Free Spider Kiss by Harlan Ellison

Whoeveryouare. Had it been necessary to rig the talent show (a small challenge to the man who had convinced America it needed a ticket to a Freeport-produced show more than it needed shoes for baby), he would have done so without hesitation.
    But the need had not arisen.
    The only competition had been a snot-nosed tot with Shirley Temple dimples and a head of Breck shampoo curls. Weak competition at best, whose only strength had been fatuous mommy-love. Luther had walked off with it; the pre-rigged decision by Freeport had not been necessary.
    The boy had been just this side of sensational. Aside from a fleeting nervousness which had quickly dispersed as his audience warmed, his stage presence had been sharp and commanding. He had sung his heart out, received three curtain calls, and collapsed the house by singing on one knee — oddly, in no way reminiscent of Jolson — directly into the pimply face of an adolescent and the wine-bright eyes of a matron. They squealed. They squirmed. They found themselves drenched with a sweat of desire. Luther was a sneak-away success. He won the first prize, which, it miraculously turned out, was a contract with Colonel Jack Freeport, and a trip to New York. Had the tot won, the prize would have been a lovely Westinghouse refrigerator-freezer combination and a check for five hundred dollars.
    That's show biz.
     
    His full name was Luther Sellers. No relation to Peter. Mother dead, father off in the oil fields somewhere. He was — literally — a child of the streets, and it showed through with every word he uttered, with the way he carried himself, his conception of the world, and his interests. It was there all the time — but not when he sang.
    He had a manager, which surprised Freeport and Shelly, and immediately made their eyes narrow, their minds begin to work. "Don't worry about Asa," Luther told them the next day. "I can handle him."
    "Have you got a contract with him?" Shelly asked.
    The boy shook his head. "He heard me singin' one time and said he'd help me. Got me a place to stay, an' a job at the hotel."
    Freeport was in a position to be magnanimous. "Sounds like a fine man, Luther. We'll have to do something for him." He thought for a moment, pursed his lips and went on. "Of course, the corporation will have to have full ownership of your contract, but I'm sure we can make it worth this uh —"
    "Asa Kemp."
    "—yes, uh, Asa Kemp. We can make it well worth Mr. Kemp's time and efforts spent. I think perhaps a thousand dollars might —"
    "Forget it," Luther said, giving Shelly and Freeport the first solid indication of a somewhat darker character. "I'll take care of old Asa."
    Freeport smiled indulgently. He exchanged a glance with Shelly that said, This infant knows nothing about business . And Shelly had a Roman candle thought-burst that said very distinctly, Freeport, we have maybe got ourselves a tiger by the short hairs .
    "Well, Luther, we'll see." The Colonel placated him, adding, "Why don't we call this Mr. Kemp, and have him come by for a drink?" Luther shook his head.
    "We have to go there," he said. "He won't leave the bicycle shop during the day. He's got a thing."
    Shelly and the Colonel exchanged their glances, and Freeport moved to get his pills from the table. "All right, Luther, why don't we go see Mr. Kemp right now, so we can clear things up here, and be on that ten-thirty plane to New York. How does that sound?"
    Luther shrugged. Shelly thought wryly that Luther was very large on shrugs. He was also beginning to notice that Luther had very, very sharp teeth.
    It was a fairly safe bet that Asa Kemp was about to get twelve or fifteen inches stripped off his ass. The hard way. Shelly felt uneasy; also greedy. The grab is a helluva disease , he thought, as they descended in the elevator.
    He thought about it as the rented limousine pulled up before The Brown. He thought about it all the way across town to the bicycle shop. He stopped thinking about it when he