There’s a book called “How to Stop Crime in Your City” –you should read it. It was one of the cornerstones of my early political ambitions. Royhde crossed to the door. There are certain patterns that become self-fulfilling prophesies.

Thanks, I’ll have to read that one. Maybe on the plane.

No, don’t read it on the plane. Read it now. Tonight. Your people are being locked up for no reason. They are being attacked and robbed for no reason. They need to be more… Relaxed. Get control of your city.

I’m just a figurehead.

Don’t say that. Bruce Lee wasn’t a figurehead.

He wasn’t a politician.

What have I taught you about politics in what, how many years? Forty? Thirty? Politician are street fighters. Politics is an arcade game and each year in office is another quarter you play. You get four quarters. Or in your case, one. I stared at Royhde. Maybe he was right. How many people would be killed or made miserable in my city tonight? Could I be Bruce Lee?

I can’t be Bruce Lee, I told him. I just can’t.

Then your city will break like a stick! He took one of the plastic hotel pens and snapped it in half, getting some ink droplets on his hand. I turned toward the window and looked out over the spires and shining squares of light. There had been sirens going all night in my city but they were gone now and there was only the drone of the hotel air systems. Read it, he said, pointing at me with his ink-splotched hand. Then he was gone.

I walked over to the bedside table but instead of reading “How to Stop Crime in Your City” I pulled the drawer and lifted out the Gideon’s Bible. Just then there was a gunshot and I fell forward onto my knees and then onto the carpet, bleeding all over the pages. While I convulsed, a masked teenager stepped over my body and went to the balcony. Check this out, he said to an accomplice. He’s got some view.

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