“Well, I’d say it’s a noble cause you have there . . . wanting to build something to leave for your kids.”
At that he laughed, flashing those teeth again. “Don’t try to make me sound too good,” he said. “I won’t kid you. I’d like a few of the nicer things in life myself . . . like staying at fancy hotels and driving around in cabs. I’d use up some of the profits before I passed them on to my kids.”
I was suddenly aware of the differences in our economic standing . . . that what he was dreaming about I tended to take for granted. The awareness made me uncomfortable. “Yeah . . . well, I’ve got to be going now. Oh! What was it, anyway?”
“What was what?”
“The name your parents gave you.”
“It wasn’t that hot, really,” he said, making a face. “My friends just call me J. R.”
With that, I beat a hasty retreat to my waiting cab. “What was that all about?” Edvik said as I sank back into my seat.
“Oh, I was just curious about what made the street vendors tick.”
“Them? Why bother? They’re just a bunch of low-life hustlers scrabbling for small change. They’re never going to get anywhere.”
I was surprised at the sudden vehemence in his voice. There was clearly no love lost there.
It occurred to me that Edvik’s appraisal of the street vendors pretty much summed up my initial reaction to his own enterprising efforts with his cab and self-publishing company.
It also occurred to me, as I reflected on my conversation with J. R., that I had been even more lucky than I had realized when I had taken to studying magik . . . first with Garkin and then with Aahz. It didn’t take the wildest stretching of the imagination to picture myself in the street vendor’s place. . . assuming I had that much initiative to begin with. All in all, it wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.