Anniston, Alabama—July 15, 1965
Strange rides shotgun, “Satisfaction” blaring, now number one, though all he hears is Reverend Lynch on the courthouse lawn: If it takes killing to get the Negroes out of the white man’s streets, I say kill them. They’ve got a car in their headlights on John Hardy Hill, four black foundrymen just off the job. Strange leans, blasts the windows, then levels for Willie Brewster’s spine. Home, Strange crawls through the thick July night, smiles We got us a nigger to the man who gives him up, stands in court to tell what he’s heard to give twelve white men what they need. Strange swings the gun, sighting bats that skim the yard while Junior Walker chords Shoot him ’fore he run now. A half-laugh passes, then he wipes his brow. A dim light shows the LOVE he’s tattooed on his hand.