The Extinction Event by David Black Page B

was a time in this city when people were courteous,” Robert said.
    â€œLong before our time,” Caroline said.
    â€œâ€”when the air here was sweet with the smell of the honeysuckle they dug up when they redid the square,” Robert said.
    â€œRobert,” Caroline said, “you’re such a romantic!”
    â€œIf the commercial expansion of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries hadn’t happened,” Robert said, “if the commercial expansion hadn’t given impetus to capitalism, if the rise of capitalism in France hadn’t outstripped the country’s slower, natural social and political change, if that imbalance hadn’t helped cause the French Revolution, if the Revolution hadn’t created an opening for Napoleon to seize power, if Napoleon hadn’t tried to conquer Europe, if the wars in Europe hadn’t given the United States a chance to take over shipping between Europe and the West Indies, if America’s expansion into shipping didn’t cause Great Britain to impress American sailors and interfere with American maritime trade, if Great Britain’s interference with American maritime trade didn’t encourage Jefferson and Madison to prohibit trade with Britain, if that prohibition didn’t contribute to the War of 1812, if the War of 1812 didn’t lead to the British blockade of American ports, if the blockade of American ports hadn’t made Mycenae one of the few protected ports in America, sailors wouldn’t have come here, if sailors hadn’t come here, Mycenae wouldn’t have become a center of prostitution, if Mycenae hadn’t become a center of prostitution—”
    â€œMaybe people would still be courteous?” Caroline asked.
    Robert shrugged.
    â€œYou’re still courteous, Robert,” Caroline said. “The last gentleman.”
    â€œYou grow up with someone like my daddy, who’s still fighting Shay’s Rebellion,” Robert said, “it’s hard not to get wrapped up in the history.”
    3
    Geigerman’s Gym was dirty. In one corner was a brass spittoon left over from the 1940s, still used. Young guys sparred, jumped rope, worked on the heavy bag. Two of the three rings were occupied. An older man was climbing out of the third ring after a workout. Honey LeVigne.
    Jack came over to LeVigne.
    â€œJust like Archie Moore,” Jack said.
    LeVigne glanced sideways at Jack as he walked across the gym.
    â€œYou went for the nerve point on his hip,” Jack said. “A man’ll feel that head to toe.”
    â€œYou don’t look like a fighter,” LeVigne said, checking out Jack’s wounds, black-and-blue marks. “Not a good one anyway, you don’t.”
    â€œI got caught by surprise,” Jack said. “I’m looking for a rematch.”
    LeVigne grabbed a towel and hooked it around his neck.
    â€œYour friend,” LeVigne said, meaning whoever had beaten Jack up, “he should’ve gone for the body. Like Hagler. Frazier. Work on the body, the guy won’t last five rounds.”
    â€œHe wasn’t looking to win the match,” Jack said, “just sign an autograph on my face.”
    â€œSo you’d remember him, huh?” LeVigne said.
    â€œBut he knew how to throw a punch,” Jack said. “You know anyone who does that for a living?”
    â€œFreelance, any palooka’ll grab a fifty, figuring he’s just going to get a workout, save time in the gym,” LeVinge said. “Shit, a twenty’ll do it.”
    LeVigne disappeared into the showers. Jack watched a young kid on the speed bag.
    â€œYou the man looking for somebody?” someone said behind Jack, close to his ear. The voice was a hoarse whisper, as if the speaker had been punched in the larynx and never recovered. Kevin Hooper. A big man in gray sweats.
    â€œHow many fights you got?” Jack asked.
    â€œIn or out of the ring?” Hooper