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Username: Dawnny
Post Number: 9
Registered: 04-2006
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, January 10, 2007 - 08:59 pm: | 
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ESSENCE BEST SELLING AUTHOR OF NASTY, RAHSAAN ALI RETURNS WITH ANOTHER HOT NEW NOVEL THAT KEEPS YOU TURNING THE PAGES.
CAMELLO
Rahsaan Ali
ISBN:0979070007
$ 14.95
Media Contact:
Platinum Book P.R.
Dawnny
Publicist@platinumbookpr.com
When you’re in the game nothing is ever sacred. Ever! My word is bond is the phrase most commonly stated amongst the hustlers. The cutthroat styling of the haters is masqueraded by hugs, pounds and love. Loyalty ain’t nothing but a word some dick made up to protect his head from this diseased-poverty-filled world of karma. And the only back niggaz got is the line they stand on before being sent back up North.
This is a game where anybody can be a winner and everybody’s always a sore loser. The doe is fast and women come in abundance like ripened green bushels of plantains at the West Indian day parade. It’s all good when everybody getting that together. But if you start making even just a dollar more than the next man…just prepare yourself to spend either time in jail or in the cemetery. Because niggaz is snitching! Keep your friends at a distance because it’s not always your enemies you need to be keeping close. The block is a microscope and you’re always under it.
~ What Reader’s Are Saying About CARMELLO ~
Not since The Coldest Winter Ever and Dutch have I read a book that captivated me from the first page to well beyond the last. I LOVED this book. The characters and the story are so well detailed and just when you think you've figured out the story, you're thrown for another loop. Rahsaan Ali has yet another Essence best seller on his hands. He definitely has a spot in my top five authors.
Mizz Keila
www.grownfolkscafe.com
~ CARMELLO Chapter Teaser ~
Carmello & Juanita Denn Sr. were my parents. The biggest dealers
in all of Jamaica, Queens. Grossing an astounding four hundred thousand dollars
a week in the distribution of crack cocaine. They’d been dealing as long as I
could remember. My father owned a house in Saint Albans, Queens which he and
my Uncle Todd pushed the bank increaser out of. During the night they had
workers to hold it down while they collected the days income from their workers
throughout the five boroughs. My father and uncle’s reputation for exterminating
violators struck extreme fear and revered obedience into the hearts of young
runners, that chose to carry on the genocidal torch around the relay course of street life. Eventually after being in the game for so long, my peoples had gained
well over--, let’s just say a lot of @#%$ doe.
When my father decided it was time to leave while the getting was still good Uncle Todd wasn’t to pleased with that notion being that he hardly had any say in the matter to begin with. He parted with a cool seven hundred thousand and moved to the Florida Keys never to be heard from again. My moms and pops was ready to buy their dream resort up in Cancun. They left to close the deal a week before I was to enter York college. They never made it there. Carmello and Juanita Denn Sr., my parents, had been heinously murdered. Discovered stripped naked of their clothing with a single gunshot to the head. Their lifeless bodies dangled by the neck from a noose made up of a three--inch thick black cable wire. Their hands tied behind their backs. The red-rusted guild from which they hanged extended it’s cold iron arm and them over piles of burning tires, car parts, sheet metal and heaps of broken glass that was to be recycled. The day of the funeral we couldn’t even have an open casket because their faces were so
grotesque. Every hustler, crack head, dirty cop and a host of admiring neighbors attended giving their respects, condolences and flowers. The service lasted for nearly four hours with a line still wrapped around the corner. I shelled out an extra five g’s to extend the proceedings. The sympathy we received from the hood was an emotional carrousel. I couldn’t even begin to fathom a turn-out that enormous at my funeral. Not that I was looking forward to it either. The hood knew that even with my parents gone the show still had to go on. They’d soon be looking for the heirs of the hustler kingdom to take their rightful positions on the throne. I just had an epiphany. Leave this @#%$ alone. Take the money and run Mello. But the @#%$ hustle was just too deep in me. Too deep in my eighteen-year ol’ baby sister China. Way too deep for my younger brother Caine. Ever since our parents passed on he’d become a like a wild man overnight. He lived for the streets. Sometimes he slept out in his SRX Cadillac truck just so he wouldn’t miss one damn dollar. He truly was becoming the talk of the town. Starting bar fights. Slapping bitches at random for no apparent reason. Running up on niggaz and robbing them on the strength of Santiago’s name and power. Santiago. The man who made my moms and pops the wealthy persons they
became. Santiago was not the one to @#%$ around with. Nor anyone who rolled with him. Sweet as that deal sounded, the hood was no longer my cup of tea
and a month later we moved into our million dollar beach house in the- Hamptons. An exclusively-wealthy community on the end of Suffolk, Long Island. My parents purchased it as a summer home two years ago.
It’s up to me to take care of family now. We look out for one another. I’d murder a muthafucka and die for Caine and China if I had too. My sister China
was a deadly combination of cunningness, stunning beauty, and fiery reflex. Ignited by venom similar to the fatal bite of the infamous black cobra. One look you’re dead. That girl is poison. My baby boy Caine was twenty. He stood six’ feet tall. Skinny. Corn-rolls down to his shoulders. Often letting his hair hang down his face to cover the buck-fifty (Razor Blade Cut) scar down his right cheek. Compliments of this “OPT” nigga named Shorty. He’s no longer with us. “God damn your soul, nigga!” Caine was also shot twice in the stomach when he was eighteen. Now he sports the tattooed taunt “You’ll Never Take Me Alive” and thinks he’s Mister Invincible. Me? Well I’m Carmello. Mello for short. I’m my parents first born. This is the story of me and my family. The next generation.
To learn more about Rahsaan Ali and his new novel Carmello, please visit his website.
rahlier.bravehost.com
Rahsaan is available for interviews and book club chats. Please contact :
Dawnny
Platinum Book P.R.
Publicist@platinumbookpr.com
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