the etymology of SEVEN
by
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It was the coldest night the island of Manhattan had seen since the blizzard of 92. Chi Chi and her two sons were dressed in expensive ski clothing and 35 below hiking boots. They were cold but not frozen stiff like anyone else crazy enough to be out in the streets in this 18 below zero weather with a wind chill factor well below a minus 35. But no one being out at this ungodly hour was exactly why her stupid ass was still out. She should have taken the kids home long ago and tucked them away but she had to get her fix before calling it a night, otherwise she would be too sick to come out in the morning. Her stomach was in knots as it was. Problem was not one dealer was out, they had sold their bundles before the sun went down and what ever was left they were keeping it for 'self. They didn't want to get caught out here like she was. Uptown was still pumping weight from apartments but her money wasn't right. The day had been really slow for vic's. The subways were like Siberia. She had managed only one Vic the entire day, and he only had two hundred and some change. "Broke ass Jew!" Her usual take for a day was two thousand or better, and some days she would hit a jackpot and catch a bag of diamonds or a case of Rolex's. She remembered catching the Jew Po Po had set up for her. He looked like a bum, but the tattered briefcase he carried had three hundred thou cash in it and a giant emerald that she got another twenty five for. Of course the bastard didn’t want to let go of it so she ended up having to slice his throat and cut his hand off cause he had it handcuffed to his leper wrist, but her effort got her the apartment on 1st avenue and helped furnish it. Problem was Chi-Chi got a lot of money but she spent it just as fast. Everything she brought, or stole, was the best that money could buy. She did have a stash though. She put ten percent of everything she got away for the kids future, and she wasn't touching it under any circumstances. She had learned that much good from her father, if nothing else. She was tempted to go tap it now though, but instead she turned to Daquan and reminded him as she did each time she left them alone; "Remember, if something happens to me, you have to be a man and take care of yourself and your brother." "Nothing gonna happen to you mommy," Daquan said, cuddling his baby brother to his chest. "Never say never Daquan. If something happens and I don't come back, you go to the safe house. You understand? You don't go back to the apartment, and you don't go to no shelter." "OK mommy, but ain't nothin gon happen to you." The stairs of the old abandoned brownstone were so icy, Chi Chi had to hold on with both hands as she slipped and slid to the sidewalk below. "Just in case Daquan... Just in case. You know where the money is?" "Yes ma'am." "Good. I love you." "I love you too mommy." Chi Chi turned, leaned into the wailing wind and fought her way slowly down the block. She hadn't gotten halfway past the next building before a blue an white patrol car passed her, then it's tires were spinning in reverse as she tried to run. Daquan watched from the shadows as the Police car cut his mother off and a uniformed officer jumped from the passenger side of the car and tackled her, throwing her to the ground and hitting her over and over again. "Bitch! Where's my fucking money? You thought I wouldn't fucking catch your ass?" he shouted, picking her up and hurling her against the hood of the car. Daquan wanted to help, but he knew he was too small and his mother would want him to protect his brother, besides he had seen what his mother had done to men who tried to beat her. As he was thinking that thought he saw the flash of light as his mother struck, her switchblade slashing across the officer's face and neck with such speed he didn't know he was cut until she was in motion to strike again and his partner pumped two bullets in her chest before she dropped. Daquan pissed on himself but he suppressed the urge to scream and run to her aid as she flew back, the switchblade flipping through the wall of cold. She was still alive and conscious as they dragged her to the car and lifted her into the back seat. Hiding in the doorway as the car passed Daquan caught a glimpse of his mother as she lifted her head and mouthed, "Take care of your brother. Get him into a good school." ... and he got a good look at the officer in the passenger seat as the bleeding man searched in his direction to see who his mother was mouthing to. The car stopped and backed up again, fishtailing all over the streets. Daquan held Naquan tightly and hurried through the dark corridors of the building as footsteps rushed up the stoop and the faint illumination from a flashlight bounced off the walls behind him. FOUR YEARS LATER...
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About the Book
Nine year old Daquan has been raising himself and his five year old brother in New York’s subway tunnels since his mother was shot, abducted and murdered four years earlier by a crooked cop after a deal gone bad. Since then, the street smart kid has had one obsession, to get his genius brother into the most prestigious school in Manhattan like his mother wanted. The problem is Naquan doesn’t have a parent, and there is no way Daquan will get him enrolled in Saint Mary’s without a legitimate adult. Enter China, a once extraordinarily beautiful ex-schoolteacher turned official crack head. Can Daquan recruit China, and convince her to teach and play mother to his younger brother? And if so, will he be able to rehabilitate and transform her into a wealthy looking parent long enough to get Naquan into Saint Mary’s?
For his plan to work, Daquan makes secret alliances with various elements of the drug trade to get his own crew, and take over Hunts Point. It’s a tall order, and there are a whole lot of obstacles for Daquan to overcome. There’s the past with his mother’s tragic death, and the distraction of juggling two women. There’s Romereo Denareo, a crooked cop with political ambitions, who’s skilled at shaking people down, and has a hard on for his partner’s wife. Top of the list however is ‘Madd Dogg’ Rachet, who has a reputation for doing whatever it takes to hold on to his territory: murder, extortion, torture, and feeding victims to his dogs. Once, China used to be his and the last thing ‘Madd Dogg’ wants to see is her come up after all he went through to bring her down.
Can Daquan overcome and prove that age ain’t nuthin but a number? Here is a well written tale where plot and back stories are woven so seamlessly that you realize that this is more than just another example of gritty urban fiction.
About the Author
I was first inspired to write this book when a friend of mine who works for New York Transit told me about some apartments his crew came across buried deep in the subway tunnels under Grand Central Station. I went on to do some research and found that the system we know today was not the first underground system. A more elaborate one was in development before this one. The more I learned the more intrigued I became. Then I ended up in the state prison system with a lot of time on my hands, an open ear and a typewriter. I met a handful of intelligent, resourceful kids who raised themselves on the streets of Harlem and Brooklyn, one as early as seven, the oldest eleven. They kept the story real and honest for me. It goes without saying that there were dozens of Rachet’s and Jumm’s and the other characters there also, even crooked cops-C>O>’s-, so nine years of listening, asking questions, and pestering hardened criminals to read and revise my rewrites over, and over, and over again, pretty much makes me an authority on being completely annoying. I did earn a degree in when to put the helmet on and when to take it off. After that I pretty much don’t have any writing credentials. You can say I’m a self taught writer but that wouldn’t be an accurate description. I’m just a realism painter who chose words on paper this time instead of a brush and paints on canvas. Omar Noble was born in North Carolina and raised in Harlem, He is a fine, and graphic artist, and clothing designer who enjoys playing basketball and horsing around with his grandson Christopher. His paintings are in the collection of many notables across the globe and he has been designing clothing for celebrities since the mid eighties. He is 62 with Dorian Gray chromosomes and currently lays his head down in the Bronx.