Web of the City by Harlan Ellison Read Free Book Online Page A

and she rose an inch at his question. “You didn’t show till three o’clock. Whaddaya coppin’ low at me for?”
    Rusty felt anger rising in him. Since his father had taken to sleeping out—god only knew where he was vomiting and crashing tonight—he felt more and more responsible for the girl. He had gotten her in with the Cougie Cats, and he had to watch out for her. These were bad streets.
    “I ast ya something. Where were ya?”
    Her face grew more defiant, and she spat, “I was out with the kids.”
    “What kids? Where?”
    “Oh, fer Chrissakes, gawdamighty! Can’t a person lead a private life without a bunch of snoopin’—”
    Rusty’s voice cut through, then was itself cut off as the tired woman at the stove smothered them both with, “Eat. It’s mornin’. Let’s not have it today. Just eat. As long as you’re both home, it don’t matter. Eat.” Her voice was colored with weariness. She hadn’t slept much, Rusty knew, waiting for him to come home. Yet she had not helped him undress.
    How far apart they had grown. Again, he felt the tearing in his belly. He remembered the Spanish coin.
    “It does matter,” he started again, covering his own feelings. “I don’t want ya runnin’ with that gang no more, Dolo! They’re bad medicine…”
    Dolores leaped to her feet, and the chair went over with a snapping bang. “You should talk! You should talk to me. I’m so humiliated ’cause of you. I can’t live it down. They all call me the chickie’s sister. How’d you like it? I can’t get away from it. You got me so humiliated!” Her voice had risen to a shriek. “I hate you! You’re just a coward, is all! I hope Candle creams you today!”
    So the word had spread in the neighborhood already.
    Rusty heard the spoon his mother had been using drop to the floor with a thunk! and he turned to see her staring at him.
    Her voice came out shaded with fright. “What—what’s she mean? You fightin’ today? Answer me, you gonna fight again?” Her hands were wrapped tightly in her apron and her face was the color of the sky outside—pale-sick white.
    Rusty started to deny it, but Dolores yelled a vicious word, and then she was gone, flouncing out of the kitchen. A moment later he heard the front door slam and her progress bang-banging down the stairs.
    What could he say to his mother?
    “Answer me,” she whispered.
    “Nothing, Ma. Just nothing. Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna fight.” Then he, too, was free of her. He left the dingy apartment.
    But he knew he would fight. It was being called chicken. That bit deep. He had lived in the streets too long to let something like that slide away. If Candle would not see reason—the stand would come off just as planned.
    He tried not to think about it.
    Because the air stank with death.

FOUR:
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
rusty santoro
candle
    The day went like a souped-up heap. The kids stayed away from Rusty like he was down with the blue botts. He tried to find things to do, but the scene was cold and dead.
    Rusty saw Candle only once, and that was in the cafeteria. The hard-faced Prez of the Cougars was sitting at a table with Joy, feeling her up, and laughing loudly with his side-boys. They ate together. Rusty cut wide around them, for a while, and got a tray for himself. The food was the usual steam-table garbage and he only took a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a piece of apple pie and a pint of milk. He wasn’t hungry, not at all.
    Finally, when he had polished off the food, he got up, leaving the tray, and turned around.
    Everyone was watching him. He realized suddenly that they had been watching him all through lunch. But he had been thinking as he ate and had not noticed. Now they stared at him, and from the middle of the room he heard the derisive voice of a punk.
    “Here chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck… chick-chick-chick…” It went on and on, leaving the first boy, swinging to another, then pretty