The wind blew through the trees, and the sound of a banging shutter echoed through the night as it beat against an old abandoned house. Pulled around back was an old, white 1950’s model pickup truck that had seen better days. Joe and Cyrus laughed as they heckled a young black boy who was lying against the back wall of the house. He had his hands tied behind his back. His fear showed as they hovered over him in the beam of the truck's one working headlight.
Cyrus crouched next to Roland, "I thought I told you, just this morning, to stay away from Cindy. And then, the very same day, I go driving by the dairy bar and see you sitting at a table with her. Now what am I going to do about that? How am I going to make you learn, boy, that you ain't gonna do whatever you feel like?"
Joe added, "Maybe we should just take care of him once and for all. Why, we could just bury him alive right here! I got a shovel in the back of the truck. Maybe that’d teach ‘em a lesson!"
Joe and Cyrus were prime examples of the racism that ran so rampant in this neck of the woods. They grew up in the heart of the Deep South and had been brought up with the myth that a white man is better than a black man.
Joe had on a dirty white tank top, blue jeans, and boots. He looked like he had not bathed, nor combed his hair, in about a week. His gut hung over his belt, and anyone could plainly see he was drunk more than sober most of the time. He was the epitome of “white trash,” and Cyrus was runner up. The two shared the same mindset, and on more than one occasion they had been accused of sharing the same brain, which was why they were such good buddies.
Cyrus wore an old, beat up cap that looked like it had been used as fish bait. It had the name of some tobacco company on it, but nobody had been able to make out what it had said for years. He wore blue jeans, sneakers, and an old T shirt that had faded to the point that the writing on it was also illegible. His breath was bad, and by judging from the looks of his teeth, there was no wonder.
His grotesque, evil grin was scarier than anything Roland had ever seen. Roland trembled with fear as Joe walked around to the back of the pickup and whipped out a shovel.
Joe cackled. "Yep. Nobody would ever find ‘em out here. This old house used to belong to my uncle, and he's dead. Nobody ever comes around here no more."
Cyrus laughed. "Yeah, I guess that's the only way he's ever going to learn his lesson, huh?"
Roland just knew this would be his end. Being one of the few black people who lived in the entire town, he had feared meeting a horrible fate such as this. It was a fear he had his entire life. In a way, he was kind of glad to get it over with. At least he wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore, but, nevertheless, he was still scared speechless.
On the other hand, Cyrus and Joe had no intention of actually doing it. They just wanted to scare him to the point of ‘keeping him in his place’ as their parents and grandparents had trained them to do. Whether they felt this was a duty that had been handed down to them by their ancestors or they were just so insecure that they had to do it to convince themselves that they were the dominant race, they got a sick satisfaction from it. And there was nothing they would rather do on a Friday night than get drunk and pick on some poor black kid who was minding his own business. They ignorantly perceived it to be completely innocent and the most fun a guy could have.
Joe walked over to a spot that was about half-way between the back of the house and the woods behind the house. He jammed the shovel into the dirt. It easily penetrated the ground that had been softened by the rain earlier in the day. Thunder echoed in the distance, but this time it was louder, indicating that the storm was growing stronger and closer. Never knowing when enough was enough, Joe said in a mocking voice, "Yeah, this looks like a good spot, right here."
Cyrus heckled Roland even more. "You have any last requests? How about if we tell Cindy that you ran away because you couldn't stand the sight of her? How would you like that?"
Almost in a state of shock, Roland no longer seemed fazed by anything that Joe and Cyrus said.
As Joe continued to dig, he hit something hard and began prodding at it with his shovel. "Hey, Cyrus! Come here. I hit something."
Cyrus turned and looked at Joe, "What is it?"
Joe said, "I don't know. Maybe it's some kinda buried treasure."
"Nah, probably just a water line or something."
"This place never even had running water!" Joe retorted.
Cyrus ran over and they both started digging with their hands to see what Joe had hit.
Roland began to regain his composure. He looked over and saw the two hicks digging in the muddy dirt with their hands. He thought he might be able to sneak away while they were distracted. He tried to stand up, but it was not easy with his hands tied behind him. As he finally got to his feet, Joe remarked, "Dang! Look at that!"
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