Fictional Characters Imitate Life
Fictional characters imitate life and the ones in my book are no different. My new crime fiction book "Implicated: Crazy Chicanos & Americanos" is going to change the game. The story's set in Washington DC, and partially set in Guadalajara, Mexico. I've already shared the first part on Jianchor (read this for background and what it's about). If you read that blog, you'll know this book took three years from the initial idea to the last page. Once I started writing it again, I knocked it out in four months. I appreciate those of you who shared the first excerpt. All 15 of you!
The premise and plot is very unique. Main character, a well-connected guttersnipe named Yorell gets his stolen USB stolen by someone else. Further, he discovers there’s info linked to a $100k account on said USB. This story is one you’ll find nowhere else. There are Criminals. A voodoo doctor. A politician. Immigrants. I've spent years studying the criminal justice system and am glad to now have something tangible to show for it. (Besides my degree and work in the field).
Recently, I've submitted it to a few publishers and am waiting to see what will happen. In the meantime, if you know any worthwhile publishers willing to take on gritty stories, please let me know! Like I said before, writers like Donald Goines and Iceberg Slim inspired me with their real-life crime stories. Their insane visualization skills. Also, that freedom to describe gory and pornographic things. Their larger-than-life characters whom you meet and invest in. However, it’s been tough for me to gain traction. Notwithstanding talent. Especially as a Black man. Without a platform or support, talent is futile. I put my heart and soul in this book. Here's Part 2 of my the excerpt. For the entire book, contact me via Twitter @dtdakota_
“Invoices of what?” Yorell focused his eyes on Javi’s. They were intense as he gave Yorell the death glare. Like brown pools of poison. It seemed he was refraining from pouncing on him. ” Weed. Molly. Xanax. Cocaine.” He listed the drugs like they were names of his closest buddies. “I’m really doubting your intelligence right now for putting all that on there.” “Suck my dick! I speak two languages and solve computers for a living.” His eyes shifted to the side then returned to Yorell. “Besides it’s better than leaving a paper trail.” Then, Javi braced himself as if gearing up to reveal something more. “Guess what else is on there?” “What?” The older brother sat there with a wistful look on his face. He tapped the floor with his sneaker. “$100k.” Yorell scoffed. “What the hell are you talking about? How can money be on a drive?” Javi sat back down on the futon and gulped. A lump formed in his throat as he swallowed a palpable frustration. His narrow judging eyes suddenly went 10 from slits of anger to guilt. Yorell discerned something was up and he didn’t like the suspense one bit. “Spit it out!” Yorell commanded. He crossed his arms and leaned back on the yellow wall plaster on the kitchen banister. “Yo, look. When your parents died, they left this inheritance money in a POD account for you. The information for that account is on the flash drive.” Yorell’s eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?! All these years have gone by and you’re just now telling me…” He grabbed ahold of the granitetop banister to his left for leverage. He felt like fainting upon hearing this news. “I-” Yorell interjected, “you’re telling me I worked stupid job after stupid job struggling and I didn’t even need to?! Those White folks at my job constantly put me under a microscope and tried to make me look crazy. All that stress for nothing?!”- “Yorell, you’re too irresponsible! You’d blow it all on shoes and clothes in a week!” said Javi, his volume growing higher. Over the years, Yorell grew accustomed to Javi harping on and on about how irresponsible he was with money and would reminisce about his own formative years spent back in his native Guadalajara, Mexico. The crime, instability, and poverty. 11 “I can’t believe you would keep something that serious from me! What else haven’t you told me?” “Don’t try to turn this on me ese!” he stood up from the couch, crossed his arms and stared at the younger man. He completely ignored the football game. “I’m not turning shit on you!” “Clearly, you’re irresponsible. You lost my damn flash drive!” As the man’s anger grew, his accent grew thicker. An accent somewhat diluted by the fact he’s spent more years in the US than his native country. It was a remnant of the old life he escaped; that fact which itself he could never escape. Nor did he want to. He prided himself on his tough culture and complex language. “You’re overreacting-” “My job’s logo is on it. My cell phone number! Now, what if somebody finds it and comes to my job, huh?” Javi moved his hands back and forth as if playing an accordion… barely able to stand Yorell’s presence. “Fuck that. What if someone takes my money?!” Yorell asked. “How?!” Javi said incredulously, still leaning on the wall for support. “Death certificates are public record. The person only needs that and a fake ID.” 12 He appeared reluctant. “You got a point,” Javi conceded and resigned to the futon. Even though it’s a flash drive from work, I don’t do work related business on it!” As an IT guy for a multinational, Javi had access to tons of high-tech technology, and he took full advantage of it to do his side hustle. Dealing drugs. It was more convenient and less tools to keep up with that way. Now, he must regret it. “Bruh, is the drive at least encrypted? “The file with your account info is. But they only need the password to access that file. All the other files are accessible. No third-party software. Whoever finds it can extort the hell out of us.” “Fuck.” Yorell mumbled. A visceral reaction to this unwelcome reality. Now, each Yorell, Javi, and Virginia held a stake in recovering the drive. The status report, the POD account info, and Javi’s drug invoices were all on the drive for any random person’s consumption. “Get ready to get extorted Yo’!” “That’s not realistic.” “C’mon bro, I work in IT. I hear stories about stuff like this happening every day. People could dox us, report us to the cops. Do anything they feel like and 13 make us their bitch!” He threw the cheap futon pillow at Yorell. They stood there in the dark living room motionless. Silent. Javi slowly nodded his head side to side. “I can’t believe you!” “No, I can’t believe you! You’re crazy for not telling me this…foo” Yorell mocked. “Fuck you Yorell.” Javi pointed his finger in his brother’s face. The smell of cigarettes and liquor trailed his breath ever so closely. “What would they report to the cops?” Yorell turned on the above light fixture to ease the strangeness of arguing in the dark. “The shit I have on there! Don’t play stupid with me,” he said inching even closer to his face. He threw his hands up in surrender. “Chill out. You’re overreacting!” “Overreacting’?... Forget the invoices. There’s an entire $100,000 on that damn drive...Which belongs to you!” “So, when were you going to tell me?” Yorell deflected. “When I felt like you were ready. That’s a lot of money.” 14 Yorell stared at the man’s face judging him. He studied his chiseled jawline, jet-black goatee, and fiction-white teeth. “Okay Javi.” He placed his hands in pockets and walked away. With that, the two men went upstairs to retire to their bedrooms and called it a night, not saying one word else to one another. Their big egos would not allow either to concede any wrongdoing. Yorell laid in his bed, but his thoughts were having a party of their own in his head. “Is because I’m ‘irresponsible’ the real reason he hid the $100K from me or was there a more sinister reason?” How am I gonna get the flash drive back? What happens now? *** The following day at The Vertex, some of the same company from last night were there again. Xochitl, Jay, and White Chocolate. The trio sat down at the rustic dining room table playing poker and sipping white zinfandel wnie. Their chairs were shifted as to be in earshot of Virginia’s every word ten feet away in the kitchen. She tended to some dirty dishes and ranted to anyone who would listen. “If you want to get anywhere in this business, you’ve got to be tough. You’ve got to be judicious-” “Plain English?” Yorell interjected poking fun at the woman he’d grown so close to over the years. 15 “Oh, I know how to code-switch. Don’t get it twisted boo-boo… You remember the guys and Xochitl, right?” A petite brown woman in a form-fitted burgundy dress sat with her legs crossed. She smiled big. Her fingernail polish matched her dress. Yorell flipped through his mental rolodex and suddenly remembered Xochitl. How could he forget the pecan brown-skinned chick with the silky black hair, and perfect full lips? “How could I not?” said Yorell as he extended his hand to her and kissed it. He remembered hardly anything else that happened last night. But he remembered her seeing her and going she looks like a Bratz doll and like she smells like cocoa butter. Xochitl nodded her head indicating she liked what she saw. “I only do hugs”, she said in the sexiest Mexican accent. She proceeded to stand up and give Yorell one. Virginia extended her arm toward the two guys’ direction. “This is Jay and Cory. But nobody calls him Cory. Everybody calls him White Chocolate. I know y’all see each other over here all the time, but you officially met them last night. You were too tipsy to remember though,” said Virginia half-mocking. They paused the ongoing poker match out of respect for Yorell. “Diversity at work,” he thought to himself. They were an interesting 16 bunch. For one, White Chocolate looked like a recovering drug addict and talked like a silly hick. A straight-up country boy from Iowa, his alabaster acned skin, slim frame, and curly “bedhead” hair was startling. He resembled a real-life Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. Except he had a head full of brown spiral curls. He always seemed like he was nervous about something. A bit unsure of himself. He had a perpetual “deer in the headlights” look about him. A hard looking thirty-one, he was an automechanic by trade. Jay was a light-skinned hood brother. Biracial; half-black and white. Both, yet neither Black nor White. He was decked out in sagging baggy jeans, tattoo sleeves on both muscly arms, and gold grills in his mouth. The sleeve consisted of a pistol, skulls, a rose with some girl’s name on it, bullets, and shell casings. He also had a silver eyebrow ring above his left eye. A very rockstar thuggish look. It was easy to tell he was close to White Chocolate from their proximity and comfortableness with each one another. They constantly teased each other during the match. The beautiful stranger seemed quiet in comparison to her two men who carried on with their macho trash-talk. Xochitl had toffee-color skin and wore eyelashes bigger than windshield wipers. She flaunted a silent assurance. 17