The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

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man President! And this man ain’t even black- he a high yella
MULATTA!”
Jones next proceeded to withdraw a switchblade knife
out of his pocket and poke the blade towards Gooch’s neck.
“Now, Mr. 2009, I’s gonna give you a taste of 1955 black
justice!” Jones warned Gooch. “’Cause there ain’t nobody
‘round that cons Abyssinia Jones! Not NOBODY!”
“Please,” Gooch said as he backed up. “Be reasonable. I
can….”
Gooch never finished his sentence. He backed up too far
and crashed through the closed window to the street below,
four floors down. A crowd gathered around him, and, as he
lay dying, he could hear a few of the words they were saying.
“Damn fool nigger,” said one voice. “Why he go and do
that?”
“Typical reason,” said another. “Money or women trouble.
But he must’ve been filthy rich. Why else would he be
dressed so fine?”
“Sho’ nuff!” said a third voice. “He was a pimp, definite
like. How else a black man gonna get that kind of money
here in 1955?”
How else indeed?