{"product_id":"thieves-paradise-isbn-9780451211453","title":"Thieves' Paradise","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Eric Jerome Dickey presents a powerful novel about grifters and con artists, brothers and sisters, looking for love and making ends meet—on the wrong side of the law....\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDante black did his stretch of hard time in juvenile jail. Now he's out...and down. Facing a mountain of unpaid bills, a car on its last legs, and imminent eviction, he doesn't stand a chance with Pam, a sexy waitress\/actress on the hunt for a man with means. Enter Scamz, a slick brother from Dante's past cruising L.A. in custom-tailored suits and a Benz CL600. He's got a job that'll put Dante back on top—especially with Pam. Seduced by easy money, she's finding Dante suddenly irresistible. But then the perfect sting goes horribly wrong, and a dangerous game is just beginning.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Eric Jerome Dickey and \u003ci\u003eThieves' Paradise\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[O]ne of the most successful Black authors of the last quarter-century.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Eric Jerome Dickey’s work is a master class in Black joy....[his] characters—bold, smart women oozing sexuality and vulnerability—navigate interpersonal conflicts using dialogue that crackles with authenticity.”—The Atlantic\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heart-pumping…electrifying…In his compelling picture of another world, Dickey believably shows how even in the underbelly of society, loyalty, respect, and love have their place. Gritty...a smartly-paced novel.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eEric Jerome Dickey \u003c\/b\u003e(1961–2021) was the award-winning and \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of twenty-nine novels, as well as a six-issue miniseries of graphic novels featuring Storm (\u003ci\u003eX-Men\u003c\/i\u003e) and the Black Panther. His novel \u003ci\u003eSister, Sister\u003c\/i\u003e was honored as one of \u003ci\u003eEssence\u003c\/i\u003e’s “50 Most Impactful Black Books of the Last 50 Years,” and \u003ci\u003eA Wanted Woman\u003c\/i\u003e won the NAACP Image Award in the category of Outstanding Literary Work in 2014. His most recent novels include \u003ci\u003eThe Blackbirds\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFinding Gideon\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBad Men and Wicked Women\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBefore We Were Wicked\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Business of Lovers\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Son of Mr. Suleman\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003c\/p\u003eMomma shrieked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe walls echoed her cries for Daddy to get his hands off her, brought her pleas up the stairs to my room. I jumped and my algebra book dropped from my chestnut desk onto the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy father cursed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the time I made it to the railing and looked down into the living room, Momma was in front of my father, begging for forgiveness. Her petite frame was balled up on our Aztec-patterned sofa. She was holding her lip to keep the blood from flowing onto the fabric. I watched her rub away the pain on her cinnamon skin, then run her fingers through her wavy coal-black hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy old man looked up at me and grimaced. “Go back to your room, boy.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was fifteen and a half. Less than half of my old man’s age.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe stomped toward Momma.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe screamed and moved away from him like she was trying to run away from the madness that lived here every day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy chest heaved as I stumbled past the grandfather clock and rushed down the stairs. My heart was pounding. I tightened my hands and hurried to my momma’s side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Momma,” I moaned as I kneeled next to her. “You okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m all right, baby. It’s nothing. Nothing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked at my liquored-up old man. He bobbed his head and pointed back at the kitchen. “I work hard all day and come home to no dinner?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was slurring and sneering down on us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI said, “Nobody knew you were coming home tonight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMomma tried to get up. “I over slept. My pills made me—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Carmen,” he shouted. “Get up off that sofa and cook. Now. Planet of the Apes comes on in an hour and I want my food on the table by the time Charlton Heston—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t ever touch Momma again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What you say?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He didn’t say anything.” Momma touched my arm. “I’m okay, baby. Go back and finish studying for your test.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDaddy’s back straightened, his bushy mustache crooked as his lips curved down, his eyes widened. “What you say to me, nigger?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m not a nigger. My name is Dante.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So the nigger speaking up for himself.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You heard me the first time. And I ain’t a nigger.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You challenging me? What, you think because you got a little hair over your dick you’re a grown man now? Ain’t but one man in this house.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMomma spoke carefully to Daddy. “Don’t get upset.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI frowned at the shiny badge on the chest of his tan uniform, then at the gun in his leather holster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe sucked his teeth, nodded and jerked the badge off. He threw the gun holster on the love seat. He stepped away from the glass coffee table, opened his arms and snapped out, “You want to be a man? Come on. I’ll give you the first shot. Nigger, I’ll knock your black ass into the middle of next week.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMomma gripped my arm tight enough for her nails to break my skin. I glanced at the golden cross she had on her chest, the one she had got from her mother just a few weeks before Grandmamma died. I looked into my momma’s light brown eyes, which looked like mine. “Let me go, Momma.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No.” She put her nose on mine and whispered, “Momma’s okay. It’s just a little scratch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy knees shook when I stood and faced my old man. When his eyes met mine, his anger held so much power that I forgot how to breathe. Heart went into overdrive. He balled up his right fist, slammed it into the palm of his left hand; it echoed like thunder. “What are you gonna do, nigger?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI trembled, backed away and said, “Nothing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nothing, what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nothing, sir.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI kicked my bare feet into the rust carpet, then slumped my shoulders, wiped my sweaty hands on my jean shorts and turned around to go back to my room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen that motherfucker chuckled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA simple laugh that stoked up the rage inside of me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI charged at him as fast and as hard as I could.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMomma screamed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDaddy’s eyes widened with surprise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePain. Anger. Fear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree screams from three people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the backseat of the police car, I stared through the wire cage at the colorful rotating lights that were brightening Scottsdale’s earth-tone stucco houses. I was hostage under a calm sky. The spinning glow from twelve squad cars looked like rainbows chasing rainbows. Colors raced over all the sweet gum trees and windmill palms, moved like a strobe light over the vanhoutte spirea in the front of the three-car garage. The reek of cordite was on my flesh. Couldn’t really smell it over the stench of my stress sweating. I concentrated on the colors to make the pain from the tight handcuffs go away. Watched the rainbows come and go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe door opened. A dry May breeze mixed with the sweltering car air. A police officer stuck his sweaty head inside. His face was hard, his voice angry and anxious. “Your mother wants to say something to you before we lock your ass up. We shouldn’t let her say a damn word to you after what you did. Do you mind?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stared straight ahead. “No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe raised his voice. “No what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No,”I repeated in a way that let him know I thought that all of them were assholes for making me out to be the bad guy. “I don’t mind.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe gripped the back of my neck. “You’re pretty belligerent.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was a knob-kneed reed of a boy. Hadn’t lifted anything heavier than an algebra book and could barely run a mile in P.E. without passing out. That was before I started pumping weights, before squats, before doing two hundred push-ups in the morning to start my day, doing sprints, before the hooks and jabs and side kicks and roundhouse kicks and spinning back kicks became my trademark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI said, “Fuck you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith his other hand he grabbed the front of my throat and squeezed, made me gag and look into his blue eyes. He growled, “Say, ‘No, sir. I don’t mind, sir,’ you insolent bastard.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe let me go when another officer passed by. I gagged and caught my breath while perspiration tingled down my forehead into my eyes. I tilted my head and looked at him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe smirked. “Now what you have to say?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI spat in his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis cheeks turned crimson. He stared at me while my saliva rolled down his scarred face into his ill-trimmed wheat-colored mustache.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s your ass, boy.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVeins popped up in his neck while he stood there, clenching his teeth and wiping my juices from his eye, handkerchief in hand. He kept watching me, wanted me to break down and show my fear. It was there, but I refused to let it be seen. Another officer passed by and scarface told him what I’d done. It looked like they were about to double-team me, but the second officer said to report the assault and they both stormed away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA second later the door opened again and my mother eased her bruised face inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe said, “Don’t hate me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Love you, Momma.”I smiled. “Get away from here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe fondled her wedding ring. Tears formed in her eyes. She dropped the police blanket from her shoulders, took her cross off and put it around my neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe used her soft fingers to wipe the sweat from my eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Somebody’ll come get you out. Maybe Uncle Ray. You might be able to go back to Philly and stay with him for a while.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Uncle Ray don’t like us. We’re Catholic. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t like nobody but Jehovah’s Witnesses.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Stop saying that.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s true.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’ll call him anyway. I’ll tell him you made honor roll so he’ll know you’re still doing good in school. Let him know you might get a scholarship. You could help him around his grocery store in the evenings.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shook my head. “Don’t worry about me. Get away before he hurts you. All he’s gonna do is beat you up, then go out to Fort McDowell and spend the night with that Indian woman. He ain’t been home in two days, then walks in complaining about some stupid dinner. Tomorrow he’ll be mad about his shirts. The next day his shoes.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy old man was standing in a crowd of badges, guns and whispers. The ambulance crew had bandaged his head and he was back on his feet. I’d beat him with everything I could get my hands on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe made a single-finger gesture for Momma to come.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy beautiful momma looked tired of the life she was living, and that made me sad. She wiped her eyes and kissed the side of my face. “You understand, don’t you? You’re a big boy now. Almost a man. You can take care of yourself. You understand.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI kissed the side of her face as my answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t be angry.” She twisted her lips. “Don’t be like him.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Iwon’t.”I smiled for her.“ Go back inside before you get in trouble. Stop taking so much of that medication.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe rubbed her eyes, then dragged her fingers down across her lips. “It calms my nerves.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Why you wanna sleep so much?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sometimes”—she patted my legs with her thin fingers—“sometimes I have nice dreams.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was distant, reciting and not living the words.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI said, “Dreams ain’t real, Momma.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sometimes—” She stopped and kissed my forehead. Her voice became as melodic as the poetry she always read. “Sometimes they’re better than what’s real.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI fought the dryness in my throat that always came before my tears. I was scared. Fifteen and a half and living in fear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe wandered away, wringing her hands and looking back at me with every other step. We blew each other dysfunctional kisses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’d be in juvenile hall, then a boys’ home until was old enough to register for the draft and vote.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLiving with criminals would be like going to a different kind of school. Nigerians, Mexicans, Whites—no matter what nationality, they were all caught up in the same game. And didn’t hesitate to lend to the schooling on everything from three-card monte to rocks in a box to pigeon drops, even broke down how to pass bad checks. A few were bold enough to run telephone scams from the inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was different from the education I was after.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI had dreams of getting into Howard, to a frat life and a world filled with sorority girls. Always wanted to stomp in a Greek show. Make enough money to get a small place, get Momma to move in with me. I was working on our escape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut that night, guess I had had all I could stand and couldn’t stand no more. I wanted to be like a superhero and rescue my momma. That was my mission in life. What motivated me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHard to save anybody when you’re locked up, when you’re too busy trying to fight to save yourself. When you’ve made yourself a prisoner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI did want to save her. That gave my life a lot of purpose.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut there would be no Howard. No sorority girl at my side. And the closest thing to a frat I would see would be a bunch of young hardheads lining up for roll call, all wearing prison blues, most with tattoos. Our Greek show was marching in sync to go get our meals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMomma would find her own way to freedom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy momma would take too many pills and become an angel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy daddy would be found dead behind the wheel of his Thunderbird at Fort McDowell. Ambushed and shot outside of a married Indian woman’s place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn that night of changes, I sat in the back of that squad car, staring at the colorful lights dancing in the night to make my pain go away. Watched the rainbows chasing the rainbows.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305302511845,"sku":"NP9780451211453","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451211453.jpg?v=1767742434","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/thieves-paradise-isbn-9780451211453","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}