Since Stonewall Jackson’s defeat of Meade, and the capture and lynching of Lincoln, The South had, ever so gradually, adapted to modern mores. Since The Negro Bond Act of 1898, The Act of Segregation of 1934, and The Negro Incivility Act of 1971, lynching had become among the rarest of events. Now, on this fine evening, as Dixie Day draws to a close in the sleepy town of Hawthorne Maryland, Whiff Gleason has the misfortune of being waylaid by three Pennsylvania boys in a pickup, intent on asserting their superiority south of the Mason Dixon Line, where they suppose it will be appreciated.

Most men would plead, beg mercy, say prayers to the Lord Above, or whisper a word to The Dear Departed. But not Whiff Gleason. Whiff knows that there is one incontrovertible truth in life: that there is a potential profit to be made from any situation, no matter how bad it might seem. Now all he has to do is figure out how these three rednecks are going to pay for his next French-tailored silk suit.