Below is the opening of the 2nd book of my next series.
Comments? Criticism? I really appreciate feedback.


It was a hot day. The courthouse across the street was undulating in air so humid that fish could almost swim in it. Foot high steam columns rose from the ancient brick streets, returning the moisture from the recent rain back to the smothering air.
The clouds which had brought the rain had already moved on. The sky was barely blue, almost white, so that anyone who wanted to see clearly had to pull down his straw hat and squint.
Still, a lot of people were on the street…scarcely dressed women in wraparound skirts, their chests covered by bandeaus. Stark naked women, wearing only heavy shoes, straw hats, and chains. Some of these naked slaves were locked into well fitted steel or aluminum cuffs with chains long enough that they could do useful work and shackled at the ankles with enough chain that they could do errands for their owners. Others were more tightly bound and led on leashes by their mistresses. These women – girls, really – usually bore marks from whippings.
The slave owners were women. The slaves were women. The male sex was approaching extinction. The Plague which had killed almost two thirds of humanity had taken ninety-seven percent of men.
Many of the slaves had elaborate decorative tattoos. All had “dog tags” depending from their labia and ear lobes. And all bore “P” or “O” tattooed on their left shoulders. The P of course, stood for “prisoner.” The girl had come to slavery by sentence of a judge. Nobody knew what “O” stood for – probably “owned.” The “O” girls had sold themselves into slavery in exchange for food and shelter. Or they had been acquired by the Bank in settlement of debt. Or sold by their parents for whatever reason.
Terrence McNally was one of those scarce beings: a man. He wore a short sleeve khaki shirt and cargo shorts and, naturally, a broad brimmed, a straw hat. Occasionally a woman would approach him as he leaned against the wall. They would exchange pleasantries and some of the girls would offer their bodies to him. He would smile and answer ruefully that he had a young wife he had to please but thanks for the offer. Maybe they could get it on another time?
Claire Higgins walked up to join him. She was a heavy-set woman with cropped bleached blonde hair, greenish eyes, a wide pudgy face, and a florid complexion. She was the county Sheriff and something of a political boss. her clothes were soaked with sweat. She was huffing like a tired dog after a long chase.
She blinked her eyes against the glare. “Shit weather today,” she observed.
McNally smiled. “Don’t worry. It’ll warm up later.”
People in the street were moving around and McNally could see why. They were making way for two women seated in a two wheeled cart, being pulled by a naked woman who was harnessed and her wrists cuffed to a cross piece attached to the cart shafts. Another naked girl was pushing the cart from behind, her hands similarly bound. The girls were wearing crude moccasins and straw hats – conical hats, the simplest type to make.
The cart stopped near the grocery storefront. The two passengers got off the cart, fanning themselves with fans made of thin plywood. The slaves who provided the motive power were gray under the sunburn, their skin pale and moist, their breath panting.
McNally, as was his habit, had a two-quart military canteen on a strap, sitting beside his shoulder bag on the sidewalk. He picked it up and walked out to the cart. He offered the water wordlessly to the girl who’d been pulling the cart. When she had drunk her fill, he let the pusher drink the remaining water.
One of the passengers saw him from the sidewalk. “Nothing for us?” she complained.
“I didn’t see you hauling a load,” McNally retorted. “There’s plenty of water inside though.”
The woman glared at him.
He returned to stand beside his shoulder bag. “Still coddling the slaves, I see,” Sheriff Higgins said with a chuckle.
“Am I?” McNally asked as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “My girls back at the farm don’t think so.”
Higgins shrugged. “Slaves pulling rickshaws in the twenty-first century,” she remarked. “I never thought I’d see that in America.”
“Don’t worry,” McNally said. “That will only last until the tires wear out and nobody remembers how to make them.”
Claire Higgins spat on the sidewalk. “We’ll come up with something…As long as the young’uns pop out enough babies to keep us from going extinct.”

So, what do you think?