Micah Jennings

1.8.05 Saturday [the bum]

I stopped by the local pawn shop today to get an estimate on the jewelry. I’ve known for awhile now that the shop owner has had his eye on me, so I’m always careful in taking a new route home each time.

The pawn shop is planted in a seedy part of town, right where the skyscrapers abruptly meet the ghetto. It results in an unusual demographic mix of well-to-do businessmen and thieving gangs, which equates to a lot of crime. I suppose it’s a little hypocritical to feel so condescending of these thugs, but really, our style is completely different.

I subscribe to stealth, lurking in shadows and studying my target carefully before striking. These guys, on the other hand, are comfortable with their business in broad daylight, cornering and threatening their victims. I’ve never done this. I have a little class.

So anyway, as soon as I left the pawn shop (with over $7,600 in my bag) I knew I had to take to the sky. Not only was there a pretty good chance that the police were watching me, but I’d also attracted the stares of a few gang members. Apparently they can smell money.

So I decided to run.

I know the area pretty well, so quickly I put together a map in my head of what my path would be, realizing I’d probably have to improvise a few turns on the way. Sure enough, the first alley I turned down was different than I’d seen it earlier—newly sequestered by a tall, brick wall crowned in braids of barbed wire. I paused for a moment, letting the sounds of the pursuing footsteps reach my ears while I looked for an escape.

“Keep moving,” my brain kept urging, so I obeyed, heading deeper into the doomed alley. I looked carefully for an alternate route—a door, a fire ladder, even a sewage hole, but there was nothing. Then I heard something. Someone.

Hiding beside a dumpster sat an old bum, emanating flies and a stench. He glared at me with remarkably clear green eyes while he clenched what remained of his teeth.

“Who’s you runnin’ from?” he asked. The answer refused to come to my head, so I remained silent. “It’s either someone who deserves to catch you or someone who don’t,” he decided. “Maybe both, from the looks of you.”

“Do you know a way out of this alley?” I asked.
“Only back the ways you came,” he chuckled. The footsteps were louder now.
“Has that done much good for you?” I inquired, pointing to a creased cardboard food sign that suddenly gave me an idea.
“Less good that it would for you,” he smiled, somehow grasping my thought.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping towards him. I assumed he’d give it freely, but he obviously had something else in mind as he creased the sign and withdrew it from my reach.
“Way I see it, you come in to some money. Either you ‘bout to be mugged, or those are the cops, comin’ to gitcha for stealin’. Any case, you settin’ to pay for this sign, and pay well.”
It was ludicrous, how bright this bum was, but he was right, and time was running out.
“Fine,” I conceded, reaching into my bag and peeling off a hundred dollar bill.
“Good to do business witcha,” he smiled, handing over the sign.

The gang was now only a hundred feet off. Bending the sign in half lengthwise, I cupped it in my right hand and ran up on the dumpster. I glanced at the wall once more and began running towards it on the alley wall.
One step, two, three. This was as far as my wallrun could possibly take me, so I jumped, with the fence still five feet off. As I soared toward it, I thrust my right hand out and reached for the barbed wire. It worked! The barbed teeth sunk easily into the soft cardboard, sparing my hands. With my grip established, I grasped the wires with my other hand and flung myself over.

I thereafter found myself a suitable fire escape and took the rest of the route I’d planned atop the roves. It was a close call today, but I made it. I still have the cardboard, too. It’s sitting right next to me, with its scrawled black letters still legible through the puncture marks.

M.J.

posted by Mr. Linty @ 4:30 PM