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Todd turned his attention back on Samson praying the black teen would blow the play and that Coach Black would come to his senses, but he didn't.
"TOUCHDOWN COCKS!" roared the announcer.
**********
"Go cocks," said Long. He frowned and played with the dial on the radio. That was the last he heard of the game. He'd lost the station and still had some driving before him. Coach Black was going to text him the final score. In his opinion, Tittsville should be an easy victory. It was a small town in the northwest corner of Coxville County, about half the size of Coxville, but mostly white. They had none of the black behemoths that his school possessed. Some finelooking women though. Gustav Titts and his wife Astrid had founded the town with Swedish settlers around the same time Cox had started his plantation. The women all had the Swede look with most women leaning towards being tall and slim, with pale skin, blonde and red hair, and light eyes. Not to forget big Coxville breasts. The town was still 80-90% Swede stock with the remainder, curiously enough, being Romany stock with darker skin and hair, nearly the polar opposite of the Swedes, but the women were just as beautiful.
He passed a sign. 80 miles to New Orleans. Long reached down and adjusted the radio. He found some Dixieland jazz to put him in the N'awlins mood. He pulled into the city around an hour later and his phone beeped. He glanced down just as the message came up and smiled. The Cocks had another victory.
He was still smiling when he checked into a dive motel and still smiling when he left his room. The old black man strolled down Tulane avenue to Congo Square. "Praise Damballah and his avatar on earth Prospero," he muttered, bowing his head in prayer. This was a holy spot to his faith with many voodoo practitioners. Outside the square were dozens of shops. He found the one he was looking for and walked across the square towards it. The flashing neon sign that read, FORTUNES, beckoned him from the window.
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