BooksBarbecue
Back Legacy of Lies
Chapters (88)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. PART TWO
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. PART THREE
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. 59
  67. PART FOUR
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  88. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Bo asked, spitting blood onto the ground.

“Whipping your ass . . . dog.” Booker T. strode forward, and Bo could tell that his cousin’s eyes were glazed. The strong scent of alcohol and body odor filled the air.

“You can try,” Bo said, taking a fighter’s stance with his left foot in front of the other.

Booker T. smiled and swung his fist in a wild arch toward Bo’s face.

Bo ducked, hearing the wind swoosh above him from the force of the missed punch, and fired a left jab that connected with his cousin’s jaw and then a right cross that found the base of Booker’s T’s nose.

The big man dropped to his knees from the force of the blows, and Bo backed away from him. “Came out here to talk, not fight.”

Booker T. rose to his feet and glared at him. “Don’t feel like talking. Would have liked that a year ago. Hell, even six months. But now.” He scoffed and moved forward, his hands up now to cover his busted nose but no less motivated. “Think you can breeze back into town like nothing’s happened. Like you didn’t ignore me, the land you own, and every damn part of your childhood and past for the past year and a half.”

“My wife was murdered.”

Booker T. took another step toward him. “I know that. I was at the funeral, remember? Your hero died too. Old Professor McMurtrie finally kicked the bucket.” Booker T. spat at him, and the saliva landed a couple of inches from Bo’s feet. “You cared more about that white man than you did your own flesh and blood. Rented his farmhouse. Hell, I heard you even took his dog off him.”

“You need to shut your mouth, fat boy,” Bo said. He found himself moving closer, squeezing his fists together.

“Why don’t you close it for me? What about your kin, dog? What about your blood?” He spat again. “While you was looking after that old professor, my life has been dying on the vine. Lost my farm. Thelma walked out on me and took the kids. My boy, Jarvis, won’t even speak to me no more. And I’m a gnat’s ass from filing bankruptcy.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Booker T. stepped forward and swung another wild punch with his right hand, missing again, but this time he leaned back and avoided Bo’s oncoming jab. As Bo stumbled off balance, he felt his right kneecap explode in pain as Booker T. kicked him.