The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff by Lane Heymont Read Free Book Online Page B

boy and jar crashed to the ground. Shards of glass rained down on the street. “I told y'all to ready yourselves and you come with a drink!” Narce stood over him, his fist poised for another hit. “I ought to kill yer ass right now!” Darkness lowered himself, ready to pounce on Fallon.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir. I thought you still wanted your drink.” Fallon kept his head down, eyebrows furrowed.
    Narce relaxed when he noticed several Klansmen with their faces screwed up. He leaned down. “Be careful how you anger me, boy. One day it’ll be yer last.” Narce helped him up and shoved him away. “Go get yer traps!”
    Fallon rubbed the welt on his face and stormed off. He grabbed a sack and rifled through the bag for a minute before he pulled out a six-shooter. Narce recognized it, furrowing his brow—he ought to kill the shit right there. A Starr pistol was a rare gun in the Deep South—it was a Union firearm. A good one too. They used it until 1863, when the scum switched to a cheaper gun.
    Narce watched him fawn over the pistol. If he remembered right, the boy claimed it was his no account Yankee father’s weapon. Why this little shit keep it? So what his daddy left it to him. Heh, he got his ass killed at the First Battle of Manassas . He hated the copperhead, a Northerner masquerading as a Southerner. Never trust them.  
    â€œCome along, lad.” Percy, a barrel-chested Goblin put his arm around Fallon. “Don’t mind Narce, he’s a hard case. I’ll take care of ya.” He patted the boy on the back.
    The crowd of Goblins watched Narce as he paced, deep in thought. No one’s gonna say anything. Bitches are all too scared. They should be, too! Fuck, that means I got to come up with something.  
    Narce stopped pacing, and smiled. “I want at least two pickets around every part of town them thieves could get out of." His eyes drifted to the body swinging from the tree. Somehow, the sound and motion helped him think.
    â€œRemember them boys got the map. This map’ll lead them to some black magic and that ain’t a-happenin’. Some make-believe hoodoo shit.” He turned to face his men. “Hell agonna look lovely compared to the whipping y'all get, even worse if them boys get that thing.” Narce looked over the crowd of Goblins. “Now get outta here!”  
    The Klansmen scattered like rats. Narce knew they’d been shaken hearing about some black magic. He felt the unease, too, but he tried to maintain rage in his eyes, not fear. Hmm, I should find a mirror. He sat down in his chair to watch the body swing. Don’t worry, you ole coot. You’ll get them boys . Darkness plopped his wedge-shaped head in Narce’s lap. He scratched behind his ears.  
    â€œWe’ll get them boys and their evil trinket. Don’t worry about that, boy.”

 
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    Chapter Ten
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    Crispus slouched in a chair in Rayford’s living room. It was more a kitchen than an entertaining room. A gas stove rested against the back wall, and a small table with two chairs stood nearby. Hard, stiff Antique chairs dotted the room. He glared at the constable sitting on a couch across from him. Rage. Disgust. They both consumed his heart. Both at Rayford and himself. He'd been too scared to act, but he couldn’t decide who he hated more—Rayford for not letting him, or himself for being too scared to act. Stop thinking about it. You will make yourself insane, Crispus. Push it aside like Lil Juris. Don’t let your thoughts get the best of you. The two men sat in silence. Crispus felt Rayford’s forlorn eyes on him.  
    â€œYou may never forgive me, boy, but I did what was best.” Rayford shifted his weight on the couch. “A black man shouldn’t be out there trying to fight white men . . . especially not now.” He stroked his twitching mustache.
    â€œAnd why not!”