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nothing but undershorts and a ballcap. |
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Not to avoid this one, to hit him. |
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The kid flipped high as the bumper knocked out his legs. He lost his machete. His ballcap spun away. He missed the axe handle. He bounced on the hood and tumbled. His knee thumped the windshield. Then he flew upward out of sight. Trev heard some rough bumps on the roof before the kid toppled off. |
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'I can't stand it!' Francine blurted. |
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And Lisa said, 'Maybe it's Maxwell's grandpa.' |
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'He's some kind of a witch doctor. Maybe this is his revenge, or something.' |
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Ridiculous, Trev thought. |
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But what mad, poetic justice if it were true. White boys murder a black kid. Next thing you know, down comes the rain making everyone black and kill-crazy. Revenge in spades. |
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But black magic? Come on, Trev. |
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'What do you know about him?' |
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'Just that Maxwell . . . he wouldn't ever let me meet his family. He said they wouldn't like him going out with someone like me . . . you know, someone white. But especially his grandfather. He said the old man might do something weird if he ever found out. Like put a hex on me. I told Max I wasn't afraid of any hexes, but he said I oughta be. He said his grandpa was really into that stuff, and it worked. He even told me some stories about how his grandpa got back at enemies, and stuff. How he'd cripple them |
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