Tanner casually lashed out with the flat of his hand and caught Stan on the side of the head--hard. Stan staggered against the wall and half-slid to the floor. He could feel the tears start again. "Hey! What's the...." "Again, Fred." Stan crumpled to the floor, shook his head, and struggled back to his feet. He was dazed but he knew enough not to say anything. "What's your name?" "Stanley Martin. I told...." "Fred." The blow rocked him but he managed to keep his feet. His legs felt like water. "How many of your family are living, Martin?" "Just my mother." He licked his cracked lips. "And my brother. That's all." "You've lived in Chicago all your life?" "Yes ... yes, sir." * * * * * Mr. Malcolm finally put down the reports he had been reading and looked up at him. If Tanner's eyes had been cold, Stan thought, then Mr. Malcolm's eyes were frozen. "You don't like Chicago, do you?" "I ... I guess I like it well enough." "No, you don't," Mr. Malcolm said smoothly. "You told the other copy boys you hated the city and as soon as you could, you were going to leave it." Stan gaped. "How did you know?" "We know a lot of things." Mr. Malcolm leaned casually back in his chair, inspecting Stan like he would a butterfly on a pin. "We know that you hate your mother. And your brother." "Where do you get that stuff?" Stan bleated, his voice rising. "What are you trying to prove?" "Fred. Again." Tanner had to help Stan up. "I'm going to be sick," Stan said faintly. The man behind the desk ignored him. "Your mother used to take a strap to you when you came home late, Martin. She used to accuse you of stealing in the stores." Lies, Stan thought. But he didn't dare talk back. "Your brother, Larry. He was always your mother's favorite, wasn't he? She always did a lot of things for him that she never did for you, didn't she?" "Larry never...!" "Fred." "_I'm sick_," Stan whimpered. "_Honest to God, I'm sick!_" "You hate the city," Mr. Malcolm repeated coldly. "You hate your family." "I think you're crazy," Stan said weakly. "I want a lawyer." Mr. Malcolm turned back to his reports. "Take him to the other cell, Fred." Back to a cell, Stan thought weakly, following Tanner out. Where at least he could lie down.... But the other cell was too small to lie down in. It measured two feet square and there was no room to lie down. Or even sit down. The most he could do was lean. He touched the wall with his hand and screamed with pain. The walls were wired for electricity, a thin strip of insulation separating them from the floor. He couldn't lie down, he thought. He didn't have room to sit down and he couldn't even lean against the walls. The only thing he could do was stand up ... and stand still. They took him out eight hours later, when he was too hoarse to scream and the electric walls had no effect on his sagging body. * * * * *