FL-91 The Chocolate Speedway
The Chocolate Speedway
French Line
FL-91
Marshall Goode
$1.75
The Chocolate Speedway
French Line
FL-91
Marshall Goode
$1.75
Excerpt
“That right, sugah baby.” Linc shook the slim body like a dog shaking a bone. “If we gives you enough fresh meat, you gonna be happy here with us for the next few days?”
He looked down at the pale white face of the small boy crushed against his body, waiting for an answer. Carl’s eyes were blue-centered circles of fright. He tried to work his throat, to scream at the black deity that held him prisoner within his arms, but the wide forearm pressed into his neck until it was scarcely possible to breathe. His eyes grew wider as he felt the growing, pulsing pole of flesh press against his abdomen. Until now he had been fighting desperately for the breath to sustain him. Suddenly he wondered if it might be better if he couldn’t breathe. He felt faint. Maybe he would be fortunate…”Ah’m talking to you, white boy,” Linc relaxed the arm which held him and the blond head sank slowly toward the floor, his knees buckling beneath his weight. Linc shook his head and grabbed him under the arms, then raised him up again. “What’s the matter with you, boy? Ain’t you had no upbringing? Don’t you know it ain’t polite to faint dead away while a man’s a’talking to ya?”
He shook his head and half-carried the limp boy to the bed on the far side of the room… and dropped him.
Billie Joe was propped against the iron rail headboard, cleaning his nails with the sharp point of his switchblade. He watched his companion drop the limp form of the pretty boy on the bed beside him. He looked up and down the still body appraisingly, reached out and squeezed the rising hill of his breast and nodded.
“They’re nice,” he said without expression and returned to cleaning his nails.
“Now that’s what I call a cool cat,” Linc grinned. “They’re nice he says. You really slay me, black boy.”
“Don’t go a’calling me BOY, Lincoln Browne, or I jest might do that little thing.”
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