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

soon the entire room was carrying it, like a banner. The sound was a wave that washed against the shores of Rusty’s mind. It was the worst. It was a chop low like no other he’d ever heard.
    He had been top man of the Cougars for so long, to have this kind of indignity pushed on him, was something frightful. He clenched his fists, and stood where he was. Customers got up quickly, most of them abandoning their trays of uneaten food, and left.
    Rusty knew he had to talk to Candle now. Now was the time, because if he spent the day with that chick-chick festering in his brain, he’d fight sure as hell!
    Somebody yelled, “Oooooh, Russsell! Oh, Russell, baby, do your hen imitation fer us! Go, man, go, Russell!”
    He hated that name. It was the first time they’d called him that since it had been abbreviated to Rusty.
    The boy stepped slowly away from the table, and walked over to Candle’s place. The Cougars’ Prez had been talking to his broad, not even looking at Rusty while the call had been going up. Now, as Rusty approached, he paid even more attention to Joy, but the three side-boys stood up slowly, their hands going into the tight pockets of their jeans. There were shanks in there, waiting to cut if Rusty made a snipe move.
    Rusty stopped. “Candle.”
    The boy with the almost-Mongoloid features did not look up. He had his hand clutched to the girl’s knee, and he seemed totally oblivious to what was happening behind him. But Joy’s blue eyes were up and frightened. She stared straight at Rusty and the wild excitement in her face made him sick; they all wanted kicks. They didn’t care who got nailed, so long as sparks flew and they could bathe in them. Then Candle turned carefully around. He looked up.
    “Well, read this,” he said arrogantly, more to his side-boys than Rusty. “Check who just dropped in for a chat. Welcome, spick.”
    Rusty felt the blood surging in him and he wanted to drive a fist straight into the bastard’s mouth. But that was what Candle wanted. That would be the clincher. They’d slice him up like fresh bacon, right there, and everyone would dummy up. No one wanted the Cougars pissed off at them.
    “Candle. I wanna talk to you,” Rusty said softly.
    The other grinned hugely, and he swung one foot up onto the chair, just touching the edge of Rusty’s pants, putting a bit of dirt there.
    “What you got to say to me you can say out at the dumps, spick.”
    “Look, don’t make it rougher than now,” Rusty cautioned him. “I wanna knock this off. I don’t feature the idea of a stand. I got enough trouble with the cops already. No sense my getting picked up and tossed in the farm.”
    Candle reared back and laughed. Loud. His voice cut off all the chickie-chickie around the room, and everyone waited to find out what would happen. They knew Rusty was no chicken, they knew he had been rough as Prez of the Cougars and did not understand what had changed him. But they also knew Candle was a rough stud, and it would be top kicks to see these two go at each other.
    “You don’t wanna stand, man? You don’t wanna come out and show all these kids you ain’t yellow?” His grin grew wider as he grabbed a cardboard pint carton of milk, ripped open across the top. “That sits fine with me, but I still got a beef with you.
    “So,” he said, lifting the carton, “if you wanna bow out, that’s ace with me, and I’ll settle my beef like this!” He threw the milk at Rusty.
    They laughed. The crowd burst into sound and Rusty stood there with the milk running down over his face, soaking quickly through his shirt and running through to his pants.
    Before he could restrain himself he had lunged and had his hands around Candle’s throat. The Prez of the Cougars gave a violent gasp and brought his own hands up in an inward swinging movement, breaking Rusty’s grip. Then he choked out, “Grab—grab him!” and the side-boys had Rusty’s arms pinned.
    Candle swung out of the chair and