I HADN'T HAD ANY PROBLEMS WITH THE OLD TRUCK IN QUITE SOME TIME, BUT IT JUST BEGAN TO SPUTTER AND CUT OUT, THEN IT FELL DEAD AND IT ROLLED TO A STOP AFTER A HALF MILE OR SO. DAMN. I WAS STILL ABOUT FIVE OR 6 MILES FROM BATESBURG AND THERE WAS NO ONE ELSE ON THIS COUNTRY ROAD. IT WAS AROUND 10:30 OR 11PM ON A COOL OCTOBER NIGHT. I HAD WENT OVER TO COLUMBIA TO THE STATE FAIR, I HAD STAYED A LITTLE LATER THAN I SHOULD. THE TRUCK COULDN'T HAVE PICKED A WORST TIME TO QUIT ON ME, HERE I AM, A BLACK MAN WALKING DOWN A COUNTRY ROAD IN SOUTH CAROLINA IN 1971, ALL I NEED NOW IS TO STUMBLE ACROSS SOME KLAN BOYS ON MY WAY HOME. I WALKED, KEEPING TO THE SHADOWS AND LISTENING FOR ANY ONE COMING DOWN THE ROAD. I HOPE THAT I CAN SEE WHO'S IN THE CAR BEFORE THEY GET TO CLOSE. I NEED A RIDE, BUT I WASN'T INTERESTED IN RIDING WITH THE GRAND WIZARD. THE MOON WAS UP AND NEARLY FULL, THAT WOULD HELP. I SANG A PIECE OF AN ARMY CADENCE SONG WHILE I WALKED. "MODEL A FORD AND A TANK FULL OF GAS. A MOUTHFUL OF PUSSY AND A AND HANDFUL OF ASS!" I WAS A COOK IN THE ARMY AND NEVER REALLY SPENT ANYTIME IN THE FIELD AND ALTHOUGH I'D WENT TO VIETNAM, I DON'T THINK THAT I EVER WENT OUT IN A COMBAT ZONE THAT I KNEW OF. Oh, why did the 59 dodge have to break down here with no warning? A full moon? I convinced myself that I don't believe in werewolves. But there ain't no telling what roams this countryside. I walked on for another twenty minutes thinking about how I got into this mess and I never even heard the the 69' Buick Wildcat slip up behind me. A fright crawled over me as I thought I'd end up as the main attraction in a lynching after all. The fright went away, as I saw two afros through the back windows. The passenger's window came done and the aroma of Kool filter kings drifted out, the brother behind the smoky cloud, asked me if I needed a ride.



The passenger's window came done and the aroma of Kool filter kings drifted out, the brother behind the smoky cloud, asked me if I needed a ride. I hesitated for a moment, something in the back of my mind screamed to me to say no. My feet ignored that little voice, and quickly answered a hearty "Hell yes!" I climbed into the back seat and we continued down the road. I canvased the back seat and saw an umbrella behind the driver's seat pouch. What was odd about it was it looked like something that an old white lady would carry, a left over from the 1940's. The driver looked to be in his late twenties, with his "all power to the people" 10" afro, and his sideburns, he looked a lot like Richard Roundtree ("Shaft"). The guy on the passenger side was light skinned with a big afro. He had a leather belt that had been made into a headband dissecting his "fro". He puffed on his cigarrete, and appeared to be trying to roll another, it would probably be easier if he took off his itty bitty hippie sunglasses. I couldn't fanthom how he could see anything in the dark. The guy driving asked me " Whatcha doing out on the road walking dis' time of night ?" I told him, "I had went to the State Fair and stayed later than I should, then the truck broke down on the way home." He nodded his head after I told him what had happened. "This is a nice car." I commented. He said "Yeah, I just got it." He looked at me through the rearview mirror. He turned to the passenger and said " Damn, Rollo you ain't got that twisted up yet? " Rollo, putting the finishing touches on the his rolled cigarette, which I could now see was a reefer. "Rolling..is a art form....it requires a skilled hand to bring out the essence of the grass...." Rollo said as he perfected the seams of his joint. "OH sh*t" I thought, now all I need is to have the pigs pull us over and we all get caught with weeds!



"OH sh*t" I thought, now all I need is to have the pigs pull us over and we all get caught with weeds! I could hear my granny preaching to from her grave "Boy! I told you that a hard head makes for a sore behind! Didn't I tell ya that? Always follow yo' first mind, use your head for somethin' other than a hat rack!" Tonight was a hat rack moment for sho'. Rollo fired up his joint, and inhaled the smoke deeply and held it in, for what seemed like forever. He passed to the driver, who hot boxed it as well, he choked on the smoke. He held the joint up between his thumb and index finger and handed it back over the seat toward me. I said "No thanks, ur um... I don't um ...smoke." He said "Okay, you a square, huh?" I nervously said "I guess so..." "No big deal man, but you ought to try some , it'll expand your mind. It will make you think!" the driver said as he passed the joint back to Rollo. He eyed me through the mirror while he spoke. That chill that I had on the road before they picked me up, ran through me again. I looked at the umbrella again, just to change the view of him eyeballing me through the mirror. He asked me I'd ever been out of South Carolina. I told him that I been to Vietnam. "No sh*t man! I would not have figured that. Not with the way, you don't smoke and all. All the cats I know that went over there are into everthing." Rollo was passing the joint back to him, but the driver hadn't noticed. "Denny! You gon' hit this again or what? This doobie is burning my damn finger tips!" Rollo said, slightly irritated. We rolled on down the highway for about ten minutes more with Denny making small talk. The tension of this ride eased up, but I was still ready for this ride to be over.



In the darkness, two miles ahead of us, sat a State trooper drinking coffee out of a thermos. His name is Patrick Stoler. I went to school with Pat, even while the schools were segregated around the south, in our small community they were not, at least not openly anyways. Same school, different classrooms and alternating activity times. (recess, lunch periods) and even though we each moved in different social circles later on in life. I always considered him a friend. We had ditched school one day and I took him to my best fishing spot. There by the river we talked and ignored all the black/white taboos that still existed when we were kids. After that day we each went back to our respective lives, separate, but equal, only on a fishing trip. I hung out with other colored guys, and he hung out with white guys because, that was the way things were. We'd see each other from time to time and give each other a knowing nod. When we graduated school in 1965, I got drafted into the Army and Patrick joined the Navy. I went to Fort Dix, New Jersey then to Saigon, Vietnam, where I spent the next three years cooking. When I got out of service, I came back to South Carolina and went to work at the lumber mill, where I am still working. I saw Pat for the first time after I got back home about a year ago. He was directing traffic at a accident where a hay truck had rolled over. We really didn't have time to catch up those missing years due to the nature of what was occuring at the time, but we had said we'd go fishing again someday. So far, we'd hadn't got around to it.



The Buick rounded the curve as we sailed on toward Thorndale, which was basically a whistle stop, six miles from my hometown. We never even saw Pat's cruiser sitting aside the road on the desserted highway. The driver Denny, didn't know that one of the tail lights was out on the Wildcat. So it came as a surprise when we saw a flashing red light behind us.......





The driver Denny, didn't know that one of the tail lights was out on the Wildcat. So it came as a surprise when we saw a flashing red light behind us.......

"Man, it's the f*cking pigs!" Denny exclaimed with near panic in his voice. "Where tha' hell he come from? Sh*t, man! Where did he come from?" Denny asked in amazement. Rollo said nothing, but he began to dig around in the front seat. I thought he was maybe hiding the rest of the weeds. He reached inside of his jacket and felt around, then he bent forward and felt under his seat. Rollo found what he was looking for and pulled it from under the seat. "Pull over man!" he said to Denny as he slipped his right hand between the door and the seat. "Oh f*ck, damn. I knew I should have passed this ride up!" I thought aloud, not even realizing that I was saying the words. The Buick slowed and edged toward the shoulder of the road, the cruiser did likewise; as the moment came to a stop on a dark road in the middle of nowhere. My heart was pounding as the cruiser turned on his spotlights. Denny was breathing real hard, as if he had run a marathon. "whatcha' think, Rollo? They couldn't have found that old biddie already?" Denny said between taking big breaths. "Naw, not yet, but that gas station, maybe." Rollo said in a very calm voice. I looked back through the back window, my eyes were greeted by the harsh glare of the spotlights. I could see the baby blue of the patrol car and see the trooper open the door, my heart was almost in my throat. I couldn't believe that I was in this mess with these two dubious f*ckers in the front. Hell, I'd be lucky not to get the electric chair just for riding with them. If the cop find that dope in the car, we will all catch the next bus to the penitentary. I couldn't really hear what they are talking about in the front seat, over the siren and my pounding heart, but it didn't sound good, whatever it was. The trooper approached the Buick confidently as he walked pass the driver side rear window I could see that it was Patrick. I relaxed a bit, as Denny began to roll his window down. Pat Stoler began to say, " I just wanted to let you kn......" A shot rang out. Then another. And another. The shots came in quick succession but for me, the were slow. Blam! Blam! Blam! Pat was knocked back and rolled to the side of the car. "Drive, nigga! Get the fuck outta here!" Rollo said to Denny who sat in disbelief. Denny threw the Buick in drive and punched the accelerator. He peeled out, leaving a roostertail of sand and gravel. I looked through the rear window and could see nothing but the cruiser lights piercing through the flying sand. No sign of Trooper Stoler. We were running 80 mph in no time at all, Denny was breathing like a race horse. Saying "F*CK! F*CK! F*CK!" over and over again. Rollo sat calmly in the passenger's seat, holding the warm .38 special in his in his hand. "Mellow out man, you are messing up my high with all that freak show you doing." Rollo said in even voice. "F*CK! F*CK! F*CK!" Denny said again. Denny looked over at Rollo and said "What did you do that for? He didn't even finish what he was saying! Now they gonna' be after us for killing a police............"



Denny looked over at Rollo and said "What did you do that for? He didn't even finish what he was saying! Now they gonna' be after us for killing a police............"

"Naw, man I don't think so. If he was after us for that old lady or for robbing that gas jockey, he would have pulled his gun out when he walked up to the car!" Rollo said after a moment. Denny still huffing in big breaths, ask Rollo "Then why did you shoot him before we found out what he wanted? Now we don't know what he stopped us for! Man, that was stupid!" Rollo sat up saying "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Boy don't be calling me stupid! You best remember that I still got bullets in this gun!" There was a palpable silence in the car. The Buick Wildcat powered down the road, I began to think of a way to get out of this car without jumping out at a high speed. Rollo had already threatened his buddy, and I began to wonder how long it would be before he turned his attention to me. He didn't seem to have any problems using the .38, and on a cop no less. I imagine that shooting me would be just another run of the mill event for him. I could see ahead that we were coming into Thorndale, the old railroad depot community. There was a single flashing red light in the middle of what once was a series of warehouses. I would bail out as soon as Denny came to a stop there, and I hoped that Rollo was distracted when I did. The closest dock would be on my side and hopefully there would be some grain or boxcars on the track that I could duck behind. I couldn't believe what had happened tonight, and I wondered about Pat, but I told myself that I'd have to worry about him after I got myself out of this jam. I could see the red light coming up ahead, I put my hand on the door handle as Denny began to slow down. I noted that this intersection was well lit, which was not good for me, but I hoped to break for the dark before Hair-trigger Rollo could react. Denny brought the Buick to a stop and I opened the door. I began to lay down the best sprint that I could manage. I was about 40 feet away before they'd noticed that I was gone. I heard Rollo open his door and holler "Stop! Or I will shoot you , nigga!" but by that time I had made it to the train cars, and was going between them. I heard Rollo say to Denny " Turn the car around and lets go get him" He slammed the doors closed and I heard the Buick turn around and shine its lights on the rail cars. I moved behind the wheels of the rail cars so that they could not see my feet. They didn't look for me long. They turned around again and went back to the red light. I saw the back of the Wildcat and now I knew why Patrick Stoler had stopped us. The driver's side tail light was out.........