Rage in Detroit by Marsell Morris

Author:Marsell Morris [Morris, Marsell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Urban, Genre Fiction
ISBN: 1481058738
Amazon: B00ACU206A
Published: 2012-11-24T05:00:00+00:00

What the cops, nor Tennessee knew, was Dallas was watching the whole scene from an abandoned, storefront, doorway, down the street. She kept ducking in and out of the doorway, worried she might be seen by Tennessee.

Finally she saw him being loaded into the back of the police car and taken away. As the police car passed her, she ducked back into the shadows, to stick her head out after it passed, and watch the car proceed down the street and make a turn at the next corner.

She was glad he was being arrested — glad she didn’t have to dodge that disrespectful fool for a while. But she also knew Tennessee would be back on the streets before long. Probably, wanting to save face by beating up on her — maybe, killing her, while trying to prove how tough he is, but she wasn’t worried about him. She'd dealt with another wanna-be pimp like him in Chicago, and she'd dispatched that fool with her trusty razor, almost killing him, but at that time, she had no witnesses to prove she was acting in self defense, so she had to leave town, coming to Detroit.

Hell, I’ll just cut him again if he comes anywhere near me, she thought. Now, let me get out here and make some money. I better stay off the streets for a while. Them cops might be looking for me.

The police gone, the crowd dissipating, she decided to walk down to the Starlight Show Bar where she knew she might be able to pick up a date.

Walking into the bar, Dallas found the place nearly empty. She went to the bar and ordered a beer and took a seat at a table near the door. The bartender kept looking in her direction. He'd never seen her in his place before and was trying to decide whether he’d try to and set up a date with her in the back room, as he had with some of the other whores who frequented his place. After a while he seemed to abandon the idea and went back to watching the ancient television, which was suspended above the bar in the corner.

Slowly, the crowd came walking into the bar. Several of the working girls, who came in, could be heard talking about what happened to Tennessee. They laughed and giggled while giving Dallas a quick glance as they passed her table.

One of the women stopped and stared at Dallas for a moment, a kernel of recognition setting in. “Say, ain’t your name Dallas?” the tall woman, dressed in a tight fitting, cleavage showing, silk looking, dress, asked.

“Yeah, that’s what they call me,” Dallas answered, while easing her hand down to her waste next to her well used razor, ready to cut the woman if she made a false move.

“Girl, you don’t recognize me, do you? I’m Blaze — you remember, we met in a jail in Chicago. Remember that time when them dumb cops tried to clean up the

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