?All I'm sayin',? Socrates said. ?Is that we all gonna walk out on Central Avenue when this talk is through. We all gonna be lookin' around in the shadows an' ain't nobody gonna feel friendly if you see a strange black face.?
?So you think we're all in the same boat?? asked Veronica Ashanti. It was the first time she'd heard Socrates speak and she smiled at him approvingly through a haze of cigar smoke.
?And the boat is leakin' an' here we are arguin' 'bout which way is land.? Socrates nodded with finality and everyone went quiet.
Even Cynthia was silent.
?Well,? Nelson said. ?On that note I guess we should call it a night. We all have something to think about until next time.?
The watch captain Chip Lowe was the first one to stand up. Cynthia looked from side to side, scowling as if her final words were cut off.
?You wanna ride to your house, Ms. Lott?? young Leon asked.
?I guess so.? She had to hop out of her chair because her feet didn't touch the floor.
?I'll take Veronica,? Nelson offered.
They left through a door in the small back room that led to the chapel in the Saint-Paul Mortuary. At the front of the chapel stood a coffin faced by five neat rows of wood chairs. The ghostly audience seemed real to Socrates in the dim room. He wondered if there was a body up there waiting for the morning service.
Outside, Chip and Socrates saw the women and their escorts safely to their cars. Leon had a 1968 sky blue Pontiac. The prosperous undertaker drove a late model maroon BMW.
?You need a ride, Mr. Fortlow?? the watch captain asked.
?I could walk.?
?I thought you said that we were all scared walking down Central??
?We are. But there's a difference with me.?
?What's that??
?I ain't scared'a bein' scared,? Socrates said with a grin. ?If I was I couldn't even sleep at night. But I'll take a ride I guess. You know I'd rather be scared than have my feet hurtin' like they do sometimes.?
?I like what you had to say,? Chip Lowe said to Socrates once they were on the way. He drove a 1959 pink and turquoise Chevy pickup. It looked as good as the day it was new.
The ex-con had no reply.
?I mean,? the watch captain continued, ?we got to settle this shit about men and women to get on with the problems we got down here. Don't you think so??
?I don't know.?
?But that's why we get together,? Lowe said. This was the first time he'd been talkative with Socrates. Before that night he had been cold, even suspicious. ?So we can talk all this stuff out. You know, everyday people talking. Not no Jesse Jackson or soul brother number one. Just folks. Right??
Socrates looked over at Chip, who was looking back.
?I'ont know, man,? Socrates said. ?Talk is cheap.? He was thinking about a man, J. T. Helms, who they said was having a conversation about the upcoming presidential election all the way to the electric chair. He talked until he died.
?But why would you wanna come to Nelson's if you don't think it matters??
?I like chicken and wine,? Socrates offered. ?An' anyway, cheap is all a poor man can afford.?
?But what you said back there to Leon came from your heart,? Chip said with conviction.
