Saturdays I man the pumps at an establishment called "Foo Bar" out on Poison Oak Road. Tonight's pretty quiet except for the guy at the end of the bar in the Apple T-shirt sobbing into his third Pepsi. I'm going to have to cut him off soon.
Even Memphis Joe and Corbett are quiet until the car alarm goes off.
All eyes turn to the parking lot, where through the open front door we see a very surprised cat jump off the hood of a BMW. The Pepsi drinker sniffs, "Casper: off," and the alarm offs.
"Nice system," Corbett says. "Keyed to the owner's voice, I presume. Pretty foolproof, really."
Memphis Joe turns back to his mint julep. "It sucks," he grumbles. I check under the bar for my persuader.
"You're wrong," Corbett argues. "Any security system is just locks and keys. Here's a key that can only be used by the owner, can't be lost or stolen, and works at a distance."
"So you think your throat is a safe hiding place," Memphis Joe says. "Fine. Personally, if somebody holds a knife to my throat, I'll sing like a bird."
"There's a deterrent," I say, trying to lighten things up, but Corbett is off on one of his tangents.
"Rather than putting the key in your throat or head," he says, his eyes dreamy, "what you really want to do is put the lock in the crook's head."
Memphis Joe raises his glass. "Corbett, that is, without a doubt, the ripest load of garbage you've yet delivered."
I cut in. "Criminals sure are more violent these days. Drugs, do you figure?"
Memphis Joe doesn't figure that. "Nah, it's plastic money."
Corbett stares at him. "You're nuts. Before credit cards and ATMs, people walked around with cash all the time. They were far more vulnerable to crime."
"More vulnerable to pickpockets. Today, the only time a thief can be halfway sure somebody's carrying cash is when they've just left an ATM machine. And that's when the victim is on guard, so no pickpocket stands a chance."
"Leading to less crime."
"Leading to the nonviolent dip getting edged out by the violent mugger."
Corbett shrugs. "Anyway, the real cause of the increase in violent crime in America is the easy availability of military-grade weapons."
"Huh. I might have known you were one of them."
"Face facts, Joe. There's solid scientific evidence that the mere possession of a gun increases your risk of getting shot."
"Correlational data," Memphis Joe snarls. "The only way to demonstrate a causal link is by experimental manipulation. You have to give people guns and observe the effects, contrasted with a control group not given guns."
"Oh, there's a brilliant plan," Corbett sneers.
"Otherwise you can't control the psychological factors."
"Somebody should control your psychological factors."
Memphis Joe growls. Corbett's lip curls. The cat, which has sneaked in to steal bread, exits hastily, staying clear of the BMW.
Before things can go any farther, I cough and nod meaningfully at the sign behind the bar, the one that says, "These premises protected by Smith and Wesson." They shut up just as though a lock has snapped shut in each of their heads.
I like it quiet.
Michael Swaine
editor-at-large
Copyright © 1994, Dr. Dobb's Journal