people to make purchases with no questions
asked. Wanted people seek places to shop that don’t require any documentation, because
getting an ID in the first place could lead to an arrest; buying things using an ID
would make it easier for the police to track them; and their dealings with the criminal
justice system have rendered unusable the identification they have (for example, their
licenses are suspended). These places where items ordinarily requiring identification
may be bought without showing ID, signing one’s name, or showing proof of insurance
are known as ducky spots.
A man concerned that he may be taken into custody also fears using the hospitals,
and so purchases a variety of medical goods and services from people in the neighborhood
who work in health care and who supply drugs, medical supplies, and their general
expertise to legally precarious community members. Chuck paid a neighbor working as
a custodian at the local hospital around forty dollars for antibiotics when his foot
got infected after he ran through some debris during a police chase. After two weeks
of severe tooth pain, Chuck’s neighbor, a twenty-year-old man, pulled his own molar
with a pair of pliers and paid his cousin, who worked at a doctor’s office, eighty
dollars for a course of antibiotics. Reggie broke his arm when he tripped over the
curb while running from a man trying to stab him. His neighbor brought over material for a cast from his job at the VA hospital, heated it in a pan of water on
the stove, and made a hard splint that Reggie wore for five weeks. Reggie gave him
a large bag of marijuana as compensation.
Mike and Chuck and their friends around 6th Street also paid friends and neighbors
for their silence and cooperation, and for news about the police. In a community filled
with suspects and fugitives, every resident is a potential conduit of information,
either for the police or for the men they’re after. Mike and his friends tried to
ensure that neighbors who could alert the authorities to their whereabouts or activities
were instead helping them hide.
In the same way that payments for sex can be placed on a continuum from prostitution
to marriage, the money that legally entangled people pay others in the neighborhood
to help protect them from the authorities ranges from explicit, short-term, quid pro
quo exchanges, in which a set fee is paid for a single piece of information or a single
refusal to talk to the police or testify as a witness, to longer-term relationships,
in which the arrangement is largely tacit, and the legally precarious party provides
extended financial support in exchange for silence, watchfulness, and general help
in evading the authorities. 8
The most extended relationship of this kind that I observed on 6th Street involved
two brothers who sold marijuana in the area. The pair had grown up in the neighborhood
but had long since moved away. They didn’t mention their business or anybody else’s
illicit doings over the phone, they came and went quickly, and to my knowledge, no
person on 6th Street had ever been to their house—or even knew where it was.
When the two brothers came around in their dark SUV to drop off drugs or pick up payments,
they gave back to the community. They helped pay for the funerals of three young men
who were shot and killed during my time there. They also contributed grocery money
to the mothers of the deceased, rent money to their girlfriends, and haircut money
for their sons. They gave cash to people who had recently come home from prison: a
kind of get-started money. They put money on the books of neighborhood men who were
fighting cases in county jail. 9
As these two brothers coached and mentored younger guys on the block, they often discussed
the importance of giving as a core obligation to those less fortunate. But they also occasionally mentioned that their generosity