area.
    Shelly stared after the imposing figure of Jack Freeport, and the muscles along his lean jaw jumped. For an instant he felt like a toady. He had felt that way before. He disliked the feeling intensely. Then remembrances of debts, his unpaid balance on the Mercedes-Benz, what it cost to maintain Carlene … and the twenty thousand a year Freeport paid him … came back to him and he struck off for the phones.
    He dropped the attaché inside the booth, against the wall, and slid onto the seat. From a list of numbers in his wallet he dialed a downtown Louisville exchange, and waited. Traffic moved past the booth in both directions.
    When the dial tone broke and the husky feminine voice said, "Kentucky State Fair Headquarters," he was not quite prepared, and for an instant fumbled his silence.
    "George Wharton, please," he said finally.
    "Whom shall I say is calling?"
    "Colonel Jack Freeport."
    There was a soft, furry click and silence at the end of the line. Shelly flicked ash from the dwindling cigarette in his mouth, without removing the butt from between his lips.
    Another click and a voice said, "Jack! When the hell'd you get in, boy?"
    "This is Sheldon Morgenstern for Colonel Freeport, Mr. Wharton. We're at Standiford—"
    Wharton blustered forward with his interruption: "I'll have a car right out there for you, fella, just hold on a min—" He turned away from the mouthpiece and shrieked at someone, "Teddy! Teddy, get your coat on and take the Buick. Freeport's at Stan—"
    Shelly cut him off with a loud, " Hold it, Mr. Wharton."
    George Wharton came back to the receiver from the Land of Speedy Activity. "No trouble, no trouble at all, Mr. Morgenstern. Have a car out there in fifteen minutes. We've got a bunch of hangers-on around here, anyhow. They don't do a damned thing all day but mooch from petty cash. Let me send someone out for you."
    Shelly was adamant. "Don't bother, Mr. Wharton. Colonel Freeport is a little tired from the flight and wants to go directly to his hotel. Where have you booked us?"
    "The Brown, but—"
    "We'll take a cab to the Brown, then. The Colonel will give you a ring from the room when he's settled. Is there anything on for tonight?"
    Wharton sounded unhappy, but answered, "Just a dinner, but that isn't until nine or nine-thirty. Say are you sure—"
    Shelly felt the conversation had exhausted its meager limitations and said, "All right, then, Mr. Wharton, we'll call you as soon as we've gotten settled. Thanks a lot. Goodbye." He dropped the receiver without waiting for a reply.
    Freeport was already leaving the baggage area, the suitcases going on before under the arms of a red cap. He turned as Shelly approached, and a questioning expression bent his features.
    "What did he say?" he asked.
    Shelly lit a fresh cigarette from the butt of the one before and answered, "He wanted to send out a car; I told him we wanted to make it on our own."
    Freeport snorted. "They'd take us down to the Headquarters and before I'd even gotten a bath — some Momma would have her little Agnes tapping and bawling at me. These cursed talent contests are all the same. Where are we staying, the