The Real Deal: A Mysteek Cine-Book:-Part One

By Kofi Quaye

What happens when a hardcore American thug and hustler meets a young African wannabe gangsta in New York? Culture shock for the African when he finds out the real deal in the thug life, in the hood, in the mean streets of America, that wearing the wrong colors can get you killed, that being at the wrong place at the wrong time can be a fatal mistake. Culture shock for the American gangsta when the African pulls his girl, because she finds him real and grounded among other things. Together, the unlikely pair go up against the big boys and end up with more problems than they bargained for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465330437

Kofi Quaye

General Davis is a former gang member, motivational speaker, advocate and expert on gang and youth violence. He has dedicated himself to working with at risk youth and young adults. He makes presentations in colleges, high schools, churches and communities all over the country on youth violence and gang prevention and related topics. His website- www.generaldavis.com- contains information on how he can be contacted. Contact info is-315-876-4577. His email [e-mail] Kofi Quaye is originally from Ghana in West Africa. He resides in Syracuse and has been actively involved in the media as a journalist, editor and publisher. He was already an established author before arriving in America having written a series of crime and mystery novels, which made him one of the first African writers to write about urban life and crime in Africa. His books include JOJO IN NEW YORK, FOLI FIGHTS THE FORGERS (Macmillan, England,) SAMMY SLAMS THE GANG (Moxon Paperbacks Ltd, Accra, Ghana,] NO DEAL, (Heritage Communications, Syracuse, NY.] SUPERSTAR [Mysteek Books] CHANGES [Mysteek Books]. Since the late seventies, Kofi Quaye has edited newspapers and magazines and contributed articles to leading publications including Essence Magazine and was recently the editor of Syracuse based CNY VISION weekly newspaper. Kofi Quaye’s contact info is: 315-516-2390. His website is-mysteekmedia.com. Email: [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2009 by Kofi Quaye.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

63842

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Dedication

From Kofi: To all my friends who have made my American immigrant experience unique. These include Peter ‘Pete’ Wynn, James Blue, Donte Haynes, Charles ‘Chuck’ Brantley, Teshame Ali Mohammed, all of Syracuse, Alex ‘Lateek’ Gause of New York city, Frank and Sharlene Simmons, Frank Odoi of Rochester,

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Kuuku:

His real name is Kweku, but he uses the nickname ‘Kuuku’ instead pronounced as ‘cuckoo’. He is a young African who immigrates to the United States thinking he’s already cool and hip and knows the deal on what America is all about. He doesn’t know that the real deal is completely different from what he had seen in movies and read in books and magazines.

Jojo:

Kuuku’s uncle, who is also an immigrant in the United States. He’s become ‘Americanized’ to a certain degree, but retains most of the values and ideals he grew up, and operates more in the old school mode, which tends to create conflict for him when he has to interact with people from both the old world [Africa] and the new world [America]

Teisha:

A young American female with an interest in Africana stuff and who takes a liking to Kuuku.

Carlos:

A streetwise Hispanic American hustler who is determined to make Teisha his ‘woman’ and is ready and willing to eliminate all competition using any means necessary, fair or foul, but more of the latter.

Shirley:

The American wife of Jojo, who is set in her American ways and knows very little about African culture and acts and says things the only way she knows: the American way

Sgt. William Smith: Police Officer

Sgt. Wilkerson: Police officer

INTRODUCING Mysteek CineBooks

Traditionally, books on which movies are based are chosen because they are huge best sellers or a producer likes a certain book and has the power and resources to make a movie based on it. A script is developed, auditions are held and the production begins. We are doing it the other way around. We publish books based on movie scripts. It is part of a unique approach to producing and publishing books that will effectively combine the two; books that will ultimately be made into a movie. Our approach is different in the sense that we develop and put the script together first and then write and publish the book in the form of a novelette.

CHAPTER ONE

JFK AIRPORT NEVER changes no matter what time of the day, or weather, it’s always jam-packed with people, said Jojo to himself.

This Saturday afternoon was no different. Terminal 4 was busy; very busy. There were people everywhere. Long lines led to the ticket counters.

Jojo had come to the airport to pick his nephew up, and he wasn’t too enthused about it. It was too much of a hassle picking up people from JFK these days. Parking spots are hard to find. The police are always telling you to move or ready to slap a ticket on your vehicle, or tow it if you leave it unattended for a few minutes.

His nephew was supposed to be on a Ghana Airways flight from Accra, scheduled to land about an hour ago. He knew he would have to wait a while. The bombing of the World Trade Center has changed everything. Lately, it took double the time for international travelers to get past immigration and customs.

He knew the routine for picking up people from the airport. You either check with the airline counter personnel or find one of the arrivals and departures consoles at the airport terminals and check it out yourself. He did the latter and found out that the Ghana Airways plane had landed about thirty minutes before he got to the airport. He found a chair in the front row in the waiting lounge and sat down, his eyes focused on the passageway marked International. His nephew would have to come that way; it was the only exit from the terminal for international arrivals.

Jojo saw the young man waving at him. He had no idea who he was.

The kid looks like a hoodlum, he said to himself. He had to be, he had all the trappings of the hood life style. Everything on him seemed to be oversize, the big chain, hanging almost all the way down to his waist, pants hanging so loose and low they seemed to be ready to drop to the ground. You don’t mess with such characters from the hood; they are the kind you avoid as much as you can. You never know what they are up to. Half the time they’re up to no good and always ready to do something stupid.

Jojo was thinking these things as he looked at the young man now standing a few feet away from him

You’re looking for someone, young man? asked Jojo.

Uncle Jojo, it’s me, your nephew, Kuuku, Whad up, uncle?.

Jojo looked at the face of the kid and recognized what he missed earlier; his nephew who was supposed to be arriving in New York from Ghana. He was expecting to see a nervous, timid young African, possibly overwhelmed and intimidated by the trappings of the new world he had just entered. That was how he felt fifteen years ago when he first arrived in America.

His nephew’s demeanor suggested the opposite. The kid smiling at him seemed confident, aggressive, knew the lingo of the streets, was wearing hip-hop gear, and looked like he had just come from around the corner, looking to break in and steal something, or do something else just as bad. He looked like trouble.

Hello, nephew, you made it. How are you doing?

I’m good, uncle. I’m good.

You what?

I’m good. That’s what’s up, right? I mean that’s how you say it in America.

It was more of a statement than a question

Kuuku tried to keep his cool, and not show his surprise. What was wrong with his uncle? What was the look on his face? Why did he look at him as though there was something wrong with him?

I didn’t recognize you in that attire. You know what you look like in that attire? You look like someone from the hood.

That’s what’s up, uncle. That’s what’s popping.

Kuuku didn’t know whether it was a compliment or a criticism. It didn’t matter any way. As far he was concerned, it was the former, and that was good enough. He had chosen his wardrobe carefully; and had spent a lot of local Ghanaian money on the Nike sneakers, blue jeans, New York T-shirt and baseball hat. The last time he checked himself in the mirror was in Accra, and he liked what he saw; he looked like one of the "boyz’ from the hood in the BET videos.

If only his uncle knew how cool he was; if only his uncle knew that he was conversant in the ‘nigga’ lingo, and knew most of the street terms, and that every once in a while he smoked a little weed, and listened to rap music, to keep up his image of looking and being cool. That was what was happening in Africa these days; it was all about being cool, and knowing what to do to make it look like you’re ‘kool like dat’

But wasn’t his uncle supposed to be a cool dude, too? He had to be. After living in the United States for more than ten years, he had to have picked up on the ways of the new world, where the concept of the cool came from.

So far, his uncle hadn’t shown any signs of being a cool dude. Cool dudes are supposed to have style in everything they do; the clothes they wear, the way they speak, the jewelry, the walk. Uncle Jojo had no style. Or so it seemed.

Well, Kuuku, welcome to America, said Jojo.

Thank you, said Kuuku.

Jojo led his nephew to his car and they drove back to the city. They went inside his house and sat down, Kuuku on the couch and Jojo in an armchair. He wanted to check his nephew out from an angle where he could watch every move he made. He wanted to know what else the kid had going on besides the hood style costume.

He knew his type. His nephew had fallen under the influence of the urban contemporary crap. He looked and acted like one of the young adults from Africa, who took particular delight in imitating everything American. They are the young men and women who lived, walked and talked like Americans; at least, they thought they did. Nothing else mattered. Try to convince them they didn’t have to or didn’t really know what they were doing or the hood life wasn’t all about that, and you had an argument on your hands.

They watch American movies, read American books and magazines and absorb everything they can lay their hands on that showed them how and what to do to look and