Stories tagged slavery

Freedom

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the darkness held frieghtened by the surveillance of a distant white shimmer.

Tired of Dying (2)

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Someone had approached the booth, blocking his peripheral vision. He continued staring across the table as if at a breakfast companion. Jesus Christ. A new waitress. She probably didn't have his coffee with her, and would ask him what he wanted. At least

Tired of Dying (3)

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By the time Blow left Marie's Restaurant the vague irritation he'd felt entering had metastasized into a chaos that had him trembling. Why had he lied to the woman about playing basketball with Jump Jackson?

Tired of Dying (4)

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It was a faculty wife who pulled the cord that stopped the train and opened the door to the biggest, nastiest scandal in Leicester County since Banastre Tarleton got caught in the boudoir of the mistress of one of Lafayette's most trusted adjutants.

Tired of Dying (5)

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His concern was why the judge wanted him to handle what could become a capital murder case, assuming the victim was in fact a cop and Jump was able to stand trial. Such gravity would test the confidence of a well-seasoned lawyer.

Tired of Dying (6)

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“Jeezuz, Son, you smell like a French whorehouse! What in hell's that shit you're wearing?” The senior Stone was seated alone at the kitchen table.

Tired of Dying (7)

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“Antwan was scared to death, Mr. Stone,” Annette said after they'd gotten their coffees and were seated at one of the small tables along the wall. Responding to Blow's raised eyebrows, she added, “He got some people mad at him at his job.”

Tired of Dying (8)

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His first sensation was of heat. Glorious heat. He stood just inside the door and let the rainwater drip from his hair and clothes as the dry, warmed interior air, redolent with the crisp smell of ink and fresh newsprint, assured him he'd made it into a h

Tired of Dying (9)

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Looking up, he saw a dark-colored SUV parked in the street next to the end of the driveway. He saw blue exhaust puffs dart from the tailpipe and merge immediately with the rain.

Tired of Dying (10)

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“Can't get him to wake up. Babbling in the ambulance when they carried him to the ER. Now they can't get him to open his eyes. Out all weekend and today. Hasn't said a word.”

Tired of Dying (11)

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His father dipped his chin and peered over his glasses...A muted growl: “I daresay you don't know what the hell you're saying, boy.”

Tired of Dying (12)

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Wisps of steam rising from the soggy earth into the chilled morning air fed a hovering fog that almost obscured the stubble of stumps and upended trees extending into the distance over a sloping elevation beyond his sight range.

Tired of Dying (13)

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“You heard me, Burt. Before this is over I'm going to prove that Mr. Jackson was defending himself from thugs who worked for you. One of them, anyway. The other one still does.”

Sleeping Bones (14)

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Word was they'd go out to the East End at the end of their shift, when they worked swings, to 'get a little target practice on the niggers', is how they put it.

Nightmare Bones (15)

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The white, legal-size envelope lay in the middle of Blow's desk. It was sealed and had his name written on it in artful cursive. He tore it open. The note was brief. Her name was Yolanda. She needed to speak to him “ASAP”.