{"product_id":"the-apostles-isbn-9780345475701","title":"The Apostles","description":"The Apostles run Chicago’s streets. Their leader, “Solemn Shawn” Terson, is the most revered–and feared–man in town. Because of his past exploits, the Apostles have a loyalty among its members that has reached mythic proportions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Insane Wayne, a former member of the rival gang, the Governors, comes groveling for admission to the coveted Apostles, he’s quickly turned down. His reaction is violent: He shoots a Governor and plants evidence that lays the murder rap on the Apostles, setting off a bloody series of retaliations.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSolemn Shawn is ready to give up the gang world. His pregnant girlfriend wants another way of life and the cops are hot on his tail; he knows the time has come to step aside. But he must fight one more street war before handing over the reins of his empire. The head of the Governors has a score to settle with Shawn that dates back to their prison days–and Shawn and the Apostles must fight or flee as the streets around them erupt in violence. . . .\"Every nail-biting, adrenaline-laced, heart-racing page of \u003ci\u003eThe Apostles\u003c\/i\u003e kept me on the edge of my seat.\" --Nikki Turner, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Hustler's Wife\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Y. Blak Moore's \u003ci\u003eThe Apostles\u003c\/i\u003e is the truth, naked and unashamed.\" -Solomon Jones, author of \u003ci\u003eRide Or Die \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eY. Blak Moore\u003c\/b\u003e is a poet, social worker, and former gang member who grew up in the Chicago housing projects. He is also the author of \u003ci\u003eTriple Take\u003c\/i\u003e. Moore has three children and lives in Chicago.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Turn on your stomach.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSilently the boy refused. His trembling brown frame was covered only by  a pair of white briefs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Boy, you better turn yo motherfucking ass over now!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill the boy refused to obey. He knew that his submission was needed  for his stepfather to attain the level of power over him that he  craved, but he couldn’t submit to the man’s will.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis stepfather tried a different tack. “C’mon, boy. Take this shit like  a man. You want to be man, don’t you? Men take what’s coming to them.  So gone head and turn on over so that we can get this shit over with.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe boy shook his eight-year-old head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis stepfather ran his hand over his straightened hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Now that’s what I’m talking about. That shit right there. I’m sick of  this little no-talking role you be trying to play. I done heard you  talk plenty when you be with them little niggers down there in the  alley. You little slick bastards is always scheming up on something to  get into. Now you want to sit here and act like you can’t talk. That’s  some bullshit! Your mother wants me to make a man out of you, and I’ll  be damned if I don’t!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe boy already knew this beast couldn’t make him into a man. He knew  that a man wouldn’t roll over and take a whupping. Not that he was  scared of being beaten. That was nothing new. Before he died, his  father had administered his fair share of those, but they were always  tempered with love and understanding. This man had none of that in him.  He wasn’t trying to make him a better person as he claimed—he simply  reveled in beating on someone who was powerless against him. More than  anything in the world, Shawn missed his father. That quiet, strong man  with the receding hairline and thick glasses was gone forever. He  managed to make the newspapers on his way out though. An out-of-work  construction worker who tried to rob a currency exchange and ended up  on a slab in the morgue. Where was the justice in that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSwack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first blow from the belt landed on his shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You know you stole that two dollars out your teacher’s desk drawer!  Now you might as well turn over and take your whupping! You not opening  your mouth is the same as lying. The only thing worse than a liar is a  thief and you both.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere was the justice in this? Shawn knew that he didn’t steal the  money. He knew who took it, but he would never tell; it just wasn’t in  him to snitch. And there was no way that he could make his teacher or  this buffoon understand that after his father was killed trying to rob  that place, he made a vow that he would never steal anything in his  life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhap!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe boy writhed in pain from the lick, but he still refused to turn  onto his belly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Boy, I said turn yo black ass over! I ain’t gone tell you that shit no  more!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs his stepfather hollered these words six inches from his face, he  could smell the potent mixture of malt liquor and cheap wine on his  breath. He looked at his stepfather with disdain. This was the man whom  his mother had chosen to love in his dead father’s place. An unemployed  cardboard box maker to replace an unemployed, dead construction worker.  A man whose big dream was to buy a Cadillac with the money he was  waiting to get from a settlement from the cardboard factory for a  fraudulent back injury. This man who spent most of his day sleeping in  the bed that his father had bought. The sick bastard even dared to wear  some of his father’s old clothes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe blow landed across his naked thighs. Its force made him scoot  backward on the bed a bit and rub his thighs, but he didn’t turn onto  his stomach. Tears jumped into his eyes, but he willed himself not to  release them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThwack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe belt slapped across his arms and curled itself around to his bare  back. Two large tears dropped from his eyes. A large welt rose  instantly on his back and his small brown arms. The boy could hear the  Commodores’ “Zoom” playing in the living room. He knew it was his  mother’s favorite song. He liked the lyrics too. Some shit about  “flying away.” He also knew that his mother had turned the record  player volume up so loud because she didn’t want to hear him getting  beaten. She would be sitting in the window seat with her favorite cup  full of Thunderbird wine, listening to her favorite song while her  husband beat the shit out of her only son. Later, much later, she would  sneak into his room and tend to his wounds. She would rub his head,  kiss him on the forehead, and beg him to try and get along with his  stepfather. She would tell him how much she loved him and how one day  soon she was going to take him and his younger twin sisters and leave  this man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Little nigger, you better lay on your motherfucking stomach or I’m  gone beat your ass just like that! That’s yo damn problem now, you  can’t do what I tell you to do! You act like you slow or something! You  little motherfucker, you just like yo punk ass daddy—a fucking thief.  That’s how he got his dumb ass killed, trying to steal somebody else’s  shit!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack! Whack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo licks in quick succession. One landed on his shoulder, the other on  his neck. This time he had to groan in pain. He closed his tear-filled  eyes, balled his hands into fists, and pounded them into his thighs. He  was angry with himself for allowing that groan to slip out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So you ain’t gone lay down, huh? Well, that’s okay, you little fucker.  I’ll beat yo ass just like that!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“little,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“ungrateful,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“son of bitch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“hate yo,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“black,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThwack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“non-talking,”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhack!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“ass!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInside Shawn screamed. He screamed for his dead father. He screamed for  his mother to protect him. And he screamed for himself. But not a sound  would he allow to cross his lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe five men walked into the rear room of the candy store and video  game parlor. They all took seats around the wooden table. The surface  of the table was scarred with cigarette burns and the ancient carvings  of men’s and boys’ names. There were no formalities among the old  friends as they made themselves comfortable. There was plenty of trash  talking and playful chiding in the group. Well, all of them except one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough Shawn “Solemn Shawn” Terson laughed lightly at some of the  jokes, for the most part he preferred to nurse his Dr Pepper. He was  dressed plainly, as was his custom—blue jeans, a black Mecca  sweatshirt, and a pair of soft-bottom Kenneth Cole shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFresh from working out at Bally’s gym, Dante “Tay” Thompson was attired  in a black Ultrasuede Sean John jogging suit with a pair of all-white  Air Force Ones on his feet. His average height was belied by his great  physical strength, which was a huge source of pride for him. When it  came to bench-pressing, Dante could hold his own with Big Ant, who was  a hulking six-foot-three, two-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehundred-ninety-pound chunk of darkness. The large round belly that  Anthony “Big Ant” Hamilton sported often fooled men into thinking that  he was weak, but in the end they found out that his arms and chest were  as firm as his belly. Murderman and Mumps though, between the two of  them, had never lifted a weight. Thomas “Mumps” Murphy believed that  any kind of physical activity would mess up his perfect manicure.  Sweating was against his religion, he would often say. Though he was  proficient in most of the areas of ghetto vice, gambling was his  passion—high-stakes gambling. Today he wore a milk white Coogi sweater  with the matching hat. Coogi jeans and a pair of white Coogi tennis  shoes completed his outfit. His top teeth were all platinum and a  platinum link necklace with a diamond frosted crucifix hung around his  neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs always, Michael “Murderman” Moore resembled a coiled, poisonous  viper ready to strike at any moment. The man actually felt naked if he  didn’t have a gun on his person or at least close enough to get to at  all times. He wore a black Adidas hooded sweatshirt with a pair of  black Levi’s 550 jeans. His feet were kicked up on the table and on  them was a pair of white-and-black Adidas shell toes. His  shoulder-length hair was braided into an intricate pattern. A pair of  black Adidas baseball batting gloves hung out of the back pocket of his  Levi’s. Between the laughing and joking his head swiveled back and  forth; he never truly let down his guard even among his friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the other hand Big Ant was totally relaxed. The big man wore a  coverall suit lacquered with oily stains and a well-worn pair of  Timberland boots. His hair was in direct contrast to his unkempt  clothes. It was neatly shaped into a short Afro with a chiseled goatee  complementing his dark facial features. Laughter danced in his dark  gray eyes as he joked with his friends. He looked over at Solemn Shawn  and noticed him glance at his Kenneth Cole wristwatch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“All right, c’mon, y’all, let’s get on with this,” Big Ant remarked,  taking the hint from his friend. “I got to finish putting these  tie-rods on this deuce and a quarter so I can get it to the pipe shop  tomorrow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMumps commented, “Man, you bought another one of those raggedy old  cars. Nigga, you need to stop being cheap and buy you some new shit.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mumbo, I can’t fit in most of that new shit. Plus that computerized  shit is built to self-destruct two to three years after you get it. The  injectors go bad, them fucking computer sensors fry, and they all made  of fiberglass. Now take my ’74 Chevy or my ’76 Bonneville. All steel,  big engines, Holley carbs, Flomaster pipes, enough room for a big man  and a bucket of chicken.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll of the men laughed, even Solemn Shawn. Rubbing his freshly faded  head, Solemn Shawn silently agreed with Big Ant, but that was another  matter for a different time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Settle down,” Solemn Shawn said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe group’s eyes focused on their leader.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry about the tie-rods, Ant. This is pretty important. First order  of business is your new phones. I got Tay to splurge and get the ones  with the color screens and you can add cameras and stuff. Go pick them  up from Drisell’s shop. Everything’s paid for so don’t let that old  dude try to slick a few bucks out of you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSolemn Shawn continued. “We been doing this thing for close to twenty  years. I’m thirty-three years old. I guess that I’ve come to a point in  my life where I realize that this good run that we’ve had has got to  come to an end one day. Police aren’t getting any dumber, cats are  snitching like never before, and they’re making new laws every day to  get rid of us. The odds are more and more in their favor. I’ve given it  plenty of thought and I realize that one day soon I’m gone have to give  this shit up.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“SS, you sound like you finta die or something,” Mumps teased.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s nothing like that, Mumbo, I’m just tired. We haven’t struggled  like we have all these years to end up some has-beens. Our generation  is dead. Locked up, doped up, cracked up, or dead. The young cats  coming up behind us don’t have any respect or understanding for the  game. It’s getting redundant.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You right about that shit,” Big Ant growled. “These fucking shorties  ain’t got no respect for shit. All they want to do is kick shit off,  then do a drive-by. Then when they get caught, these little  motherfuckers tell on everybody.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMurderman interjected, “All these young punks think that they killers.  They want to air out the block and they want everybody to know that  they did the shit. No-shooting niggas be hitting innocent kids and  shit.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s that fucking rap music,” Dante said. “Ever since niggas started  all that killing on them fucking records, all of a sudden these fucking  kids think it’s a game to take somebody life. All they want to do is  shoot guns, rock ice, and ride on dubs. But that’s all they been seeing  from every angle. They hearing it and seeing it in them damn videos.  They ain’t got no positive images.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSolemn Shawn contended, “I’m not going to get up on the pulpit, but I  think it’s up to us to show them some positive images. If we don’t  start trying to help the kids, they are going to keep heading down the  wrong paths. We don’t need another drug dealer, we need some  pharmacists; we don’t need another thug, we need an orthodontist, a  stockbroker, a school counselor, a coach, a yacht captain, a  world-class chef, a chess champion.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMurderman asked, “All the shorties want to be is the next Allen Iverson  or the next Jigga. They don’t see no glamour in that shit that you  named. So how is you gone change they thinking?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t know if we can. But recently I was contacted by State  Representative Coleman Washington. He dropped a little something in my  ear about trying to build a community center.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But we already got a community center, SS. That little joint on 71st  Street,” Mumps countered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s true, Mumbo. But that one is small potatoes. It isn’t  accessible to anyone outside of that neighborhood. They have next to no  funding and limited activities. It’s stuck in the middle of rival  gangs. Basically the place is ancient and off the beaten track. If you  were a traveler and you were wounded, do you think that you would get  help on a back-country road, or on a main thoroughfare? I would take my  chances on that main street. The way this guy was talking it would be  the mother of all community centers. All of the things that I’ve  mentioned and more will be taught there.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe group was silent after Solemn Shawn’s speech.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMurderman vocalized the group’s fears. “SS, what you finta do? Disband  the Apostles?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, nothing like that, M1. This isn’t some movie plot. I know the  family won’t be completely legal in five years.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSolemn Shawn’s reference to Michael Corleone’s line from The Godfather  drew brief laughs from his crew. “No, it’s just like I said. I’m tired  of this shit. I not asking anyone else to be. That’s just how I feel.  This is kind of the last thing I want to do before I retire. I don’t  have the exact detail on just how much this thing is going to cost, but  me and Dante will find that out when we meet with Washington. I know  this type of thing isn’t cheap, so we’re going to need all the help  that we can get. Any questions?”Their religion was money, loyalty, and power. [quote] --Solomon Jones, author of Ride or Die","brand":"One World\/Strivers Row","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301365174501,"sku":"NP9780345475701","price":12.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345475701.jpg?v=1767738108","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-apostles-isbn-9780345475701","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}