minnie bledsoe, in her 60s, sits on her porch in the old black section of town, playing with a gameboy. she has very thick glasses on. sam walks up to her from his car--
that's me.
sheriff deeds' dead, honey--you just sheriff junior.
you ever play one of these?
well, don't ever start up on 'em, cause once you do you can't stop. i tell myself i'm gonna play just three little games after breakfast, and here i sit with half the day gone.
i won't say nothing bad about the man, but you can ask away.
we run that twenty-odd years. give it over to otis payne in 1967. april.
not if i can help it.
them days, you deal with sheriff wade or you didn't deal at all. first of the month, every month, he remind you of who you really workin' for.
wasn't legal to sell liquor in a glass back then unless you was a club, see. roderick used to say, "buy yourself a drink, you get a free membership." but sheriff wade, he could shut you down anytime.
sheriff buddy was a different story. long as roderick throw his weight the right way on election day, make sure all the colored get out to vote- we was called colored back then, if you was polite--maybe throw a barbecue for the right people now and then, things was peaceful. that sheriff wade, though, he took an awful big bite.
not if they was colored or meskin. not if they wanted to keep breathin'.
i seen him in our place the last week before he gone missin'.
he used to come in whilst we was in full swing, make people nervous. had him a smile like the grim reaper--
--just sit back with his hand on that big ol' gun and act the kingfish with everybody. otis payne had come to work for us by then, and that boy had him some attitude--