Birds of Prey Bisexual EditionChapter 17 Last Line of Defense
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For The Defense - Part 1.5 free porn video
The shift leader was Dep. Tawanna Pearson. She hit the button that turned up the lights in the unit. It was wake-up call. 4:15 a.m. She was a
D’Clinton rose begrudgingly as did most of the others.
The inmates were corralled to the cafeteria after a 15-minute period for hygiene.
D’Clinton took a tray even though, he’d have a warm meal delivered a little bit later. He looked at the food and shook his head. There was a meager serving of generic Cheerios & low-fat milk, one biscuit with a ladleful of country gravy, and a serving of canned fruit medley. It came with one cup of low-fat milk, one cup of coffee, and 4oz of apple juice. Plus, there were two bits of margarine. He decided to eat the fruit and drink the juice. He would barter the rest.
The 24 year-old negotiated. The cereal for a couple cigarettes. The biscuit & gravy for a bag of nacho cheese flavored chips and a pack of ramen. The milk and coffee for access to a contraband cell phone for 10 minutes. It was the jailhouse economy. With only two paltry meals served daily about 12 hours apart, the food situation was critical for the general population. The fact that he had a daily supply of extra calories helped him gain status.
D’Clinton slurped up the syrupy mixture of pears, g****s, and cherries. He held up the juice and tilted it towards a table where a number of sissies sat. He winked.
A light-skinned punk with a heart-shaped mouth and textured hair winked back.
“You want it,” mouthed D’Clinton.
The sissy nodded.
D’Clinton walked it over and set it down in from of the femboi with an average build. He said nothing and returned to his seat.
The faggot drank the juice and smiled.
Miles couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned most of the night. The spectacle of pre-trial motions in the State v. Lewis and flurry of the media did not mean the rest of his duties stopped. His Office still had investigations, cases to prosecute, plea bargains to make, victim services issues, and the like to manage. He got up trying not to wake his wife of 20 years, Kendra.
Miles grabbed his phone from his nightstand walked out of the master bedroom. He went into the powder room of the two-storey colonial 1,850 square-foot, 3-bedroom, 2½-bath house. He texted his 70 year-old father and then looked at the news app while taking a dump.
Miles grew up in this town and so had his mom. During his youth, he often had to explain his unique surname. He would tell folks that is dad was from Puerto Rico and yes, there were Black Puerto RIcans. He lettered in four varsity sports before heading off to the Air Force Academy where he majored in . He served six years as a public affairs officer before taking extended leave and going to law school in his home state. He went back on active duty in JAG in 2004 after being admitted to the bar.
He left the Air Force in 2009 and moved the family to the area. He established a solo practice and built up a respectable client base. He remembered the visit from the dark-haired, olive-skinned man that got this whole thing started. It was raining and dreary when his legal assistant rushed in saying there was a guy urgently requesting his attention. He spoke to the man who revealed the billionaire’s plan to influence criminal justice reform by running diverse candidates for top prosecutorial roles in jurisdictions all around the county.
He indicated that he was interested. He signed a non-disclosure agreement. The committee covered transportation costs & logistics for him and his wife. The conference was at the Greenbrier. All of the attendees’ faces were various shades of brown. There were speakers extolling the need to ‘integrate’ if not ‘infiltrate’ the world of prosecutorial discretion. Others, spoke about about, campaign management, elected office obligations, community interaction, recidivism & rehabilitation, and personal experience.
Manuel “Manny” Toro heard his phone ding and whir. He picked it up and saw the message from his oldest c***d. The Afro-Puerto Rican who was born in Loiza on the northeast coast of the island served as an Air Force medic for almost two years in Vietnam. Returning U.S. he was stationed at one of the bases in this state. For him, joining the military was a way to elevate himself from poverty. It was a similar situation for the other young men who signed up from the island.
There, he met Lieutenant Irene Houston who had just gotten back from Nam after a 12-month tour with the Nurse Corps.
While Manny did aeromedical evacuation missions lifting out wounded & sick servicemembers for all branches aboard a Douglas C-47 aircraft, his wife worked at Cam Ranh Bay Hospital treating mainly cases of malaria, parasites, and non-combat related cases at first. They bonded over their shared experience in Southeast Asia.
Manny and Irene left the service and moved to the place of her birth. He used G.I. Bill to study business education at the historically black land-grant college. He taught in the public school system for ten years. While teaching, he began selling insurance & real estate on the side which he parlayed into his own company in 1983.
-I’m awake. Call me.
Miles flushed the toilet and washed his hands. He poured a glass of water from the filtered pitcher and rang his pops.
“Hey, son,” the father of three said. “How’s it going?”
“It’s...going,” Miles revealed.
“I bet. I’ve seen some coverage on the news. Don’t let them bring you down.”
“Never that, papi.”
“What has you up so early, Miles,” Manny got down to brass tax.
“Just couldn’t sleep. You know.”
“Obviously. Tell me what’s on your mind son.”
“Papi...I...I feel like it’s so much.”
“What’s so much?”
“It’s just...It’s that I’ve got half the district pissed at me for prosecuting a Black guy over the death of a white gay dude. The other half thinks I should have handled it locally on gone after tougher charges. I didn’t think it was a good idea for my Office to do this. I didn’t want it to impact the lives of the people on my team. They’re fine and all the anger is directed at me,” Miles unloaded.
“I see,” Manny proffered. “What else?”
Miles continued, “I worry that I’ve made life harder for Kendra, Gavin, and Delaney. I’m just doubting my decision. Sorry for unloading all this.”
“Why are you sorry? You’re just feeling what anyone in your situation would feel. You’ve done what you believe to be the right thing. Ethically and morally and all. So, that’s that. You can only make a decision based on the inputs you have. And, your family will be fine. Your wife and k**s love you.”
“Thanks!”
“I’m serious, Miles. Give yourself some credit. “You’re the one that got a commission to the Academy and went to law school. You earned that state championship in the 440 relay. Nobody else has lived your life. So, they have no right to armchair quarterback.”
Miles was impressed with his dad’s thoughts. He could not have imagined their relationship being like this when he was a k**. He listened.
“There were days I felt like you failed you and your mom and your brother & sister,” Manny admitted.
“You’re were a good dad.”
“Thanks! What I’m saying is that it’s normal to feel this way. I sometimes thought that raising my family down South would negatively impact y’all compared to your cousins in New York. Or, that my business would fail and we’d lose the house and be on the streets.”
“I had no idea, man,” Miles. “I think it turned it out pretty.”
“Yeah! It turned out very well. Your mom stuck by me. She was a big help.”
“You guys had all three k**s get into the Academy. One is a lieutenant colonel now. Another is a successful business owner. And me.”
“All of you are great! And, don’t forget my grandk**s. Mi corazons! All five of ‘em!”
“Thanks, papi! You helped put it in perspective.”
“You know you can talk whenever. Just come over and we’ll grab a beer,” he chuckled. “Maybe share it with Kendra.”
They completed the conversation and Miles began peeling an orange.
Jeanne Chastain Albritton was already kneeling in the flower bed in the front yard. Her silver-haired husband stepped on the porch of the grand, Indian red brick, columned house with five bedrooms and three bathrooms. He asked her if she wanted any bacon. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The judge opened the refrigerator and fetched the pork. He spread it on a pan then stuck it in the oven.
“How’d you sleep,” Jeanne inquired coming in the kitchen.
“Not too bad. How about you?”
“Pretty good. When’s the last time you talked to Holly?”
“It’s been a few days,” he referred to their older daughter. “You?”
“This morning. She needs to borrow $800.”
“Again,” he shook his head.
“Yes, Hank. Again.”
“What now?”
“Apparently she’s got a ghost hunt in Quebec next week. The client signed a contract to reimburse her, but she needs to purchase the ticket now.”
Judge Albritton threw up his hands. “Whatever! Send her a grand,” directed. Holly had always been a little woo-woo. Armed with a brilliant quick mind, she did her best to navigate her life in the small town. He celebrated when she chose Bowdoin for college. It would get her around like-minded people - ‘bleeding liberals’. He believed it would do her some good. A degree in religion with a minor in Arabic studies later and Holly was a ‘ghost hunter’.
“I will not. She asked for eight. She’ll get eight,” the chair of this year’s Azalea Festival Committee stood her ground.
“I support that decision.”
“I mean we can’t finance her way all her life. You got any motions today,” she asked.
“Not today,” he sighed. “I wish I’d granted that change of venue and recused myself.”
“I’m not going to say I told you so.”
“Good. Don’t,” he chuckled. “Cup of joe?”
“No thanks!”
D’Clinton was now in a 10’ x 10’ room eating his real breakfast. He had two red hot sausage, egg & cheese biscuits with a side of hashbrowns. He washed it down with fruit punch. After finishing, he went into the common room. There were inmates crowded around an old TV watching a syndicated show. Some were reading. Others were just chilling. He walked up to the cutie that drank the apple juice. “Sup?”
“Nada,” he looked up from the mid-rate historical fiction romance novel.
“Come wit’ me!”
“Okay,” he closed the book.
They went to a known blind spot. D’Clinton pulled out his meat.
“That thang big, nigga,” gasped the pussyboi.
“Yeah, bitch!”
The sassy doll bent down and spat on the head. He stroked the shaft while sucking it. He occasionally massage the hairy, low-hanging balls. “Got dayum, nigga,” whispered the cocksucker as a stream of saliva remained connected to rod and his mouth. “You taste good.”
“You like deez musty nuts?”
“Mmhmm!”
The punk went back to work providing oral pleasure until D’Clinton demanded some ass.
“I’m finna fuck yo’ girly ass,” announced the well-fed dude.
The sissy turned around and exposed his booty.
D’Clinton smacked it. “Dat ass soft!”
“Thanks, boo!”
Soon the were going at it.
“Ooh. Ooh. Yeah,” purred the femme bottom.
“Yo’ faggit boipussy feel good, bitch!”
“Fuck me!”
“Fuck yeah, baby! Give a nigga dat ass!”
“Take it, nigga! Bang my booty hole!”
“You gon’ have my k**s?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Pussy tight and wet.”
Pffffffft.
“Dat pussy talkin’ back to a nigga,” remarked D’Clinton.
“Hell yeah,” the fairy threw his badonkadonk back to meet the cadence of his aggressor.
Pfffft. Pffffft.
“Fuck me, Dee!”
“Shit, bitch! You takin’ dis dick,” he grunted as he placed his hands on the boi’s shoulder blades.
D’Clinton pounded harder. He was trying to fuck the sissy into bashful submission with an unrelenting, severe tempo of backbreaking thrusts.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah, nigga,” whined the sissy.
D’Clinton howled as he came. “Damn!”
“That was good, nigga,” smiled the punk adjusting his uniform.
D’Clinton remained silent and waited.
Kendra and the k**s were now awake. They were 16 and 12 so they took care of getting themselves ready. And, Gavin was currently off punishment so he had access to the hand-me-down 2005 Mercedes Benz E320 sedan to drive himself and his sister to school. This worked out well because early education center where Kendra worked was in a different part of town.
Miles spread a garden veggie cream cheese on a bagel. He put it on a plate with some g****s and slid it to his wife.
“Thanks,” the second grade teacher said.
“You’re welcome! Question?”
“What’s up,” she was talking while chewing and covering her mouth.
“How are you feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“How are things?”
“I’m good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Are people saying anything to you about this murder trial,” he asked directly.
“Occasionally they do.”
“Anything judgmental?”
“Opinions are like assholes, Miles. You know that, Most people have them and they all stink.”
“Yeah, but I was just wondering if you or the k**s are getting any flack because of…”
“You being the D.A.?”
“Yeah!”
“Sweetie, that comes with the territory. You should talk to them about it. I made it very clear at work after you were elected. I told everyone I was happy to discuss any topic, but under no circumstances would I entertain any conversation about the actions of the Office of the District Attorney for the 23rd Judicial Circuit. None!”
“Good!”
“Remember that conference we went to at the Greenbrier. I took to heart what that former U.S. Attorney said.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes! She was very clear about the thick skin one needed to develop. Half the people will love you and half will hate you and who’s on which side changes with each case. Many Blacks called her a ‘sellout’ or ‘bed wench’ when she was trying to affect change. White folks didn’t think she belonged because of her melanin.”
“She sure did,” Miles recalled.
“No matter what you now, idiots are going to have something to say.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“You should talk to the k**s though. I gotta run.”
Miles made a note to chop it up with Gavin and Delaney over dinner that evening.
“Do you have any cash on you, Hank,” Jeanne quizzed.
“A little.”
“I need to pay Ursula today and I forgot to go to the ATM yesterday.”
“How much?”
“I’m short 40 bucks.”
“Here you go,” he produced his wallet and pecked her on the cheek. “See you later.”
“Enjoy your day!”
Judge Albritton walked outside to his green 2016 King Ranch edition 4-door Ford F-150. He drove along the circular driveway and away from the majestic house that looked like it had been transplanted from a plantation.
He wondered what was the next trick the defense had up their sleeve.
D’Clinton rose begrudgingly as did most of the others.
The inmates were corralled to the cafeteria after a 15-minute period for hygiene.
D’Clinton took a tray even though, he’d have a warm meal delivered a little bit later. He looked at the food and shook his head. There was a meager serving of generic Cheerios & low-fat milk, one biscuit with a ladleful of country gravy, and a serving of canned fruit medley. It came with one cup of low-fat milk, one cup of coffee, and 4oz of apple juice. Plus, there were two bits of margarine. He decided to eat the fruit and drink the juice. He would barter the rest.
The 24 year-old negotiated. The cereal for a couple cigarettes. The biscuit & gravy for a bag of nacho cheese flavored chips and a pack of ramen. The milk and coffee for access to a contraband cell phone for 10 minutes. It was the jailhouse economy. With only two paltry meals served daily about 12 hours apart, the food situation was critical for the general population. The fact that he had a daily supply of extra calories helped him gain status.
D’Clinton slurped up the syrupy mixture of pears, g****s, and cherries. He held up the juice and tilted it towards a table where a number of sissies sat. He winked.
A light-skinned punk with a heart-shaped mouth and textured hair winked back.
“You want it,” mouthed D’Clinton.
The sissy nodded.
D’Clinton walked it over and set it down in from of the femboi with an average build. He said nothing and returned to his seat.
The faggot drank the juice and smiled.
Miles couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned most of the night. The spectacle of pre-trial motions in the State v. Lewis and flurry of the media did not mean the rest of his duties stopped. His Office still had investigations, cases to prosecute, plea bargains to make, victim services issues, and the like to manage. He got up trying not to wake his wife of 20 years, Kendra.
Miles grabbed his phone from his nightstand walked out of the master bedroom. He went into the powder room of the two-storey colonial 1,850 square-foot, 3-bedroom, 2½-bath house. He texted his 70 year-old father and then looked at the news app while taking a dump.
Miles grew up in this town and so had his mom. During his youth, he often had to explain his unique surname. He would tell folks that is dad was from Puerto Rico and yes, there were Black Puerto RIcans. He lettered in four varsity sports before heading off to the Air Force Academy where he majored in . He served six years as a public affairs officer before taking extended leave and going to law school in his home state. He went back on active duty in JAG in 2004 after being admitted to the bar.
He left the Air Force in 2009 and moved the family to the area. He established a solo practice and built up a respectable client base. He remembered the visit from the dark-haired, olive-skinned man that got this whole thing started. It was raining and dreary when his legal assistant rushed in saying there was a guy urgently requesting his attention. He spoke to the man who revealed the billionaire’s plan to influence criminal justice reform by running diverse candidates for top prosecutorial roles in jurisdictions all around the county.
He indicated that he was interested. He signed a non-disclosure agreement. The committee covered transportation costs & logistics for him and his wife. The conference was at the Greenbrier. All of the attendees’ faces were various shades of brown. There were speakers extolling the need to ‘integrate’ if not ‘infiltrate’ the world of prosecutorial discretion. Others, spoke about about, campaign management, elected office obligations, community interaction, recidivism & rehabilitation, and personal experience.
Manuel “Manny” Toro heard his phone ding and whir. He picked it up and saw the message from his oldest c***d. The Afro-Puerto Rican who was born in Loiza on the northeast coast of the island served as an Air Force medic for almost two years in Vietnam. Returning U.S. he was stationed at one of the bases in this state. For him, joining the military was a way to elevate himself from poverty. It was a similar situation for the other young men who signed up from the island.
There, he met Lieutenant Irene Houston who had just gotten back from Nam after a 12-month tour with the Nurse Corps.
While Manny did aeromedical evacuation missions lifting out wounded & sick servicemembers for all branches aboard a Douglas C-47 aircraft, his wife worked at Cam Ranh Bay Hospital treating mainly cases of malaria, parasites, and non-combat related cases at first. They bonded over their shared experience in Southeast Asia.
Manny and Irene left the service and moved to the place of her birth. He used G.I. Bill to study business education at the historically black land-grant college. He taught in the public school system for ten years. While teaching, he began selling insurance & real estate on the side which he parlayed into his own company in 1983.
-I’m awake. Call me.
Miles flushed the toilet and washed his hands. He poured a glass of water from the filtered pitcher and rang his pops.
“Hey, son,” the father of three said. “How’s it going?”
“It’s...going,” Miles revealed.
“I bet. I’ve seen some coverage on the news. Don’t let them bring you down.”
“Never that, papi.”
“What has you up so early, Miles,” Manny got down to brass tax.
“Just couldn’t sleep. You know.”
“Obviously. Tell me what’s on your mind son.”
“Papi...I...I feel like it’s so much.”
“What’s so much?”
“It’s just...It’s that I’ve got half the district pissed at me for prosecuting a Black guy over the death of a white gay dude. The other half thinks I should have handled it locally on gone after tougher charges. I didn’t think it was a good idea for my Office to do this. I didn’t want it to impact the lives of the people on my team. They’re fine and all the anger is directed at me,” Miles unloaded.
“I see,” Manny proffered. “What else?”
Miles continued, “I worry that I’ve made life harder for Kendra, Gavin, and Delaney. I’m just doubting my decision. Sorry for unloading all this.”
“Why are you sorry? You’re just feeling what anyone in your situation would feel. You’ve done what you believe to be the right thing. Ethically and morally and all. So, that’s that. You can only make a decision based on the inputs you have. And, your family will be fine. Your wife and k**s love you.”
“Thanks!”
“I’m serious, Miles. Give yourself some credit. “You’re the one that got a commission to the Academy and went to law school. You earned that state championship in the 440 relay. Nobody else has lived your life. So, they have no right to armchair quarterback.”
Miles was impressed with his dad’s thoughts. He could not have imagined their relationship being like this when he was a k**. He listened.
“There were days I felt like you failed you and your mom and your brother & sister,” Manny admitted.
“You’re were a good dad.”
“Thanks! What I’m saying is that it’s normal to feel this way. I sometimes thought that raising my family down South would negatively impact y’all compared to your cousins in New York. Or, that my business would fail and we’d lose the house and be on the streets.”
“I had no idea, man,” Miles. “I think it turned it out pretty.”
“Yeah! It turned out very well. Your mom stuck by me. She was a big help.”
“You guys had all three k**s get into the Academy. One is a lieutenant colonel now. Another is a successful business owner. And me.”
“All of you are great! And, don’t forget my grandk**s. Mi corazons! All five of ‘em!”
“Thanks, papi! You helped put it in perspective.”
“You know you can talk whenever. Just come over and we’ll grab a beer,” he chuckled. “Maybe share it with Kendra.”
They completed the conversation and Miles began peeling an orange.
Jeanne Chastain Albritton was already kneeling in the flower bed in the front yard. Her silver-haired husband stepped on the porch of the grand, Indian red brick, columned house with five bedrooms and three bathrooms. He asked her if she wanted any bacon. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The judge opened the refrigerator and fetched the pork. He spread it on a pan then stuck it in the oven.
“How’d you sleep,” Jeanne inquired coming in the kitchen.
“Not too bad. How about you?”
“Pretty good. When’s the last time you talked to Holly?”
“It’s been a few days,” he referred to their older daughter. “You?”
“This morning. She needs to borrow $800.”
“Again,” he shook his head.
“Yes, Hank. Again.”
“What now?”
“Apparently she’s got a ghost hunt in Quebec next week. The client signed a contract to reimburse her, but she needs to purchase the ticket now.”
Judge Albritton threw up his hands. “Whatever! Send her a grand,” directed. Holly had always been a little woo-woo. Armed with a brilliant quick mind, she did her best to navigate her life in the small town. He celebrated when she chose Bowdoin for college. It would get her around like-minded people - ‘bleeding liberals’. He believed it would do her some good. A degree in religion with a minor in Arabic studies later and Holly was a ‘ghost hunter’.
“I will not. She asked for eight. She’ll get eight,” the chair of this year’s Azalea Festival Committee stood her ground.
“I support that decision.”
“I mean we can’t finance her way all her life. You got any motions today,” she asked.
“Not today,” he sighed. “I wish I’d granted that change of venue and recused myself.”
“I’m not going to say I told you so.”
“Good. Don’t,” he chuckled. “Cup of joe?”
“No thanks!”
D’Clinton was now in a 10’ x 10’ room eating his real breakfast. He had two red hot sausage, egg & cheese biscuits with a side of hashbrowns. He washed it down with fruit punch. After finishing, he went into the common room. There were inmates crowded around an old TV watching a syndicated show. Some were reading. Others were just chilling. He walked up to the cutie that drank the apple juice. “Sup?”
“Nada,” he looked up from the mid-rate historical fiction romance novel.
“Come wit’ me!”
“Okay,” he closed the book.
They went to a known blind spot. D’Clinton pulled out his meat.
“That thang big, nigga,” gasped the pussyboi.
“Yeah, bitch!”
The sassy doll bent down and spat on the head. He stroked the shaft while sucking it. He occasionally massage the hairy, low-hanging balls. “Got dayum, nigga,” whispered the cocksucker as a stream of saliva remained connected to rod and his mouth. “You taste good.”
“You like deez musty nuts?”
“Mmhmm!”
The punk went back to work providing oral pleasure until D’Clinton demanded some ass.
“I’m finna fuck yo’ girly ass,” announced the well-fed dude.
The sissy turned around and exposed his booty.
D’Clinton smacked it. “Dat ass soft!”
“Thanks, boo!”
Soon the were going at it.
“Ooh. Ooh. Yeah,” purred the femme bottom.
“Yo’ faggit boipussy feel good, bitch!”
“Fuck me!”
“Fuck yeah, baby! Give a nigga dat ass!”
“Take it, nigga! Bang my booty hole!”
“You gon’ have my k**s?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Pussy tight and wet.”
Pffffffft.
“Dat pussy talkin’ back to a nigga,” remarked D’Clinton.
“Hell yeah,” the fairy threw his badonkadonk back to meet the cadence of his aggressor.
Pfffft. Pffffft.
“Fuck me, Dee!”
“Shit, bitch! You takin’ dis dick,” he grunted as he placed his hands on the boi’s shoulder blades.
D’Clinton pounded harder. He was trying to fuck the sissy into bashful submission with an unrelenting, severe tempo of backbreaking thrusts.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah, nigga,” whined the sissy.
D’Clinton howled as he came. “Damn!”
“That was good, nigga,” smiled the punk adjusting his uniform.
D’Clinton remained silent and waited.
Kendra and the k**s were now awake. They were 16 and 12 so they took care of getting themselves ready. And, Gavin was currently off punishment so he had access to the hand-me-down 2005 Mercedes Benz E320 sedan to drive himself and his sister to school. This worked out well because early education center where Kendra worked was in a different part of town.
Miles spread a garden veggie cream cheese on a bagel. He put it on a plate with some g****s and slid it to his wife.
“Thanks,” the second grade teacher said.
“You’re welcome! Question?”
“What’s up,” she was talking while chewing and covering her mouth.
“How are you feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“How are things?”
“I’m good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Are people saying anything to you about this murder trial,” he asked directly.
“Occasionally they do.”
“Anything judgmental?”
“Opinions are like assholes, Miles. You know that, Most people have them and they all stink.”
“Yeah, but I was just wondering if you or the k**s are getting any flack because of…”
“You being the D.A.?”
“Yeah!”
“Sweetie, that comes with the territory. You should talk to them about it. I made it very clear at work after you were elected. I told everyone I was happy to discuss any topic, but under no circumstances would I entertain any conversation about the actions of the Office of the District Attorney for the 23rd Judicial Circuit. None!”
“Good!”
“Remember that conference we went to at the Greenbrier. I took to heart what that former U.S. Attorney said.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes! She was very clear about the thick skin one needed to develop. Half the people will love you and half will hate you and who’s on which side changes with each case. Many Blacks called her a ‘sellout’ or ‘bed wench’ when she was trying to affect change. White folks didn’t think she belonged because of her melanin.”
“She sure did,” Miles recalled.
“No matter what you now, idiots are going to have something to say.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“You should talk to the k**s though. I gotta run.”
Miles made a note to chop it up with Gavin and Delaney over dinner that evening.
“Do you have any cash on you, Hank,” Jeanne quizzed.
“A little.”
“I need to pay Ursula today and I forgot to go to the ATM yesterday.”
“How much?”
“I’m short 40 bucks.”
“Here you go,” he produced his wallet and pecked her on the cheek. “See you later.”
“Enjoy your day!”
Judge Albritton walked outside to his green 2016 King Ranch edition 4-door Ford F-150. He drove along the circular driveway and away from the majestic house that looked like it had been transplanted from a plantation.
He wondered what was the next trick the defense had up their sleeve.
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