He gives me a taut smile. “I’m just trying to do you a favor, brother. This town looks placid, but it’s a powder keg. Drop by McDonald’s or the Wal-Mart deli and watch the black workers serve blacks before whites who got there first. Blacks are angry here, but they don’t know how to channel their frustration. What you’ve got here are blacks descended from those who were too dumb to head north after the Civil War or the world wars. No self-awareness. They take things out on whitey however they can. A while back, some black kids started shooting at white people’s cars. Killed a young father. There’s a white backlash coming, and when it comes, there’s enough resentment among black teenagers to start a war. That’s what you’re playing with. Not to mention whoever killed Del Payton. You know those cracker bastards are still out there somewhere.”

“Sounds to me like Del Payton died in vain.”

“Payton was a paving stone in the road to freedom. No more, no less. And right now he’s best honored by leaving him lie.”

I stand, my face hot. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“When you get to your party, tell Wiley Warren I’m going to whip his lily-white ass.”

I pause at the door and look back. Johnson already has the phone in his hand.

“I think you’re underestimating blacks in this town,” I tell him. “They’re smarter than you give them credit for. They see more than you think.”

“Such as?”

“They can see you’re not one of them.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Cage. I’m Moses, cast onto the waters as a child and raised by the enemy. I prospered among the mighty and now return to show my people the way!”

In an instant the candidate’s voice has taken on the Old Testament cadence and power of a young Martin Luther King.

As I gape, he adds in his mincing lawyer’s voice: “Next time come over to campaign headquarters south. It’s on Main Street. The atmosphere’s more your style. Genteel and Republican, the way the old white ladies like it. Over there I’m a house nigger made good.”

Johnson is still laughing when I leave the building.