Some stories have a darker side. This is one of them.
Rodney’s Last Stand
Rodney Crick scanned the intersection, flipping the two sided sign that dangled from the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Through grimy Venetian blinds, his eyes searched the landscape, lighting first on the Missionary Baptist Church diagonal from his tiny grocery, his gaze falling next on the old high school with its gymnasium built with WPA funding and workers, following clockwise, seeing the police cruiser edging past the gym and the nursing home that stood adjacent to Rodney’s store on the right, watching as it traveled east to the intersection. Bobby Earl Frank lifted a hand out the window of the cruiser, waving toward Rodney’s store without even glancing that way. Rodney did not return the wave.
To a casual observer nothing appeared unusual, the light that controlled traffic at the intersection flashed yellow for east/west traffic…
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