The Leopard McCauley Chapter Three
Copyright © 2016 by Jenni Gisselbrecht Hyena
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My head jerked up violently in an involuntary and startled motion as the cell doors audibly clanked open and one of the guards; the Eurasian fox one that was surprisingly kind of cool and laid back, appeared along with his two gestapo polar bears, nightsticks in their hands and looking hella stone faced. “Rise and shine, lassies.” He said, cracking a discreetly soft smile. “Ya’ll got yourselves a little visitor.” They trundled away and in their place stepped an African wild dog dressed rather smartly in a white and cleanly pressed dress shirt, charcoal grey silk slacks, and about the finest pair of spiked loafers on his feet that I had ever seen any fellow Africana species up to this very date even get the absolute pleasure to dawn; let alone his gender as an Africana male. “C’mon. Let’s split. You’re free.” He said, quickly waving a paw. Rosa and I both let out a simultaneous “huh” and stared briefly at each other in confusion and bewilderment. “What the-…? Just like that? You mean they ain’t gone give us no hose down, no savage dogs of their creation being turned on us or nothing?” I asked. “Nope. Ain’t gotta worry bout a thing.” He replied simply. “I already paid full bail for the both of ya on my merrily way in her. Which brings me indeed to my main point of how I should probably do a slight bit of explaining on who I am and all first.” “Yes. And please don’t at all forget not to leave out the main part why we ain’t smokin’ out the ears just yet.” Rosa chimed in. “My name is Edgar Nixon.” He continued. “I’m a rebel some would say, just like you two. Ya’ll remember that one cracker on the City Line who left ya stranded in the rain back in forty five? I was right there.” “They threw you right in this shithole down here with us two?” I pondered. He nodded slowly. “Yep. Left me in here to rot for about three years or so of my life after being in your same predicament. Used to work as a porter down at the old Railroad depot.” “So, you the guy we been hearing so much about in the papers and all!” I concluded. “You mean to tell me, you’re the full on head president of this NAACP they been screamin’ from the rooftops?” “That’s right.” He confirmed. “Head of the railroad union for African porters as well. Come along and I’ll kindly explain all the rest on the way.” “How bout a bit of a refill first?” I suggested, as my stomach rumbled again. “Me and my girl here ain’t never got a chance to have at least a decent supper since we got off work like a few hours ago.”
Rosa Louise McCauley didn't exactly get to enjoy all the more finer things of what we hyenas and other African species up to the current generation now deem the simple life or in new generation slang, "The Thug Life". As a cleaner at one of Tuskegee, Alabama's most likely one and only African species owned businesses downtown smack dab in the middle of the fall season of mid 1955, she has her work pretty much cut out for her in the midst of what would very soon be one of the hardest struggles of equality and civil rights all to ever take place in the history of America and quite possibly the rest of the world over as well.