Black Angels???Red Blood Read Online Free PDF

any decent people to bring to this country? Only rapists, murderers and thieves who hate black people. We’re sick of the garbage. Our country is not a dumping ground for white trash.” Tim paused and looked up and said to an invisible spirit, “And don’t shake your head at me.”

CHAPTER FIVE
THE TRIALS
    Tim learned from the lady the old man was staying with that he’d gone to the pub to play the card machines. That was an hour ago and Tim hoped he would still be there. He found him sitting by himself at a machine with a couple of hundred credits up. The old man smiled at Tim as he sat down beside him. The smile, to Tim, seemed to have a deeper meaning.
    â€œTrying to take on them whitefellas by yourself.” The old man nudged Tim. It didn’t really surprise Tim that the old man knew what he was up to and he was glad that somebody knew his comings and goings. “There’s lots of us around. You don’t have to go and do it by yourself,” said the old man.
    â€œI know, it just moves too slowly for me,” Tim said with an impassive and reflective look on his face, and then added, “There’s been another black death in custody.”
    â€œWhat were you going to do, Tim?” the old man asked gravely.
    Tim stared at the poker machine while all of the different avenues of thought were processed and then replied in a resolute manner tinged with defeat. “I really don’t know.”
    He lifted his right hand as if to continue, but the old manintervened. “That’s why you need us”—he pointed his finger at the space that Tim was staring at—“to tell you what to do.”
    â€œGet this through your head,” the old man continued sharply. “The whitefellas don’t own this land, it’s only a matter of time.”
    Tim came out of his extended stare at the poker machine to acknowledge the authority of the old man. “You’re the boss.”
    â€œHave a beer,” the old man said and when Tim returned they made a toast to land rights. The beer tasted surprisingly sweet to Tim and went down easy. It gave him a taste for it and he started thinking about the nearest automatic teller machine, when the old man struck a jackpot.
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been after.” The smile on his face told the story. “I won’t have to go busking tomorrow. I’m gonna cash it in right now.”
    The old man came back with a wad of notes and slipped Tim a fifty. There were about 40 credits left and the old man suggested that Tim play as well. They sat and played it out for a while, cracking jokes about radical whites, the Nazi types. Tim had another beer and the old man declined.
    The publican had been watching them and had caught some of their jokes. He had a long hard look at Tim. Tim caught his gaze and realised what it meant but left the smile on his face. “The publican’s a bit hairy.” He motioned to the old man.
    â€œBlacks walking out with this much money, of course he would be,” the old man said matter of factly. To change the subject, Tim told him about meeting Sylvia. “She’s really nice, an actor, and she does a few other things as well.”
    â€œReally?” A look of surprise crossed the old man’s face. “What’s she look like?”
    â€œPretty, about 165 centimetres, shoulder-length black hair and about twenty-five, I guess.”
    â€œI know that one. My niece,” said the old man.
    â€œTrue?” Tim said with a completely new demeanor.
    â€œShe’s a good woman. Knows her business.” The old man didn’t press the issue and there was a slightly awkward silence between them. The old man stood up telling Tim that he was going to make tracks and suggesting he come back for some yarndi. Tim declined and said that he was going up to the Royal for a drink. “To celebrate,” he added.
    â€œMake sure you shout them other