Patriot's Point Blonde: part two



I burst in. "Nick DeLeon, ex NYPD ... detective ... your new partner." In the old City Station, where roaches crawled thru
the rot-wood siding not between the bricks. Sam Johnson heard me coming. He stood flatfoot short, fat, black wearing a clean
shabby tie. "From Newww Yo'kkk Cityyy! Wooo-wee. You be one mov'r all right. Damn'd skin-ass Yankee white-boy!"

My teeth clenched. "Originally from John's Island." Sam Johnson whistled. "Come carp'tbag Chastu'n teach all us
cracka's and niiigra's how stiffs be done proper. "Something like that," I said taking the dirty desk and worn roll-back chair.
Sam picked a Red from the inkwell and burned it slow, smouldering. "Well Mr Detective DeLeon, like yo' mama done sez,
that ain't your desk, the AAArabs and Jews bought up John's Island and this ain't New York City