The Hotshot. Jule McBride

and glanced up. “Hey, what’s this thing anyway?” he asked, staring into the dark. “One of those remote-control rockets?”

      “Them’s Trudy’s,” a deep male voice said. “Don’t you be messing with Trudy’s bags, boy. You give them back.”

      “What?” Truman stepped toward the light, simultaneously realizing that the base of the toy twisted, and that a huge black man was in front of him. No wonder he hadn’t seen him. The man’s skin was the exact color of the darkness.

      “Don’t you be messing with Trudy,” he said again.

      The second before the man’s fist connected with his jaw, Truman gasped. It was impossible, but all at once, he realized he was gripping a penis! Staring in shock, his first thought was that he wasn’t gay, so this couldn’t be happening. His second was that this wasn’t an appropriate gift for Trudy’s nephews. His third was that Trudy Busey had been down here, buying herself a vibrator.

      “Wait, Leon! Don’t hit him! He’s a friend!”

      But Trudy’s voice came too late. Shock had left Truman defenseless, and when Leon’s next punch slammed his temple, everything went black.

      “HOLD STILL,” TRUDY whispered.

      Truman winced. He wasn’t sure, but thought she was smoothing his hair. Whatever she was doing, it felt like heaven. “Where am I?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his head pounding.