Trap (9781476793177) by Robert K. Tanenbaum Read Free Book Online

alley entrance. There he looked both ways before stepping out on the sidewalk and scurrying away, the cage dangling from his hand.
    â€œHey you!” a man’s voice called out from the shadows across the street.
    He froze. He’d been careless. He’d looked both ways up and down the sidewalk, but he hadn’t noticed the two cops had crossed and were standing on the other side behind a parked car.
    The man considered running, but he’d never been much of an athlete and knew that they’d catch him. Besides, he reminded himself, you’ve rehearsed this a thousand times . . . just in case .
    â€œYes, sir?” he called out to the cops who were walking across the street toward him. His voice quavered and he hoped they would think it was just the cold. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œCold night to be out,” said one of the uniformed officers, a large man with a scarf wrapped around his face.
    â€œYes, sir,” the man replied. He held up the cage. “We have rats in my mother’s apartment,” he said. “Borrowed a cage from a friend.”
    â€œGot rats in my place, too,” the other cop, a short man, said. “But they eventually wise up about the cage and won’t go near it. Get a cat.”
    â€œI like cats,” the young man replied, “but Mother’s allergic to cat hair. So I can’t have one.”
    â€œWell, hope you get ’em with your cage,” the second cop said. “Have a good night.”
    â€œThank you. I’m sure I will . . . get them, I mean.”
    As the cops turned away and began walking off in the direction they’d come earlier, the man heard the big one snicker. “ ‘We have rats in Mother’s house,’ ” he said, mimicking him. “And Jesus, Joseph, and Mary . . . you see his face?”
    â€œYeah, what a freak. And wearing cherry red Chuck Taylors in weather like this; his feet had to be freezing,” he heard the shorter cop reply before their voices faded.
    The young man stood still for a moment, clenching his fists. Even the fucking cops thought they were better than him. It’s part of what made him want to burn things. He imagined running up to the cops and squirting them with gasoline like he had the rat. Then it would be burn baby burn, he thought happily.
    However, he was powerless to act on his fantasy, so he walked off in the opposite direction. Because of the cold he hadn’t gone too far from his home that night and arrived outside the run-down East Harlem walk-up where he and his mother had moved after leaving Brooklyn several years earlier. He looked up at the second floor, to the window of his mother’s bedroom, and was disappointed to see that a light was still on. She’s up. She’s going to want to talk. I don’t want to talk to her. He considered waiting until she went to sleep, but as the cop had noted to his partner, his high-tops were soaked and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore they were so cold.
    He climbed the steps to the landing and pulled four keys on a ring from his pants pocket. There was a strong piece of string attached to the ring and the other end tied to a belt loop so that he wouldn’t lose them. One of the keys he inserted into the door lock and another he used to turn the deadbolt to let himself into the building.
    The other two keys were for the locks leading to their rooms on the second floor. He unlocked those and turning the knob as quietly as he could he entered the apartment. Muffled voices from down the hallway meant his mother was watching television. Removing his coat and hanging it on a peg next to the door, he crept toward his bedroom, hoping she might not hear him.
    â€œSon?” his mother’s voice called out. “Is that you? Come see your mother.”
    The young man hung his head. There was no escaping it. As he walked down the hallway to her room, he