Randall took off his hat as he entered the bar and left it by the door. His clothes, long and black, carried dust from the road. He had been walking for quite a spell. He didn’t know exactly why he was there but the places he was drawn to always erupted into violence. Following a gentle tugging in his soul, he found three white men who had a young black kid pushed up against the back wall.
Randall ambled a bit closer. As he passed by the cutting station, he lifted the knife. Nobody saw him. People rarely did. He wasn’t sure which way this was going to go yet.
“You touch Maryanne, ni**er?”
“I ain’t touched nobody.”
“You wouldn’t be calling Miss Maryanne a liar, would you?”
Randall shook his head. Even if true, that would only rile up these kind of men.
“Oh, we got ourselves a ni**er fa**ot. He’s like a goddamn unicorn.”
“I never bagged me a unicorn before.”
“Come on son, let’s go outside.”
The kid twisted away, taking two steps for the door before six hands caught him and pulled him back.