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Minerva, Chapter 16 by Bob Murphy “They
sure wouldn’t have,” Jim said and finished his beer. “Sure,
we can go tomorrow,” Quinn answered, feeling like an overworked father.
Matt had been pestering him for months. “And
it has to be at night,” Matt reminded him.
“I want to get a proper lesson.” “What
do you think?” Quinn asked Jim, after Matt had left the table to take a
piss. “I
don’t know what sort of promises you made, but you could get jumped
takin that bitch to church.”
Jim snorted. “Right,”
Quinn said with a smile, “but really, what do you think?
I’ve got to give him something. Maybe
somewhere in Jim
considered. “Yeah, *
* *
“We’re
not going to shoot anyone,” Quinn lectured, “so we don’t need a
gun.” As
they walked farther from the subway, Matt’s excitement grew.
He would never in a million years walk in this neighborhood at
night, but he felt invincible with Quinn at his side.
The feeling he had, just walking with the man, was simply euphoric.
He was happy to be flirting with a model, say, but even then it was
mostly because he could see the envy on the other men when he did it.
But now, he was really having fun. “You
probably don’t want to advertise the fact that you’ve never been on
this street before,” Quinn said, referring to Matt’s touristy
fascination with the buildings covered with graffiti.
“You know that there are white
people who can walk down this street with confidence.
So if you carry yourself like you’re one of them, then the guys
here won’t know that you’re really not.” A
car approached them from behind. “Okay,
since we’re out here on a lark, the only danger from a drive-by is a
gang initiation.” Quinn
turned slightly and watched as the car passed.
“So I just casually check to make sure the window’s rolled up
whenever a car gets close. Don’t
stare of course; but it’s perfectly within your rights to check out
who’s driving past you.” “Okay,
that makes sense,” Matt said, committing the instructions to memory,
though he wondered how the tip could be applied in the summer months.
“This is great stuff,” he added, hoping Quinn would continue to
share what, to Quinn, were obvious observations. “Stand
right here,” Quinn suddenly said when they were near a parked car.
Quinn walked back a dozen feet.
“Now face forward. As
I walk toward you, look at the reflection in the car and the shadows from
the street lamp on the sidewalk. Without
even moving your head, you can tell exactly where I am.” *
* * The
two groups of males halted their conversations as they passed warily in
the quiet night. Quinn
listened intently as they passed to ensure that their footfalls became
progressively more distant. “White
motherfuckers!” one of the
boys yelled a few moments later. “What
pussies,” Quinn chuckled. He
turned to Matt, who was obviously quite alarmed.
“Notice that they didn’t say shit until after we passed. And
notice that now they’re yelling louder, since we didn’t turn and chase
them after the first insult. As
long as we keep moving, we’re fine.” Matt nodded his head. Quinn’s analysis made sense, but he still wished they were packing. discuss this column in the forum Bob Murphy has a Ph.D. in economics from New York University. He is the author of Chaos Theory and has a personal website. |