Near the beginning of “Stepping on Fingers,” Tariq and former governor Lassiter try to leave Syracuse airport to find Lea:
“Wellll,” former governor Lassiter stuttered, “what can I do for you, kind sir? My father used to beat me, was an alcoholic. I had to work my way…”
“Not you ass-munch! I meant Mr. Moneybags here, with his fancy New York, fashionable clothes, recent shoeshine, expensive Cartier watch and all. You here for some do-gooder international project, Mr. Slickness? Maybe you could share some of your Euros with me on the way in, like before they get swallowed up by the Covenant for its own narrow little purposes, while the rest of us in the neighborhood starve to death.”
He pounded on the tile floor for emphasis with a stout, wooden pole. Feeling more than a little uneasy, Tariq noticed that the beggar’s long stick had a heavy metal cap on the end. The beggar’s heavily gloved right hand gripped the other end of what looked to Tariq like a formidable weapon.
“I certainly have no idea what you’re talking about, kind sir. Although it’s none of your concern, I’m just out of business school, loaded with student loans, without even a regular job. Just because I happen to dress well, that’s no reason to assume anything about my economic status. And what are you doing begging right under that sign? Don’t you even see that sign? It very clearly says: “No begging unless for God-fearing purposes.”
“Well, first I can’t read very well. Second, you and your running mate are part of the problem. I’m going to fix the latter.” he growled, spinning his wheelchair smartly backwards, away from the open elevator, away from the two outsiders. Tariq’s stomach began to churn as he cast wildly about for some means of escape. Lassiter, on the other hand, slowly turned to face the beggar, now cranking the wheelchair furiously toward them, a fiendish look in his bloodshot eyes.
“Jump in the elevator, Tariq!” Lassiter ordered, dropping into a crouch. Launching himself toward the whirring appliance and its red-faced driver, like the linebacker he had once been, he yodeled “Go Dawggggggsssss!” Lassiter put down his bushy head and galloped over what might have felt for him like a mere five yards toward the opponent’s goal line, separating him from the oncoming wheelchair and its now screaming occupant.”
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