After a long day stuck in meetings on a neighboring county, deputy Helen Johnson was driving back to Colinas when she saw something rather peculiar in one of the vineyards. It was nearing harvest season and activity had increased on the surrounding farms. But while most of them contracted migrant labor, Helen noticed that this particular vineyard hired a different type of work-crew: black women.
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating- on account of being up since five in the morning- but upon slowing down and taking a closer look, she saw that her eyes had not deceived her. The workers were all young black females wearing long fancy dresses.
She didn't like sticking her nose in farmers' affairs without going through the proper channels, but she got the feeling it was going to be a bureaucratic nightmare, so she decided to shoot first and ask for forgiveness later.
Turning down a lane, she drove through an open set of ornate gates then up to a cul-de-sac, where a man wearing a hat was taking stock of some barrels.
Helen got out of her vehicle and introduced herself.
The man tipped his hat cordially, identified himself as Daryl Cooper, owner and proprietor.
“Mr. Cooper, I was just driving by and...” Helen stopped to consider her words. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that your workforce is made up entirely of young black women.”
Mr. Cooper looked towards the field where the women labored in the vineyard. Some of them were playing and savoring the grapes, which they put in each other’s mouths amid peels of laughter.
“That is true,” Daryl said. “What of it?”
“I just found it peculiar- with the dresses and all.”
“Is it a work violation to wear traditional dresses while harvesting grapes?”
“I actually don’t know, Mr. Cooper,” said Helen. “In any case, I just found it intriguing and wanted to ensure everything's straight.”
“I hear ya,” said Daryl cracking a smile and tipping back his hat. “Gotta make sure I’m not running some kind of weird sex cult or something.”
“That’s right,” said Helen, smiling a little. “So you mind telling me who these fine young ladies are?”
“They’re my sisters,” said Daryl. “They’re new to the country and are helping around the vineyard.”
Helen was silent for a moment, processing this piece of news.
“Did you say, they’re your sisters?” .
“That’s right,” said Daryl.
“But-“
“I know what you’re thinking, officer. They couldn’t possibly be my kin on account of their skin color, but I assure you we’re flesh and blood. My daddy was stationed overseas, and he liked to mess around with foreign women. Through the magic of DNA testing, I found out about it. Twenty-three in total. Old man was a gunslinger. So, I decided to help my sisters come over and settle in the country with a little bit of honest labor."
One of the young women approached the pair, and turning to Helen, she said, "is something wrong officer?"
"Mr. Cooper here says y'all siblings."
"That's right," said the woman without batting an eyelash, "why? Is my brother in trouble?"
"No, ma'am. Not yet in any case."
The woman leaned closer to Helen and read the name tag on her chest. “Helen Johnson. That’s a pretty name. I’m Tanya Cooper. I help my brother run the business. Could you kindly tell me what exactly is the matter?”
There was something commanding and attractive about the woman. As if pulled by a magnet, Helen turned towards her. Noticing her gorgeous youthful face and piercing honey-brown eyes. She was cute the way a mountain lion was cute.
“You see, Ms. Cooper, to be honest, I’m having a hard time believing that y’all related.”
Tanya Cooper gasped and put one hand on her chest.
“Oh, I get it,” she said in a calm resigned voice. “It’s all about skin color, isn't it? Can't see the world through any other glasses, even in this day and age. A white man couldn’t possibly have black sisters. And if he did, he surely wouldn’t employ them and have a successful award-winning winery. So, go on then, if you don’t believe him, and you think he's doing the devil’s business, get a search warrant.”
Helen turned red, attentive to the sprite woman with the fiery tongue.
“I’m not here on official business, ma’am,” she said looking over the fields where the women were working, “I just wanted to ask a few questions. If you say everything is honky-dory, then I’ll be on my way. Thank you kindly for your time.”
“You’re welcome anytime, officer Johnson,” Tanya said.
Helen went back to her cruiser, and after jotting down a few notes, she drove out of the vineyard.
“That blondie is gonna be trouble,” Tanya said looking after the departing police vehicle, “and trouble is the last thing we need.”
“We got all proper documentation,” said Daryl. "But if things escalate, they might want to conduct a DNA test."
“That just means more paperwork for them, and more time for us to prepare," Tanya said.
She turned to Daryl and wrapped her arms around him. "You’re gonna pay Helen Johnson a visit this evening. Take her a couple of our finest vintage. Sweet talk her a little and let her know what we're all about. It’d be wonderful to have one of your kind in the inside.”
“You’d think she want to join us?”
“I’m sure we can make her come around. Who wouldn’t want to change the world and have a little fun doing it?”
Daryl took Tanya in his arm and planted a kiss on her lips. “You’re a devilish woman, little sister.”
“And you're the devil himself, big brother. Now go on and get ready cause you stink like an oak barrel,” she told him, “and Daryl? Don’t mess stuff up like last time. Take Lydia with you just in case. I get the feeling our little officer enjoys the holster as much as she does the gun.”
“What about the ritual tonight?” he said.
“Don't worry about it. The moon will be full tomorrow. Perfect for initiating new members.”
Images generated by 
This is likely a limitation of the AI, which interprets the natural curls of black women hair as having a similar shape as grapes. Or maybe it just has a twisted sense of humor. Thank you for reading