Read Online Eyes of the Innocent: A Mystery by Brad Parks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brad Parks
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trying to track down a lender who may have preyed on poor people—but convincing a hardened no-snitcher of this could be impossible.
More than anything, it just pissed me off. It wasn’t because it made my job harder. Okay, it was partly that. But it was mostly because the no-snitch mentality—and the decline of law and order it brought—had been almost as destructive to the community as the drug trade.
“You’re a moron,” I said once they were out of earshot.
Or at least I thought they were. Apparently, not all of today’s youth have ruined their hearing with loud music.
“What you say?” Braids said, turning around and stopping.
He looked more surprised than anything. I hadn’t really intended to create a confrontation with this kid—especially when I didn’t know how many friends he might have nearby—but there was no backing off now. By himself, he wasn’t much to be afraid of. It helped that I outweighed him by about thirty pounds.
“You’re a moron,” I repeated, walking toward him. “I’m trying to do a story that will help shine light on a scumbag who preys on people from the projects. But you’re such an ignorant moron all you’re worried about is snitching.”
Braids and Hoodie were momentarily speechless. They clearly had not expected anything resembling aggression out of the mild-mannered newspaper reporter.
“Damn, yo, he just called you ignorant, ” Hoodie said.
“Oh, you’re ignorant, too,” I said, drawing in even closer. “Because you know where all this no-snitch crap has gotten you? As a black man in this country, you’re six times more likely to be murdered. But, wait, it gets even better, because as a young black man living in an urban area, you’re thirty times more likely to be murdered. Congratulations.”
I knew the first factoid to be true. I made up the second one. But I didn’t think there was much chance these guys were going to call me on it. At the moment, they were just gawking at the strange white man who came into the projects to spout numbers from the Bureau of Justice Statistics.
“So go ahead,” I finished. “Keep not snitching. I just want both of you to remember this conversation so that when I write a story about one of your funerals someday, I can find the other one and say I told you so.”
* * *
From an outsider’s perspective, I’m sure what I was doing would not seem particularly wise: picking a verbal fight with two young men who were quite possibly involved in the local drug trade, quite possibly armed, and quite possibly ready to call in reinforcements who could quite possibly separate me from my face.
But I had a hunch that wasn’t going to happen. You really only got yourself in trouble in the projects if you were so strong as to be a threat or so weak as to be a target. As long as you existed somewhere in the murky middle, you were okay.
Besides, Braids and Hoodie were basically kids. And it’s not hard to keep kids a little off balance, especially if you’re telling them something they’ve never heard before. People don’t turn off that natural curiosity until they’re further into adulthood.
I glared at them a little bit, just to let my last statement sink in, and finally Hoodie broke the standoff. By laughing.
“Damn,” he said. “You one crazy nigga, you know that?”
I chuckled.
“That has to be the first time anyone has called me that, ” I said.
They both laughed.
“What’s your story about anyway?” Braids asked. “You said someone is messing with people in the projects?”
“Yeah, a Puerto Rican guy who sells people crooked mortgages.”
Braids and Hoodie just looked at each other blankly, then at me.
“He’s sort of short and squat,” I continued. “Shaved head. Wears a goatee. Probably drives a nice car—an Audi, maybe a Mercedes.”
“I ain’t never seen nobody like that,” Hoodie said.
“Only people who drive cars like that around here are…” Braids paused, not
More than anything, it just pissed me off. It wasn’t because it made my job harder. Okay, it was partly that. But it was mostly because the no-snitch mentality—and the decline of law and order it brought—had been almost as destructive to the community as the drug trade.
“You’re a moron,” I said once they were out of earshot.
Or at least I thought they were. Apparently, not all of today’s youth have ruined their hearing with loud music.
“What you say?” Braids said, turning around and stopping.
He looked more surprised than anything. I hadn’t really intended to create a confrontation with this kid—especially when I didn’t know how many friends he might have nearby—but there was no backing off now. By himself, he wasn’t much to be afraid of. It helped that I outweighed him by about thirty pounds.
“You’re a moron,” I repeated, walking toward him. “I’m trying to do a story that will help shine light on a scumbag who preys on people from the projects. But you’re such an ignorant moron all you’re worried about is snitching.”
Braids and Hoodie were momentarily speechless. They clearly had not expected anything resembling aggression out of the mild-mannered newspaper reporter.
“Damn, yo, he just called you ignorant, ” Hoodie said.
“Oh, you’re ignorant, too,” I said, drawing in even closer. “Because you know where all this no-snitch crap has gotten you? As a black man in this country, you’re six times more likely to be murdered. But, wait, it gets even better, because as a young black man living in an urban area, you’re thirty times more likely to be murdered. Congratulations.”
I knew the first factoid to be true. I made up the second one. But I didn’t think there was much chance these guys were going to call me on it. At the moment, they were just gawking at the strange white man who came into the projects to spout numbers from the Bureau of Justice Statistics.
“So go ahead,” I finished. “Keep not snitching. I just want both of you to remember this conversation so that when I write a story about one of your funerals someday, I can find the other one and say I told you so.”
* * *
From an outsider’s perspective, I’m sure what I was doing would not seem particularly wise: picking a verbal fight with two young men who were quite possibly involved in the local drug trade, quite possibly armed, and quite possibly ready to call in reinforcements who could quite possibly separate me from my face.
But I had a hunch that wasn’t going to happen. You really only got yourself in trouble in the projects if you were so strong as to be a threat or so weak as to be a target. As long as you existed somewhere in the murky middle, you were okay.
Besides, Braids and Hoodie were basically kids. And it’s not hard to keep kids a little off balance, especially if you’re telling them something they’ve never heard before. People don’t turn off that natural curiosity until they’re further into adulthood.
I glared at them a little bit, just to let my last statement sink in, and finally Hoodie broke the standoff. By laughing.
“Damn,” he said. “You one crazy nigga, you know that?”
I chuckled.
“That has to be the first time anyone has called me that, ” I said.
They both laughed.
“What’s your story about anyway?” Braids asked. “You said someone is messing with people in the projects?”
“Yeah, a Puerto Rican guy who sells people crooked mortgages.”
Braids and Hoodie just looked at each other blankly, then at me.
“He’s sort of short and squat,” I continued. “Shaved head. Wears a goatee. Probably drives a nice car—an Audi, maybe a Mercedes.”
“I ain’t never seen nobody like that,” Hoodie said.
“Only people who drive cars like that around here are…” Braids paused, not
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