None of the words made sense together, but the doom I'd expected announced itself. I felt iron in my mouth, like I'd gargled with pennies, a taste like blood, a bitter taste that always followed bad news.
The setting is Oakland, 1989; the crack epidemic is at its height and turf wars are brewing. Maceo Redfield, currently on hiatus from college, is walking a fine line between respectability and involvement in Oakland's drug underworld. As he waits in the neighborhood barbershop, one of his closest childhood friends, Holly Ford, brings him the news of the murder of Billy Crane, the third member of their childhood trio and a successful drug dealer. Felicia, Billy's girlfriend and Maceo's true love, is on the run and suspected of setting up the hit. As he searches for Felicia and the answer to the mystery of Billy's murder, Maceo is drawn deeper into a world in which dealers, players, and interlopers, obeying a code of honor all their own, engage in a deadly game to capture the heart of Oakland. When Maceo uncovers the truth about Billy, the story builds to a terrifying and painful climax.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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From the Trade Paperback edition.
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"Well, if it ain't little bitty Maceo Albert Bouchaund Redfield! That name so tall the boy got to walk up under it and say excuse me every day of his natural-born life."
The crowded barbershop broke into laughter as Cutty greeted me with a variation of the same put-down he'd been using for over sixteen years. The fact is that at five feet five inches I barely reach the first letter of my six-foot-tall name.
"How short are you exactly, Maceo?" This came from a balding contemporary of my Grandfather Albert.
"I'm tall as I need to be," I answered.
I eased into the shop, taking note of the old and young faces waiting in the unusually relentless heat of October.
"And how tall is 'need to be'?" Cutty grinned my way.
Cutty had been my barber since my seventh birthday, and habit kept me a customer despite the insulting words. The barbershop was one place in Oakland that provided shelter if needed and contributed order to an often chaotic life.
More simply, it was home.
Cutty was as invested in me as a blood relative. Alongside his prized Oakland A's paraphernalia, snapshots of local celebrities, and barber's license was a photographic history of my baseball career from Pee Wee League through high school. Up until the ninth grade, all my uniforms bore the red-and-white logo of Cutty's salon, Crowning Glory. The pictures were his way of staking a claim before I hit the majors.
"You didn't answer my question. How tall is 'need to be'?"
A waiting customer piped up with his opinion. "I say he's four ten and a half on a good day." The ensuing laughter reminded me that people often see my height as a flaw. It has been a source of ridicule since I was a young boy, but to me my size is a day-to-day reminder—a reminder to keep life compact and close to the vest. The few times I've reached for the height of others I've been knocked back into place. So I've learned to live as a little man with a big name. And I've learned to smile at the jokes.
"Five foot." Another barber.
And Cutty: "Shit, Maceo ain't seen hide nor hair of five feet." He raised his natural comb to his mouth to think for a moment. "No, I take that back. Maceo was about seven feet tall when he was winning all those championships." And just like that the jokes about my height switched to praise for my baseball career.
I was used to that too.
Cutty picked up a portable fan and held it in front of his face. "Damn, feels like Africa outside." Oliver, Cutty’s partner, rolled his eyes. "What you know about Africa? You barely left Oakland in thirty years!"
"Shit, I know plenty 'bout Africa. I find out all I need to know 'bout Africa every time I go to East Oakland." It was an old joke that never failed to hit its mark.
The bonus October heat had sent everyone out into the streets in pursuit of any company to be had, and the sense of camaraderie and fun among the patrons kept the mood light. Along the curb a few waiting customers sat perched on the hoods of their cars, smoking cigarettes or reading newspapers. A few of the youngstas, unschooled in Cutty's bullet-ridden history, masked shady business deals behind the steady bump-bump of rap music.
Crowning Glory, Cutty's shop of thirty years, sat on the Oakland side of San Pablo Avenue, a dirty artery that ran from Oakland's city center all the way through six cities. It was his fifth location since incorporation. Initially his shop had been on Alcatraz Avenue, the Oakland street so named for its clear-day view of the famed Alcatraz Island. It was there, when I was seven, that my granddaddy took me for my first haircut.
When business picked up enough for Cutty to leave Alcatraz, his bad luck began in earnest. His new location on MacArthur and Broadway attracted all the hustlers and Superfly wannabes of the 1970s. Though Cutty hated to compromise his profession, he built his reputation on the mean, slick perms so favored by that generation. And as his reputation grew so did his clientele until finally, inevitably, a crosstown gangster rivalry was played out in his barber chairs.
The first casualty of Crowning Glory was Scott Hathaway, a heroin dealer with control of North, East, and West Oakland. He was slaughtered by an up-and-coming drug dealer named Jordy Prescott.
Legend has it that Hathaway's look of surprise was driven off his face by a bullet through his right eye. A quick nosedive in business confirmed that most people believed Cutty helped set up the flamboyant Hathaway. Only a new location on Shattuck Avenue and a year's worth of time brought people slowly but surely back into his shop.
The next move was caused by a retaliation shooting that occurred three blocks away, but Cutty took no chances. Before moving into the dusty San Pablo storefront, he had the property baptized by a local preacher, he installed church pews instead of seats for the waiting customers, and there hadn't been a murder since. But sometimes, through the ever-ready smile, I suspected that a cutthroat heart beat in the old man's chest. That much bad luck in one place made anybody suspect.
Memories were short, however; the boys dealing on the curb proved it. The eighties had brought a fast and furious new industry into Oakland, the crack trade, and there was evidence of it everywhere you looked.
The circus atmosphere of the drug game seeped into every aspect of urban Black life. Nothing went untouched as newfound wealth allowed men, women, and children to dream of something different. To the older cats, Michael Corleone and the crew of The Godfather supplied the props to let them dream in an elegant manner and jump the class barriers of their birth. But the rules and regulations of The Godfather became old to the youngstas even before the credits rolled. They had no time for rituals and order, just time enough to shove a big-ass foot through a door and demand the respect only a loaded gun and lots of money could bring.
Scarface was their manifesto.
It was a mess, but more seductive than anything we'd ever seen.
In 1989, the entire Bay Area, San Francisco included, fell under the 415 area code, and under that name a prison gang became a strong independent faction within the penitentiary system, eventually edging out the stronghold of the Black Guerrilla Family and keeping the Los Angeles Crips and Bloods from infiltrating the northern California crime force. The Bay Area was proud of its No Crips, No Bloods policy, but once in a while small pockets of transplanted criminals made their way into the fray, usually by way of family members, more often than not by way of good-looking women.
All that added to the big-man-on-campus swagger of the young men gathered here and there in front of Cutty's. Fellas who, a mere two years before, never rated second glances now had all the props of true hustlers, and they used every opportunity possible to flaunt them. I rode the wave as a person on the edge of the inner circle, aware all the time that the Wizard was just inside the curtain. Anyone who looked closely knew the center would not hold; the smoke and mirrors would disappear and reveal a body count to equal a homegrown war.
The unseasonable warmth pumped the festivities to a fever pitch, and all I could do was watch. The heat had an entirely different effect on my spirits. While the others laughed and joked and made plans to hit Geoffrey's, Politics, and the End Zone, I waited for what was to come.
The 90-degree temperature just weeks before Halloween threw off my alignment. It felt unnatural to my blood and, coupled with the bad dreams, left me coiled like a snake for the first sign of bad news. It was coming, I just didn't know how or when.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Table of Contents
Reading Group Guide
The questions and discussion topics that follow are intended to enhance your group's reading of Nichelle D. Tramble's The Dying Ground. We hope they will provide fresh insights and ways of looking at this exciting new novel.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
The book really hit home for me, being from the steets of Oakland, I could relate to some of the author's scenes during the chapters. I enjoyed the reading, it capture me and I just did not want to put it down. When I read the last page, I just had to have more right away. I look forward to the next generation of novels from Nichelle. Well done, well written. Go buy it, it's worth the money.
An outstanding book that draws you in and has you not wnating to the book down till you're done yet you never want the book to end. Can't wait for the sequel.
In THE DYING GROUND by Nichelle Tramble, Maceo Redfield is searching the volatile streets of Oakland, California to find the love of his life, Felicia. To get to her, he maneuvers through the death and destruction that crack cocaine has brought to the city and the African American community. While searching for Felicia, Maceo, a promising baseball player, is forced to decide who he is going to be. Is he going to be the man his grandparents have raised him to be? Is he going to join his childhood friends, Holly (Jonathan Ford) and he now deceased Billy Crane in the steet life? When the search for Felicia ends, on what side of the line will Maceo stand? As Maeco looks for Felicia, we meet his family and closest friends. All have been touched by violence, death, drugs and family secerts. Readers are taken on a journey that is often grim and sometimes exciting. Ms. Tramble, in her first novel, is able to speak effectively from a young male's point of view. She uses vivid language to create pictures of the city of Oakland and the characters in THE DYING GROUND. Oakland's rise and fall is a metaphor for the complicated lives and history of African-Americans as they search for survival, success and a place in the 'American dream'. Ms. Tramble tells a story that incorporates mystery and the passage of Maceo into manhood. When THE DYING GROUND ends, readers are left wanting to know more about Maceo and his supporting cast of characters.
This book is one of the best books i have ever read. It is sort of slow in the first few chapters but it gets alot better as it goes on.. its about a boy who has to live with the death of his friend and figure out who has murdered him... I couldn't put it down i had to read until i figured out what happened in the end..it's a book i will be able to read again and again just to uncover more secrets in the story
Caught up best describes the way I felt upon reading the first few pages. The author not only puts you in the middle of the drug wars of Oakland 1989, but SHE also gives it to you from a man's perspective. The twists and turns of Maceo's discoveries continued to have me more involved as the story unfolded. This rollercoaster has you on edge from the beginning and catching your breath at the end.
I saw the author speak at a bookstore in New Jersey and suggested the book to my reading group. It started a heated debate about family, love, responsibility and we all loved it. The book is more than a mystery, it's also about a family and a city and a love story that blew me away. I'm not sure what hip hop noir means but don't let it turn you away from the book. This is one of the best books I read in years. Looking forward to the next book.
Nichelle did an excellent job of bringing us back to Oakland 1989. She tells a story that cannot be more real for the reader, whether you are from Oakland, down with hip hop, in the dope game or not. There didn't seem to be a detail missed (although I thought the earthquake was gonna be mentioned towards the end). Nichelle did her research because she got down and dirty with the drug/street game as well as hit home with some of the Bay Area/Oakland history lessons. So *did* George Lucas base the AT-ATs off the cargo cranes in Oakland or what? The language she used in this novel is real, a blend of Oakland slang mixed with a natural flow that was worthy of reading this book aloud. This book was a great read and much love to Nichelle for writing this well crafted book. Did I mention the suspense has you reading til the end and asking for more?
I read this book from cover to cover in one sitting.Why?Because she captured me.I am from the Bay Area grew up in the time period of the book, dealt with some of the issues of the book, and could not have told a better story. She caputured the essence of the deeply guarded codes to the streets.She spoke on topics and mannerisms as though she was there.She brought back those vivid images of those days past. Nichelle keep writing girl.I am eagerly awaiting the next book in your collection.I want to know what happens to Maceo. But I wouldnt be mad if you flipped the script totally and came anew, because I know that the picture you will paint will rival anything that Picasso has ever canvased.
If ever there was an heir to Walter Mosley, I think I've just read her. This book carries atmosphere as delicately as a butler would serve an expensive serving ordered by Bill Gates. Keep writing, Nichelle. I'm hooked.
> In 1989 Oakland, teenager Maceo Albert Bouchaund has everything, coming from an upper middle class family. His grandfather Albert is considered as one of the city¿s patriarchs. He attends college at nearby Berkley though he is currently visiting at home. He also is a fine baseball player in spite of being small for the sport. However, Maceo¿s world changes when he learns that someone put a bullet into the head of his childhood buddy Billy Crane, a major local player in the lucrative drug trafficking. The murder of Billy is not a shocker as dealers are routinely killed in the competitive quest for customers. When Maceo learns that Billy¿s girlfriend Flea vanished, he decides he must do something because she is the unrequited love of his life. As he begins to investigate Billy¿s death and search for Flea, Maceo finds the enticing side of the drug world calling to him like a sexy siren. Will he fall to its lure in spite of his heritage? THE DYING GROUND is quite a coup as first time novelist Nichelle D. Tramble provides more than a very good urban amateur sleuth tale. The story line centers on the full picture, including glamour, of the drug industry that still holds on to many American communities. Maceo is a wonderful protagonist, struggling with the thin line between his moral upbringing and the instant gratification of the fool¿s gold drug world. Though many readers will need to adjust to the accents of the secondary cast, this approach provides a real feel to Oakland in the first year of what now seems like ancient history of papa Bush¿s administration. Harriet Klausner