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Old November 30th, 2019 #26
Jerry Abbott
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Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: In the hills north of Hillsboro WV
Posts: 1,048
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Divine Heritage

by David Sims (a.k.a. Jerry Abbott)

Chapter 3

I was jogging to the college campus the next day when Vanessa Emory's white Mercedes caught up with me, horn beeping. There wasn't much traffic. I stopped. So did she, leaning over to roll down the passenger side window.

"Get in here," she told me.

I did. In a few seconds we were both heading down the street toward Brookstone College.

"I heard last night's newscast," said Ms. Emory. "We don't want a repeat of what happened Monday."

"I'm not especially worried about gang members," I said.

Ms. Emory nodded. Which was strange because I knew why I could be confident, but how could she?

"Your safety is a concern, nonetheless. However, that is only part of it." She turned right at the intersection, just past where I'd been attacked. "Another consideration is that Brookstone might become liable for any injuries you inflict on the upstanding gentlemen of the Krack gang during any future repetition of those curbside negotiations that you had with them yesterday."

I recalled that one of Brookstone's deans was my legal guardian at the moment. I nodded.

"I expect you've already figured out the rest," she said.

I thought that I had.

"I might not avoid legal consequences next time," I said.

"That's part of it. The police granted you favor because you're a preteen who has never been in a fight before, whereas those punks you beat up have lengthy criminal records for assault, robbery, drug dealing, and violations of the gun laws. But if you get into more fights, the police will notice that one name keeps popping up regularly in police reports. Yours. And then you might be presumed to be at fault, even if you are never the one to instigate violence."

I knew about the fallacy. Whether they are police officers, judges, or administrators, the majority of people in authority have difficulty distinguishing between the cause of problems and the focus of problems. That confusion is what enables much of those destructive phenomena known as "backstabbing" and "office politics."

It happens among students in grade school, too. If several kids don't like a certain other kid, they each will contrive to have a problem with him, and report it to the teachers or to the principal. The school officials don't know that the complaints are orchestrated by conspiracy, and they incorrectly presume that they just have this one problem kid to deal with. And, most of the time, the conspiracy achieves its purpose. But Ms. Emory had hinted that there was more.

"What did I miss?"

"You should have guessed. Owing to the stupidity of the media for mentioning your name on television, the Kracks know who you are and, approximately, where you live. And they have a history of vendetta."

I knew I should have killed them. I could have. No one would have suspected me of doing the deed. And because I did not, the girls in my dorm were in danger. As if she were reading my mind, Ms. Emory spoke.

"Not even you can be in two places at once. We will speak again after your classes are finished."