the territory. Neon smashed at him with every step.
LIVE BURLESQUE
CHANNEL 69
MERMAID
42ND STREET CINEMA
TOM KAT THEATRE
The street was alive the way a can of worms is alive: greasy and twisty-turning, but not going anywhere, comfortable only in the dark. As he crossed Tenth Avenue, Wesley noticed that the West Side Airlines Terminal was closed. A closer look told him that it was closed for good. Wesley looked up at the fifth floor; it would give a commanding view of the ugly scene below. For a flash-second, he thought about Korea.
Wesley crossed Ninth Avenue and headed down toward Eighth. He noticed five phone booths on the south side of the street and the Roxy Hotel on the north side. It was the Roxy where he got busted years ago, and he had to fight down the urge to see if the same clerk was still on duty â¦Â hands always ready to call the cops. Some other time.
As he crossed Eighth, Wesley reflected that the Parole Board was just a couple of blocks away, right near the Port Authority. They never closed. He could have just walked in there and asked a question like any other citizen, but that thought never occurred to him.
He could tell a cop at a glance, and he assumed that reaction was reversible. He noted the big Childs Restaurant on Eighth and 42nd, but didnât stop in. He counted thirteen movie houses between Eighth and Seventh. Thousands of people were on the street. Wesley wasnât even picking up second glances from the traffic flow.
âWhen Iâm on the street, how do I make sure thehustlers donât make me?â Wesley had asked Lester years ago. The answer was simple: âJust
stare
a lot. Squares canât
stop
staring at us, even when they know they shouldnât.â
Crossing Broadway, Wesley almost walked right into The Prince, who was coming out of Rexallâs. The Prince wasnât alone. His huge right hand was resting possessively on the back of his companionâs neckâa short, powerfully built black guy with a monster Afro and a diamond earring in his right ear.
Wesley followed them down Broadway. The Prince was continually being stopped, and his progress was slow. Wesley watched closely, but all The Prince did was occasionally lay money on people who apparently asked for someânothing else.
But then he suddenly stopped a fat woman, and Wesley halted about a half-block behind them. They held a quick, whispered conversation, making no attempt to hide the fact that their communication wasnât meant for bystanders, The Prince still holding the back of the black guyâs neck. The woman nodded vigorously as though she understood, and then continued up the block in Wesleyâs direction.
As she approached, she focused her eyes directly on Wesley and picked up speed. He could have avoided her rush but made no attempt toâit would have been out of character to even have noticed.
The fat woman body-slammed Wesley, knocking him back against a mailbox. She gasped, grabbing huge handfuls of Wesleyâs Hawaiian shirt to steady herself. As she attempted to rise, she pulled the shirt up almostto his neck and then slapped her hands against his chest for a second before she quickly ran them along his body, across his groin, and down almost to his knees. Wesley struggled to get free, felt his pants lift over his socks, saving her that trouble. He cursed vehemently, and the fat woman backed off with some mumbled drunken apologies.
It had been a lovely, professional frisk. Sheâd be able to tell The Prince he wasnât heeled, wired, or dangerous.
Wesley brushed himself off and hurried up the block. He passed by The Prince and threw him a frankly curious glance, like any tourist would. The Prince continued down the block. Using a store window for a mirror, Wesley saw the giant step into a phone booth. He didnât see The Prince deposit any money, so he assumed it was the fat woman calling in to report.
Wesley turned up 46th Street and got a
LIVE BURLESQUE
CHANNEL 69
MERMAID
42ND STREET CINEMA
TOM KAT THEATRE
The street was alive the way a can of worms is alive: greasy and twisty-turning, but not going anywhere, comfortable only in the dark. As he crossed Tenth Avenue, Wesley noticed that the West Side Airlines Terminal was closed. A closer look told him that it was closed for good. Wesley looked up at the fifth floor; it would give a commanding view of the ugly scene below. For a flash-second, he thought about Korea.
Wesley crossed Ninth Avenue and headed down toward Eighth. He noticed five phone booths on the south side of the street and the Roxy Hotel on the north side. It was the Roxy where he got busted years ago, and he had to fight down the urge to see if the same clerk was still on duty â¦Â hands always ready to call the cops. Some other time.
As he crossed Eighth, Wesley reflected that the Parole Board was just a couple of blocks away, right near the Port Authority. They never closed. He could have just walked in there and asked a question like any other citizen, but that thought never occurred to him.
He could tell a cop at a glance, and he assumed that reaction was reversible. He noted the big Childs Restaurant on Eighth and 42nd, but didnât stop in. He counted thirteen movie houses between Eighth and Seventh. Thousands of people were on the street. Wesley wasnât even picking up second glances from the traffic flow.
âWhen Iâm on the street, how do I make sure thehustlers donât make me?â Wesley had asked Lester years ago. The answer was simple: âJust
stare
a lot. Squares canât
stop
staring at us, even when they know they shouldnât.â
Crossing Broadway, Wesley almost walked right into The Prince, who was coming out of Rexallâs. The Prince wasnât alone. His huge right hand was resting possessively on the back of his companionâs neckâa short, powerfully built black guy with a monster Afro and a diamond earring in his right ear.
Wesley followed them down Broadway. The Prince was continually being stopped, and his progress was slow. Wesley watched closely, but all The Prince did was occasionally lay money on people who apparently asked for someânothing else.
But then he suddenly stopped a fat woman, and Wesley halted about a half-block behind them. They held a quick, whispered conversation, making no attempt to hide the fact that their communication wasnât meant for bystanders, The Prince still holding the back of the black guyâs neck. The woman nodded vigorously as though she understood, and then continued up the block in Wesleyâs direction.
As she approached, she focused her eyes directly on Wesley and picked up speed. He could have avoided her rush but made no attempt toâit would have been out of character to even have noticed.
The fat woman body-slammed Wesley, knocking him back against a mailbox. She gasped, grabbing huge handfuls of Wesleyâs Hawaiian shirt to steady herself. As she attempted to rise, she pulled the shirt up almostto his neck and then slapped her hands against his chest for a second before she quickly ran them along his body, across his groin, and down almost to his knees. Wesley struggled to get free, felt his pants lift over his socks, saving her that trouble. He cursed vehemently, and the fat woman backed off with some mumbled drunken apologies.
It had been a lovely, professional frisk. Sheâd be able to tell The Prince he wasnât heeled, wired, or dangerous.
Wesley brushed himself off and hurried up the block. He passed by The Prince and threw him a frankly curious glance, like any tourist would. The Prince continued down the block. Using a store window for a mirror, Wesley saw the giant step into a phone booth. He didnât see The Prince deposit any money, so he assumed it was the fat woman calling in to report.
Wesley turned up 46th Street and got a
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