Deuce's Wild [Paperback]

Yousef al-Salaam, the hip-hop artist formerly known as Deuce F and a recent convert to a Sufi Islamist sect, is gunned down outside a New York City dance club. The NYPD chalks the killing off to a rapper dispute. John Shannon, former New York cop currently working as a contract investigator for the city's Office of Municipal Security, had recently interviewed the victim to determine if the rapper's recent Middle East visit was indicative of any terrorist leanings. His conclusion was that al-Salaam's religious conversion was sincere. When Shannon looks a little deeper into the killing, his inquiries evoke a violent response, suggesting that the killer may have something to hide. Author Ford, a trained psychologist and expert on African mythology, mixes solid suspense writing with thought-provoking, human takes on some of the hot-button sociopolitical issues of the day: the domestic Muslim community's almost untenable position in a post-9/11 America, and a black middle-class father's response to the bigotry and violence inherent in the music embraced by his child. Intelligent and action packed. Wes Lukowsky
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

"Author Ford, a trained psychologist and expert on African mythology, mixes solid suspense writing with thought-provoking, human takes on some of the hot-button sociopolitical issues of the day..."

John Shannon's son J. J. is a huge fan of hip-hop artist Yousef al-Salaam, formerly Deuce F., who recently converted to Sufism, a mystical order of Islam. The popular musician also happens to be on a terrorist watch list. When al-Salaam is shot outside a Manhattan nightclub, Shannon agrees to investigate the murder as a favor to J. J. Was al-Salaam entangled in a feud with East Coast gangsta rapper T-Mo? Or was he caught on the wrong side of Islam extremism?

The NYPD has given up on the case and, after a close call with T-Mo's thugs, so has Shannon. But something-curiosity, ego, anger?-drives him to penetrate the murky mystery surrounding al-Salaam, whose search for enlightenment reminds Shannon of his own quest for personal growth.

Clyde Ford is the author of the acclaimed work of non-fiction The Hero with an African Face (Bantam), We Can All Get Along (Dell), and the new mystery novels Red Herring and the forthcoming Precious Cargo (Mystic Voyager Books). He has appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, National Public Radio, and has been featured in The Seattle Times and 150 other radio and television programs across the country. The second of Fords Shango Mystery series, Deuce's Wild is scheduled for a Spring 2006 release.A native New Yorker, Ford is a noted mythologist, psychologist, and scholar who has taught at Columbia and Western Washington University. Founder of the Institute of African Mythology, the author currently lives near Seattle where he enjoys writing, sea-kayaking and cruising the waters of the Pacific Northwest in his single-engine trawler Mystic Voyager.

one

Nothing says "starting over" like sitting alone in an empty apartment. But here I sat on a borrowed couch in the middle of bare wood floors and naked white walls. The one-bedroom apartment, in a newly renovated brownstone, had a view out the living room window to other newly renovated brownstones across the street. And, if I craned my neck and strained hard, I could see a sliver of northern Central Park just a few blocks down from my building. Light green coated the trees. Spring had already arrived in the city.

Nora Daniels helped me land this apartment, which had a long waiting list. But she had a client, who had a friend, who knew someone, who worked for a man, whose son did this remodel as well as others in Harlem. So, after slipping an associate of the man two hundred fifty dollars for the man to give to his son, I found myself promoted to the head of the list. I craned my neck a little more to see how much of the park I could take in.

Suddenly, the downstairs doorbell went off. I flinched. The ring tone on the high-tech system played a computerized version of "Stars and Stripes Forever," and I fully expected a band of tiny toy soldiers to emerge from underneath the couch and march across the living room floor. I went over to the small monitor sitting next to the front door and fumbled with a few buttons until the screen flashed on.

"Meow.Meow."

A cat's face stared at me from the screen. Then a high-pitched, contrived voice came on behind it. "We just stopped by to say hello."

Finally, Nora poked her head from behind the ball of white fur and waved. I found the right button to push. "Stars and Stripes" played again. I cringed.

I opened the door before Nora got there so John Philip wouldn't get going once more. She turned the corner from the staircase with a wrapped package in one hand and Madame Meow at the end of a leash in the other. Nora had on jeans and a fitted sweater the same white as Madame Meow's fur.

"Hi," she said. She strolled in. "A house warming gift for you." She handed me the package.

I closed the door behind her, and she let Madame Meow off the leash. The cat took one look at me, sniffed the air, then, claws skidding over wood, raced around the living room and disappeared down the hall.

"Apparently she's not waiting for the cook's tour," I said.

"Well, I am," Nora said. She slowly turned her head around the living room. "Not bad. It's got potential. Do you need help with decorating?"

"If I do, I know where to call . . . your office. And I'll tell Brendan that I have a 9-1-1 interior decorating emergency."

Nora laughed easily. "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy-Home Makeover Edition . . . He'd love it."

"First I need enough money to afford what Brendan would want me to buy."

"His tastes are good . . . and expensive. Tucker paid you for that airport assignment, right?"

"You mean the TSA guard who stole luggage then resold its contents?"

"Uh-huh. And we paid you for both investigations?"

"Uh-huh."

"So you oughta have something left over to decorate with." "After a month's rent, a month's security deposit, an agency fee, a key fee, a utility deposit, a cable TV installation fee, and a telephone deposit, I had barely enough to buy a few pieces of furniture, and a television."

"Sorry," Nora said. "I forgot all about those minor details of starting over."

"The furniture won't be delivered for a week." I pointed to the television. "The television will have to sit on top of its box until I get a stand. It's kind of like camping out in the wilderness of my living room."

"You could have stayed at my place longer."

"I needed to be on my own. I needed a place for JJ and I to spend time together."

"Has he seen your new digs yet?"

"He should be here soon. Liz's dropping him off for two weeks while she goes to a workshop somewhere upstate."

"He'll love it. His dad's own place. It won't matter to him if it's furnished."

Nora reached out with her arms, giving me a big hug and a little kiss, setting off a tiny spasm of longing. She walked over to the couch and sat down.

"Truth is, it's only been one day and already I miss coming home to an apartment where someone else lives," I said. Nora looked around. "Welcome to sex . . . I mean, being single . . . in the city." She smiled. "Where, unlike on television, you spend a lot of time alone." She sat on the couch and pointed to the package. "Open it."

I peeled off the wrapping paper to reveal a boxed bottle of California merlot-expensive, but one Nora and I both liked.

"Would you like a glass now?" I asked.

She waved me off."No, I've got to go. I need to pack. Tomorrow I leave for a week-long conference of public defenders in Phoenix. Let's...(Continues)