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teous certitude that Matty was to blamethat he was "out of control," that maybe he was "on something." The idiot woman had scared her half to death. They had had a fight, and Matty had won. Simple as that. But to think that because her fat little hood son got his face scratched, she threw the drug demon at her. The bitch. Terry had a mind to call back and blast her about the purple egg swelling under Matty's eye. The little thug could have blinded her boy. |
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Still . . . "Bobby Gorawlski's mother called," she said, struggling to conceal her fury. |
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"She said you attacked him and some other boys, and that you scratched his face." |
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Matty's expression did not change. |
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He put the glass in the sink and started walking out of the kitchen. |
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"Matthew Hazzard, I'm talking to you." |
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"I wanna take a shower." His voice was hoarse. How it had changed over the last few months, she thought. |
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"Please just tell me who started it, Matty." |
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Damn it, it was one thing to have a code of honor, it was another to lapse into total incommunicado. Well, she finally told herself, it was just one of those things boys do growing upthey get into tussles. This one just happened to draw blood and welts, but nothing critical. Hearing her son's slanted account of the incident, Betty Gorawlski had simply overreacted. In a sense, Terry couldn't blame her, what with his face scratched. (Still no need to cry drugs.) She would just chalk it in her boys-will-be-boys column. |
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"All right, tell me where you've been the last two and a half hours." |
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"Can you at least tell me where?" |
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"When you come down, I'm going to have you checked just in case." |
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