Man Up: A Novel

By Sheldon L. McCormick

Hi-top fade security protectionist hero Buckett Collins summons all his courage (man up, in African-American urban parlance) and battles to protect his beloved daughter, Becky, from the clutches of Bane, the sinister, hell-bent leader of the Rocky Ensergent terrorist gang. Becky witnessed Bane murder Bucketts friend during a gang assault upon a group of black community activists. Enraged and filled with revenge, the homicidal Bane is determined to rape, kill, and stop Becky from reporting his deadly crime to the police. Amid a savage blood feud between Banes mob and their hated, equally bloodthirsty rivals, the Satans Guerilla gang, Buckett and Becky struggle to gain justice within the ghetto terrorism of 1990s South-Central Los Angeles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514467749

Sheldon L. McCormick

As a native of Los Angeles, California, Mr. McCormick had a literary career that began in 1971 while he attended Foshay Jr. High School (now the Foshay Learning Center). He was a writer for the Los Angeles Sentinel, the Compton Bulletin, and a few other publications. He was former executive editor of the now-defunct Los Angeles Balance News newspaper in 1988. He received an association of arts degree in journalism from Los Angeles City College in 1986. Mr. McCormick’s first novel, Tales of Tyrone (2006, Authorhouse), won honorable mention in the 2008 Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards.

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Copyright © 2016 by Sheldon L. McCormick.

ISBN:       Softcover       978-1-5144-6775-6

               eBook             978-1-5144-6774-9

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/18/2016

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Contents

ABOUT THE NOVEL

IN MEMORIUM

TRIBUTES

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NOVELS BY SHELDON MCCORMICK

ABOUT THE NOVEL

H I-TOP FADE SECURITY protectionist hero Buckett Collins summons all his courage (man up, in African-American urban parlance) and battles to protect his beloved daughter, Becky, from the clutches of Bane, the sinister, hellbent leader of the Rocky Ensergent terrorist gang. Becky witnessed Bane murder Buckett’s friend during a gang assault upon a group of Black community activists. Enraged and filled with revenge, the homicidal Bane is determined to rape, kill and stop Becky from reporting his deadly crime to the police. Amidst a savage blood feud between Bane’s mob and their hated, equally bloodthirsty rivals, the Satan’s Guerilla gang, Buckett and Becky struggle to gain justice within the ghetto terrorism of 1990s South-Central Los Angeles.

IN MEMORIUM

I N LOVING MEMORY of my dearest parents Ouida McCormick (1930-1982) and Leon McCormick (1924-1991); aunt Willie Mae and uncle Bob Duvall; William Tyshoen Lou Davis; Ulbana G. Aleman; Andrea Ford; Irv Rubin; my beloved dog, Duke; Booker Griffin; Libby Clark; Thomas Banks; black journalists; Avrelle Berman; Lisa Stanley’s dog, Molly and all Security Guards who lost their lives in the line of duty.

A special memorium to South Carolina Senator (45th District) and Emmanuel A.M.E. Church pastor Rev. Clementa Pinckney, Rev. Daniel Simmons, Rev. DePayne Middle-Doctor, Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lance and Susie Jackson, Allison Parker, Adam Ward, Kenneth Rodriguez, Dr. Sewell Bridges, Elizabeth Henry, Douglas Dollarhide, and Rosemary Almada.

TRIBUTES

S PECIAL TRIBUTES TO Deborah Lacey, Armida Bolton, Toni Redfield, aunt Boyce Lee, all my cousins, Dr. Vanita Nicholas, Patricia (Pat) Harvey, John W. Bobbitt, Yvonne Arceneaux, Bonnie Lane, Raymond Boucher, Dr. Mazia O. Asinge Obasi, Diane Frierson, Shelley Rubin, Nina Lawson, Kathy Santos, Donna Collins, Vivian Corley, Omar Bradley, Roland Bynum, Erin Donohue, Sidney Butler, Christine Gerstenberger, and Barbara Lamarr.

CHAPTER ONE

T HE RECENT EARLY spring rains left the middle class section of Southwest Los Angeles with bright sunshine, patchy clouds and clean, lightly winded air. Palm Sunday and its good cheer and fellowship beamed on the many congregants as they emerged from the double dark brown pine doors of St. Sarah’s Missionary Baptist Ch urch.

A combined African-American, Latino and a few white churchgoers were their best suits, dresses and gowns. Some of the younger members of the church were apparel that looked straight out of Gentlemen’s Quarterly magazine. Very handsome. Rochelle, medium but striking attractive figured clad in a well-pressed gold pin-striped suit jacket, knee-lenth skirt, light gold-colored, V-necked, flower peddal colored blouse and shinny black high heels with matching earrings, met outside the church with its pastor, the Right Reverend Ronald Bacott.

Expressing a pleased, affable expression on his balding, stein-shaped face, the portly, five-foot-eleven-inch Kentuckian shook her hand with both his long, thick ones. He smiled with an underbite and a creasted full lower lip, which brightened his box, street-Army and hard life- rugged features. I’m glad you got a chance to grace our church this morning, Rochelle. You and your daughter.

Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, reverend, Rochelle said through a grateful to God flair on her squirrely, roughened and dark and beautiful face. Her eyes were hot black and, on this occasion and matching positive, upbeat mood, pleasantly accommodating. I use to go to church alot back in Indianapolis growing up. Then after the afternoon family prayer, grandpa and granny would have a big Cajin family Sunday dinner for the whole family.

She released a chuckle, then faded from a reminder from that pleasant memory of her childhood. My dear grandparents, my folks and one of my older brothers are gone, now. But I want, er, through God’s blessing, to do my best to continue that family tradition."

Sister Rochelle, all honors to God is a blessed tradition, no matter how large or small it is.

They both smiled and shook hands again. Rebecca, Becky, her now-thirteen-year-old daughter, dressed in a stunning purple two-piece dress and matching white imitation pearl necklace, darted from the church entrance, girlish and teenaged enthusiasm and all. Two well-dressed, crew-cut and slanted-haired boys rushed behind her. That prompted a concerned, protective gaze on her features at them.

Hmp, rev. I may need a booster blessing from the Lord to make sure my daughter gets up right. Every time these black boys get their snotty noses opened wide like an exploded sinkhole, their adolecent hormones roar into high gear!

Reverend Bacott broke into laughter from her harsh, maternal comment. Well, it’s all part of God’s plans, even though we can’t always see or understand it all. He nodded twice at Rochelle. She will do fine. By the way, where’s Mister Collins? He came to our services last Sunday.

Oh, he had to work. Big celebrity event out in Brentwood today. He’s been working a lot of overtime in the last few months. He’s struggling to provide for his family. She smiled and fractured with emotion. Makes me proud I got such a black man.

Praise the Lord, Reverend Bacott said, weary but hopeful of all the possibilities.

They spoke a little more, then the minister left and chatted with the other members of his congregation. Rochelle flashed her harsh, commanding feminist expression as she discovered her daughter engaged in one of her favorite pastimes. Becky! Get up! You’ll ruin your Sunday dress!

Becky had the close-cropped headed boy Turner on the damp, green, snail-traveled grass in agony, as she held his right arm behind his back, her left knee atop his lower spine.

Oow! Ouch! Get her offa me!, Turner pleaded to