IBO by Brian R. Lundin (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📖

complexion and finely- chiseled features that made him look part Indian, and he was an “A” student at Booker T. Washington Black High School and a star wide receiver on their football team that won the state of Arkansas Black Football Championship for the last two years. After graduating from high school Reginald was offered a football scholarship to Alcorn State College but Reginald knew that even with the scholarship it would be a financial strain on the family, so he decided to stay home and help run the farm.
One of Ruby’s customers was Mrs. Roberta Washburn, the wife of the Mayor Cecil Washburn. Ruby did Roberta’s laundry once a week and usually baked two pies for her. The mayor owned mostly everything in Stuttgart. His great, great grandfather August Washburn supposedly founded the town and Mayor Washburn had inherited the general merchandise and grocery store in town that sold everything the farmers needed. He also was the owner of the only restaurant and the only newspaper. He paid the farmers crops at what he considered a fair price for their crops and sold them for a considerable profit. The farmers knew that they could probably get better prices if they took their crops to Little Rock or Hot Springs but that was too far to go. The mayor treated everybody the same black or white, you could buy supplies from him on credit, but there was a twenty- percent “credit tax.” He had one daughter, Rachael, whom he doted over and she got whatever she wanted. Rachael and Reggie were the same age and she only lived three miles from him but they had never met, Rachael went to a white school and Reggie went to a black school.
One-day Reggie’s mother asked him to deliver the laundry and two pies to Mrs. Washburn. Rachael, who was home alone, opened the door and nearly lost her breath. She had never seen such a beautiful man, black or white, she could not move or speak; it was as she had been hypnotized by his eyes.
“Hi, my name is Reggie and my mom told me to deliver this laundry and these pies to Mrs. Washburn, is she home?” Reggie asked, as his eyes seemed to mesmerize her.
After gaining her composure Rachael replied, “No she’s not, my name is Rachael and I’m her daughter. Give me the pies and you can leave the laundry in the parlor, Reggie gave Rachael the pies, reluctantly follows her into the house, and quickly put down the laundry while Rachael took the pies into the kitchen. When Rachael came out of the kitchen Reggie notice how she was staring at him. He becomes uneasy; he knew it was not good for a black man in Arkansas, to be alone with a white woman.
“Where should I put the laundry Miss Washburn?” Reggie asked, anxious to leave.
“Just put it by that chair, and please just call me Rachael, Miss Washburn makes me sound too old.”
“Does my mom owe you any money?” Rachael asked.
Reggie opening the door and anxious to leave says, “I don’t know they can work that out later.”
Rachael watches Reggie until he disappeared, she felt so flush she had to sit down on the couch. She had never felt this way before, woman feelings. At that moment, she crossed the great chasm that divides childhood from adulthood, a girl to the mysteries of womanhood. She knew what the challenges were dealing with a black man, but she was willing to accept those challenges freely and with all her heart.
As a young girl Rachael had read the romantic novels that spoke of heroes and heroines and she dreamed that one day a knight in shining armor would step from the mist and carry her off to a distant place and capture her heart, but never in here wildest dreams was this gallant knight a black man.
Rachael started to bring the laundry over to Ruby; sometimes it was not even a whole load. Three or four times a week she was at the Warrens house, either bringing over a half load of laundry or buying pies. Ruby noticed that Rachael was always looking out in the field where Henry, the boys, and Reggie were working. Rachael would help the girls bring the men lunch and cold drinks and she always found a way to get Reggie’s attention. Henry and Reggie’s brothers became aware of Rachael interest in Reggie and became concerned for they knew it was a lynching offense for a black man to even look too hard at a white woman, less known flirt with one. One day when Reggie was alone in the fields eating lunch, Rachael approached.
“Hi Rachael, want a piece of my sandwich?” Reggie asked.
Rachael sits down besides Reggie on an old bench they used to eat lunch.
“No thanks Reggie, I am glad you are alone, I have to tell you something and I hope you don’t think badly of me for saying it,” Rachael said.
Concerned Reggie said, “What is it Rachael?”
“I love you, we are going to get married, and I am going to have a lot of your beautiful babies.”
Reggie nearly choked on his sandwich, he knew that Rachael liked him but he was shocked at how forward she was.
“Do I have anything to say about this?”
“Nope, I just wanted you to know.”
“Rachael you are just infatuated with me, that’s all,” Reggie said.
Rachael standing up with her hands on her hips, in an annoyed voice said, “Reggie I am a full blown woman, I am nineteen years old, and I’m telling you I love you and we are going to get married.”
For the first time Reggie really looks at Rachael, she had green eyes that was lit with a determination that set her whole face ablaze with shades of crimson and red, she wore her blond hair in a tight ball that was hidden underneath a pink baseball cap, she was tall and slender but shapely, and he noticed that she had large breast for such a slender woman. As she was walking away, he noticed she has a nice butt and legs and she had a little switch when she walked. As she was walking away, she greeted Henry and his sons who were coming into the field.
Henry and Reggie’s brothers walked over to Reggie and Henry said, “Boy, you better be careful with that white gal, they’re nothing but trouble for black men. If the Klux had any idea that you were sparking that white gal, you would get a good whipping or worse.”
“I ain’t messing with her Pa, honest,” Reggie said but he did not tell his father or brothers about his conversation with Rachael.
The following week Henry and Reggie went to the store for supplies and Rachael was behind the counter. Mayor Washburn general store was a typical rural southern store, old but clean and recently painted in off-white. A bell above the door clanged every time a customer entered or left. In front of the store was a long bench that contained two old white men in coveralls playing checkers, drinking Coca Cola and re-fighting the Civil War. It was an old building dating back before the civil war and a large Confederate flag was displayed prominently in the front yard. It had dusty wooden floors, sagging shelves that held a multitude of dry goods. A clothes rack was in a corner that contained wool shirts, pants and coveralls. Farming tools was on one wall near the entrance next to the seeds, battery operated radios and bicycles were next to each other. Rods, reels and lures were behind the counter. The latest invention a small black and white Zenith television, which sat on the counter. The snowy screen made the picture hard to see. Everything needed was there and Rachael knew where everything was and how to use it. Many customers who were not mechanically inclined could describe a problem they were having with their tractor and before long Rachael had, not only the parts needed but also, she told them how to use it. While Henry shopped for the supplies, Rachael cornered Reggie.
“You gave anymore thought to what we talked about?” Rachael asked Reggie.
“Rachael, do you know how dangerous it is for me and my family, if the Klux found out about your feelings for me, we could be in big trouble. They would probably burn our house and crops and they would probably lynch me. Black men don’t marry white women in Arkansas, especially the daughter of the mayor.”
“I am not afraid of any Klux, my daddy would kill all them Klux if they messed with me or the father of his grandchildren, we are getting married soon and that’s, that.”
Rachael returned behind the counter and checked Henry out. “I’ll put these charges on your account, Mr. Warren.”
Henry and Reggie left the store and put the supplies in the back of Henry’s old pickup truck. On their way home Reggie tells his father about his conversations with Rachael.
“She is determined; I can say that about her,” Henry says.
“Yes sir, she surely is,” Reggie responds.
The next day Reggie noticed Sheriff Mark Burke parking his car in front of the house. The sheriff waved at Ruby and begins walking into the field towards Henry. Sometimes the sheriff would come to the house to buy pies, but he never came into the fields.
As Henry started to walk towards the sheriff, Reggie became apprehensive. Sheriff Mark Burke was a short, stocky white man with powerful looking arms, his shirts always looked too small for his big arms and big belly and he never wore his gun, but this time it was strapped on, Reggie was getting concerned. Henry met the sheriff halfway in the field; they shook hands and had a brief conversation. As the sheriff was leaving he waived at Reggie who felt a sense of relief. Henry slowly walked over to Reggie.
“The mayor wants to meet us in his office at noon today, but Sheriff Burke don’t know why. Now tell me the truth boy, have you been sparkin’ that white gal?”
“No sir, I have never touched her,” Reggie said.

Chapter 21

Malik gave up his drug spot and would meet every day with Pacman and Pops. Most of Chicago street gangs got their drugs through an in-between man known as the supplier and he usually had no gang connections. The black gangs started to sell drugs in the black neighborhoods in the late sixties. The gang and the wholesaler would cut the drugs with various substances, baking powder, or sugar until it had a purity of about ten-percent. This increased the supply and maximized the profit, for instance, a kilo (2.2 pounds) of crack cocaine; cost fifty to sixty thousand dollars after being stepped on or diluted a kilo of pure heroin would yield twenty kilos for the street.
The street value of that same kilo of crack was now over a million dollars. The street dealers earned a percentage of what they sold usually five percent. Most of the dealers were addicted to drugs themselves so