out of the Slave States, in order that they may sell them into slavery if they don’t go. If no white persons travelled upon railroads except those who could get someone to vouch for their character in a penal bond of one thousand dollars, the railroad companies would soon go to the “wall.” Such mean legislation is too low for comment; therefore I leave the villainous acts to speak for themselves.
But the Dred Scott decision is the crowning act of infamous Yankee legislation. The Supreme Court, the highest tribunal of the Republic, composed of nine Judge Jeffreys, chosen both from the free and Slave States, has decided that no colored person, or persons of African extraction, can ever become a citizen of the United States, or have any rights which white men are bound to respect. That is to say, in the opinion of this Court, robbery, rape, and murder are not crimes when committed by a white person upon a colored person.
CHAPTER 6
OCTOBER 1993 • LOVE 14, LI’L PIT 10
“HERE. THIS IS just for now until I can get you into the house.” Love handed Li’l Pit a white plastic plate with mashed potatoes and a barbecued chicken leg. Love had taken his brother, and the bikes they’d stolen from Ace Trey, into the charred structure of the house across from Ruby’s. He had to wear a pair of Easton’s loafers, which he found in the back of his closet. As night approached, Love lit a candle on a rusted coffee can so they could see. He then sat back on the springs of a half-burnt couch.
Li’l Pit attacked the chicken leg from the top like an ice-cream cone, biting off the bone with the meat. His hands were big already before the rest of him, his nails rotted and covered in the barbecue sauce.
Love smiled, and his high, round cheeks shone in the light of the candle. “You sure are hungry. Didn’t anybody teach you manners? You’ve got the sauce all over your chin.”
“Take your stupid chicken, then.” Li’l Pit chucked the bone through the rusted security bars still locked to the inside window frame. “I don’t need nothin from you, you funny-talking gray boy.”
“Don’t trip, dog. Don’t trip. You hungry, that’s all I’m sayin.”
“What you laughin at?”
“Nothin.” Love shook his head, but then he did start to laugh. “I just recallin you in the lot today, yelling up ‘East Side. East Side.’” He looked Li’l Pit in the eye the whole time he spoke. “You like one of those short Li’l Gs, ain’t scared of no Mac Daddy. ‘East Side.’ You crazy, man.” He bent over laughing, and his brother laughed too. “That’s why you a pit, like me. It doesn’t matter how little you are if you’re unpredictable. Even big people afraid of a little, uncontrollable dog.”
Li’l Pit stood up and danced; his head jutted forward and back like a pigeon’s, his hand out in front of him in the East Side flash. He rapped:
Yeah I’m Li’l Pit
Don’t fuck with me
I am
The Mac Daddy
My brother is
A punk OG
My daddy up at
Santa Ree.
Love shook his head as Li’l Pit sat again on the ground. “You crazy, dog. You crazy.” He looked away to the bars on the window. “You know our daddy ain’t up at Santa Rita no more, don’t you?”
Li’l Pit cracked his neck and then looked at the food on his plate. “Sure.”
“He out in some backyard, toe-up.”
“I know.” Li’l Pit dipped his index finger into the mound of mashed potatoes and sucked off a scoop.
“You remember him?”
“I met him when I was just a kid.” Li’l Pit scooped up more potatoes with his finger. The light of sunset cut through the bars onto the sickle-shaped part in his hair.
“That’s a tight fade you got,” Love said. “I’m gonna get me a wasp right here over my ear.”
“By who?”
“Myself.”
“Give me a skull and crossbones right on the back.”
“You don’t need none of that shit. You too young to be a playah. You should be in school. I’m gonna take you to Prescott next week
But the Dred Scott decision is the crowning act of infamous Yankee legislation. The Supreme Court, the highest tribunal of the Republic, composed of nine Judge Jeffreys, chosen both from the free and Slave States, has decided that no colored person, or persons of African extraction, can ever become a citizen of the United States, or have any rights which white men are bound to respect. That is to say, in the opinion of this Court, robbery, rape, and murder are not crimes when committed by a white person upon a colored person.
CHAPTER 6
OCTOBER 1993 • LOVE 14, LI’L PIT 10
“HERE. THIS IS just for now until I can get you into the house.” Love handed Li’l Pit a white plastic plate with mashed potatoes and a barbecued chicken leg. Love had taken his brother, and the bikes they’d stolen from Ace Trey, into the charred structure of the house across from Ruby’s. He had to wear a pair of Easton’s loafers, which he found in the back of his closet. As night approached, Love lit a candle on a rusted coffee can so they could see. He then sat back on the springs of a half-burnt couch.
Li’l Pit attacked the chicken leg from the top like an ice-cream cone, biting off the bone with the meat. His hands were big already before the rest of him, his nails rotted and covered in the barbecue sauce.
Love smiled, and his high, round cheeks shone in the light of the candle. “You sure are hungry. Didn’t anybody teach you manners? You’ve got the sauce all over your chin.”
“Take your stupid chicken, then.” Li’l Pit chucked the bone through the rusted security bars still locked to the inside window frame. “I don’t need nothin from you, you funny-talking gray boy.”
“Don’t trip, dog. Don’t trip. You hungry, that’s all I’m sayin.”
“What you laughin at?”
“Nothin.” Love shook his head, but then he did start to laugh. “I just recallin you in the lot today, yelling up ‘East Side. East Side.’” He looked Li’l Pit in the eye the whole time he spoke. “You like one of those short Li’l Gs, ain’t scared of no Mac Daddy. ‘East Side.’ You crazy, man.” He bent over laughing, and his brother laughed too. “That’s why you a pit, like me. It doesn’t matter how little you are if you’re unpredictable. Even big people afraid of a little, uncontrollable dog.”
Li’l Pit stood up and danced; his head jutted forward and back like a pigeon’s, his hand out in front of him in the East Side flash. He rapped:
Yeah I’m Li’l Pit
Don’t fuck with me
I am
The Mac Daddy
My brother is
A punk OG
My daddy up at
Santa Ree.
Love shook his head as Li’l Pit sat again on the ground. “You crazy, dog. You crazy.” He looked away to the bars on the window. “You know our daddy ain’t up at Santa Rita no more, don’t you?”
Li’l Pit cracked his neck and then looked at the food on his plate. “Sure.”
“He out in some backyard, toe-up.”
“I know.” Li’l Pit dipped his index finger into the mound of mashed potatoes and sucked off a scoop.
“You remember him?”
“I met him when I was just a kid.” Li’l Pit scooped up more potatoes with his finger. The light of sunset cut through the bars onto the sickle-shaped part in his hair.
“That’s a tight fade you got,” Love said. “I’m gonna get me a wasp right here over my ear.”
“By who?”
“Myself.”
“Give me a skull and crossbones right on the back.”
“You don’t need none of that shit. You too young to be a playah. You should be in school. I’m gonna take you to Prescott next week
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