Several years ago my wife and I met her brother in New Orleans for a weekend. It was an annual trip that we'd make around Memorial Day, spend a couple of days in the Big Easy, eat some good food, and hang out. We were on Canal Street, shortly after dark, and the ladies wanted to go into a tee-shirt shop. I was leaning on the face of the building watching the street scene and brother-in-law started talking to some street people.
I got distracted by a couple of very attractive ladies walking past, and when I looked up, about five of the street people were circling my brother-in-law like a pod of sharks. I reached into my pocket, palmed my J-frame and approached BIL. "Hey, buddy, the girls want us inside."
The lead thug tried to tell me that they weren't doing anything, but I'd seen that circling routine before. I rolled my palm over and flashed the little revolver. "Naw, man, we've really got to go." I doubt that anyone saw the handgun but him.
The lead thug's eyes got wide "Yep, time for us to get down the street." He turned on his heels and walked south toward the river, his crew following. I told BIL later how close he had come to being a statistic.