948

“I didna kill her,” says Tweedside.

The room goes quiet.

“Maybe ye should’ve.” It’s a voice from the hallway. Jock Shaw. How he sneaked in so quietly with all that stuff hanging from his sheriff belt is a mystery. He walks up to where Tweedside sits frozen on his throne.

“I am here to tell you the hard truth, son. The truth that darkies are the source of what’s wrong in this world.” Pacing like a preacher, he turns to Donny Roy. “Why else would good god in heaven call them darkies?” Then back to Tweedside. “They’re all the same, lad. All the same. They’re the opposite of light. They’re dark. Dark skin. Dark hair. Dark hearts. And they’re out to take what rightfully belongs to white Christian men and their women.”

He pauses, runs a ham of hand across his slick head.

“And you, Mr. Tweedside. How can ye stand by and let that raghead runt determine your professional fate? Tis not right. Darkies should be moppin’ your floors, not decidin’ your salary.”

..........................

Truth is stranger than fiction.