King of the Dancehall: A Novel

ISBN-13: 9781250824561

Media Type: Paperback

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Publication Date: 01-10-2023

Pages: 224

Product Dimensions: 5.30(w) x 8.10(h) x 0.80(d)

Nick Cannon is a successful, multi-faceted entertainer: comedian, TV executive producer and host, film star/director, entrepreneur, philanthropist and children’s book author. He was cited by People Magazine as one of the “Top 10 Most Successful Young People in Hollywood.” Presently he is host of NBC’s “America’s Got Talent” which just began their 10th season in May. Through his highly successful multi-media company NCredible Entertainment, Cannon produces TV and film projects, including Nickelodeon’s Make It Pop (which recently got re-newed for a 2nd season), HALO Awards, and TeenNick Top 10, React To That. On the film side, Cannon made his first appearance on the big screen alongside Will Smith in Men in Black II. Other television credits include the classic feature film Drumline. He also starred as one of the lead character roles in Spike Lee’s controversial movie Chi’Raq. Noted by the New York Times as “one of the most recognizable personalities in teen media,” Cannon also actively serves as the CEO of the teen magazine Celebrity High, as well as Chairman of TeenNick, Nickelodeon’s television network aimed at the teen audience.

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CHAPTER 1

FREEDOM

I still remember the very moment that I tasted freedom again. Five years locked away up north in the bowels of New York's prison system, so far from home, had made me numb. I was desensitized. My days were spent working out in the yard doing a hundred push-ups at a time, reading ghetto love stories, and trying not to think about what I was missing. But, the morning I heard the guard call out my name — "Tarzan Brixton, it's time!" — I started to feel alive again. As I walked down my cell block for the last time, my heart beat faster than usual. The sun seemed to shine brighter than it ever had before. I had to squint my eyes as I stepped outside the gates for the last time. I felt momentarily blinded by the light. By the joy I felt at being free for the first time in so many years.

I had suffered through a five-year bid, locked down in the belly of the beast over some light work. Armed robbery charges and resisting arrest. I ran up in a store on Linden Boulevard and stuck up the clerk at gunpoint. Of course there was a fucking off-duty cop in the store buying lotto tickets. He tried to be a hero, pulled out his badge, yelled out "Freeze!" and all that dramatic shit. I shot out of there like a bullet, flying down the block like Usain Bolt. The part that hurt the most was that I almost got away. But, I was running too fast, and I tripped over my own feet when I tried to turn a corner at the last second. It gave the cop enough time to catch up to me, and before I knew it I was on my way to jail. It pissed me off because it was my own fault. Not just because I was the one who had committed the crime. But because it was my own clumsiness that got me caught. I was usually so light on my feet, a skill I used to my benefit in my life of crime. I had been in countless chases like that one before, and each time I had gotten away. But life has a way of catching up with you.

It wasn't even a major jux. Just a quick way to get my hands on some cash because my mama was in a desperate situation. Sounds typical, I know. But, there's nothing typical about me. My mother made sure of that when she named me Tarzan, after the legendary king of the jungle. Ironic that I found myself caged in a place with some of the most vicious animals imaginable. I survived because I was strong, raised by one of the toughest women on God's green earth. My mama, Loretta Brixton. It was to her home that I returned immediately after being released from prison. I needed to see her, to hug her, see her smile again. But, I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted me when I stepped across the threshold of our apartment in the Brooklyn projects that we had called home my whole life.

The place wasn't as spotless as it normally was. The living room looked a little messy, and there were dishes piled up in the sink. Leftover food sat on top of the stove, and as I looked around I could sense that Mama wasn't her usual self. My mother had been sick for a long time. It was one of the reasons I had robbed that store. She had suffered from diabetes since I was a kid. It was something she had always struggled with. But, then her kidneys had failed one after the other in the years before I went away. The doctors placed her on dialysis several times a week, and put her on medication. But with each hospitalization, the bills piled higher and things got thick. I needed the money I was going after in that robbery to set things right again. For a little while, at least.

I'm not trying to say that I was a saint. Far from it. My motives weren't all pure. I wanted to flex a little. Grab enough cash to get Mama straight and get a few nice things for myself. Stunt in the hood for a change. Times had been hard for a long time. I felt that I was overdue for my turn in the spotlight. Still, selfish motives aside, my main focus was on getting the money Mama needed for all the hospital stays, holistic treatments, and medication it took to treat her kidney failure and diabetes.

Growing up in the tough streets of Brooklyn with no pops was tough. Mama had her hands full with me. I had always been a live wire and a magnet for trouble. That's probably the reason why Mama chain-smokes Newports like there's no tomorrow. She ain't afraid of a little dark liquor, either. Growing up, all of my boys were afraid of my mother. But, I never was. Mama was sweet. Underneath that tough, unsmiling exterior was a heart of pure gold.

I walked into her bedroom and found her lying in bed. She seemed to be asleep, but I couldn't be sure. Her breathing was steady, and the room was dead silent. It felt kinda spooky. I looked at all the pill bottles scattered on the nightstand. Gauze, bandages, and needles for her insulin injections. Her Bible was there, too. Just like it always was. That made me smile.

I cleared my throat, announcing my presence. "Hello, Mama. Your prodigal son has returned."

She opened her eyes and saw me there. Slowly, she sat up in the bed, and leaned forward. Her eyes welled up with tears.

"Aww, Mama, don't cry."

She shook her head at me, the tears streaming down her face now. She snatched a tissue from the box at her bedside. "Little boy, if you don't get over here!"

I rushed over and hugged her tighter than I ever had before. I felt like a kid happy to see their mama after a tough day at school. I had been to the school all right. The school of hard knocks. And it had been one hell of a lesson to learn.

Mama reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a cigarette.

I protested. "I thought the doctor told you to quit smoking."

"Child, hush!" She lit it and took a long pull. "Cigarettes keep my stress level down. Unlike you."

That hurt.

She wasn't done. "Five years away and now you want to come back into my house and tell me what to do?" She sucked her teeth hard, her Jamaican way. She had been born on that picturesque tropical island in the West Indies. But she immigrated to Brooklyn in her youth. She had always been a trailblazer that way. Brave. All of her family was back home. But she had come to America hoping to get her shot at the dream. Sadly, it wasn't going well.

"Ma, I made some mistakes. I admit it. But, you know I love you."

She grunted.

I sat there in silence watching her smoke. The guilt that had gnawed at me like a ravenous dog for the past five years was back again. I had let my family down.

I never set out to be the bad guy. Nobody grows up aspiring to be a troublemaker. The problem was that I couldn't do the things that usually get dudes like me out of the hood. I couldn't rap. Couldn't play basketball. But, what I could do was get money by any means. The hustle came naturally to me. It was as much a part of my DNA as the blood that ran through my veins.

"You love me. Okay. But, were you thinking about me when you were doing all that mess out there in the streets? Lawyer fees, bail money, all of that on top of the bills that already litter the area! Did you care about my health then, boy?"

"Yeah." It was the truth. I had never stopped caring. True, I had let her down. I had spent the past five years dealing with that. But, I was just a boy trying to learn how to be a man. It was obvious that Mama didn't understand that at all.

I heard someone walk in behind me, and I turned to see my little brother Trent standing there. He looked like my twin. Our resemblance was unmistakable. He wore a McDonald's uniform, a baseball cap, and a scowl.

He looked me up and down. "They finally let you out, huh?" I stared at him for a minute. "That's how you greet your brother? You ain't happy to see me?"

"Thrilled." His expression told me the opposite.

Trent was nineteen years old, with the maturity of a man twice his age. Our four-year age difference made it hard enough to connect with each other. But being in two very different places for the past five years had made things even more awkward between us. Trent was smart. Not just smart, but really brilliant. He could have gone to Harvard or Yale if he'd had the opportunity. But, that wasn't possible. Not with our mother sick, me locked up, and money scarce. He had enrolled in a local college, but dropped out in order to work full-time and help make ends meet. I could hardly look at him without feeling guilty. I knew that my time away had made it even harder on him.

"Why you ain't never write me?" I knew the answer when I asked it. But, I had to say something to fill the awkward silence.

"Write you to say what? How I'm out here working double shifts at McDonald's when I should be in college? How you've got our mother literally worried sick over your dumb ass?"

His words stung, but I didn't react.

"Trenton!" Mama checked him.

Trent looked at her and apologized under his breath. He looked at me, and held up a crumpled bag of food. "You hungry? Want a burger?"

I walked over to him, snatched the bag out of his hand, and gave him a big hug. His protests were muffled by my armpits as I pulled him even closer.

"Get off me!"

"I missed you, little bro!"

He pretended like he didn't want my affection. But, I could tell he had missed me, too.

"Let me go, Tarzan! I ain't with all that homo shit." He finally wiggled free. He wiped his face where I planted a big wet kiss. He shook his head in disgust. "They really put it on you in there, huh?"

I laughed, and grabbed him again.

"Ma, get him off me. He's changed. I think he's trying to grab my booty! Your son's a batty boy!"

I laughed even louder. I knew he was playing. There was nothing sweet about me. "You know what they say in prison. 'Don't ask, don't tell.'" I winked at him.

Trent shook his head at me and walked toward the door. "First of all, genius, that was a military phrase, not a prison reference." He shook his head. "You really are the world's dumbest criminal."

"I'll still kick your little smart ass, though."

"Try it." He kept walking toward the door.

My reaction was instant. I threw the bag full of cheeseburgers at him, and hit him hard in the back of the head.

Trent spun around, his arms raised defensively. "Mama!"

I was laughing while my mother sat shaking her head at both of us.

"You two are foolish. Ya act like children. What am I going to do with both of you living under the same roof again?" She rolled her eyes, and let out a sigh. She couldn't hide her smile, though.

Trent left to change out of his work clothes.

Mama looked at me. "I can't have all of this commotion in my house. I ain't in the business of taking care of grown men. I can barely take care of myself."

"Don't worry, Ma. I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to take care of all of us."

She gave me that look that I hate. The one where she seems to see right through me. "Like you did when you went running in that place waving a pistol around like some wannabe badman?"

"Trust me," I said. "I'm done with that life. I'll be honest with you. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. But, I definitely know it won't be that again. I promise. I'm going to be different. Better. The new and improved Tarzan Brixton."

She shook her head again, finished off her cigarette, and closed her eyes. She looked so tired. She seemed to be mumbling something, and I leaned closer to hear her. I realized that she was praying.

"Lord ... Heavenly Father, help him. Gracious God, guide him down the righteous path. Use my son for your works."

Throughout my life, I could always remember my mother praying. It was her form of warfare against the threats that came against her family. Against the diabetes that forced her to maintain a strict diet. Against the kidney disease that had ravaged her body. And now it seemed that she was calling on God to fix me. To help me get my shit together once and for all. I had my doubts about religion. It didn't seem real to me. For all her praying, fasting, and Bible reading, it seemed that our family couldn't catch a break. I was beginning to wonder if God was listening to Mama at all.

Her voice drifted off, and once again she lay there silently with her eyes closed. This time I could tell that she was sleeping. I could hear her snoring softly. I kissed her on the forehead, turned off the light, and left the room.

I went looking for Trent, and found him lying across his twin-sized bed, also sleeping. I watched him for a minute, amazed at how grown he was now. When I got locked up, Trent had just been entering high school. His voice had just started changing, and he had been a little boy who idolized his big brother. All of that had changed now. Trent looked like a carbon copy of me, except his life was uncluttered by all of the bullshit that I couldn't ever seem to shake loose. Seeing the growth in my kid brother was a reminder of the amount of time that had passed since I went away. I turned out the light and shut his door behind me as I left.

I hit the streets. I had some unfinished business out there. Despite my charming personality, I had always rolled solo for the most part. Getting caught up with crews and gangs was a sure way to get caught up in bullshit. So, I was an army of one out there in those Brooklyn streets. My dude Kareem was my only real friend. We had grown up together, and like me, Kareem liked to get money with as little pomp and circumstance as possible. For that reason, he and I worked well together. We often let each other know about the get-money schemes we got exposed to. And it was for that very purpose that I sought him out that day.

As I walked through the Pink Houses, a housing project in East New York, Brooklyn, I was shocked by how different everything looked. The complex's cute name masked a very ugly reality. I had seen some terrible things in these projects. It had made me a man and, sadly, gave me all the preparation I needed for jail.

As I walked to my girl Tameka's building, I looked around at how things had changed. The fashion was definitely different. Guys were wearing their jeans a lot tighter and black women were rocking their natural hair. What really amazed me was the fact that so many of the white girls had butts. The presence of white people on the perimeter of the projects was a new sight, too. It was like they weren't afraid of us anymore. It had me bugging as I walked down the block.

I found my boys exactly where I had left them five years ago. They had changed clothes. A couple of them looked like they had aged a bit. But, for the most part, they all looked like somebody had pressed the Pause button on the day that I got locked up, and not much had changed with these guys.

I greeted them and smiled with pride as they gave me hood hugs and welcomed me home. It felt good to be back among my friends. Although the letters and commissary had been nonexistent coming from them, I didn't hold a grudge. Everybody had his own life to live, and there were no hard feelings.

I hit the blunt they were passing, and Kareem got my attention.

"We got some work for you if you're trying to get back on." He eyed me closely.

I appreciated that. I nodded.

He shrugged. "You just came off a long bid, so I understand if you want to lay low for a while."

I was already high, but I took another puff. "I told myself I was gonna come home and do the right thing. But, my moms is sick. My brother needs some help holding it down for her financially. So, yeah. I need to get back in the mix as soon as possible." I passed the blunt to the next man in the cipher.

Kareem nodded. He was my friend, so I knew he understood where I was coming from. Like me, Kareem grew up in a household with no father figure. It forced us both to be the man of the house whether we were ready or not.

"What you about to do now?" he asked.

"I'm on my way up to Tameka's house to see my daughter."

I saw the expressions on all of their faces change. They exchanged glances, but nobody said anything.

"What's the problem?"

They all shrugged their shoulders, and shook their heads. Kareem passed me the blunt again.

"When's the last time you heard from her?"

I inhaled. "Right before I got locked up."

The fellas laughed. I knew it sounded crazy.

"That's why I'm on my way up there now. I need some answers. And I want to see my daughter."

I saw Kareem glance at me strangely, but we all got distracted by a girl walking by with an unbelievable ass. Until she rounded the corner out of sight, every one of us was dumbstruck.

I passed the blunt back to Kareem. "Yo, I'm out. I'll come back and talk to you later after I check on my daughter."

I headed up the block toward Tameka's building, floating from the effects of the first weed I had smoked in five years.

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Excerpted from "King of the Dancehall"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Nick Cannon.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Freedom,
Tameka,
On the Run,
Clean Slate,
Work Will Work,
The Dancehall,
Don Dada,
Rude Awakening,
The Farmer,
Sweet Thing,
Teacher's Pet,
The Come Up,
The Jungle,
Sensual Seduction,
Double Crossed,
Good and Evil,
New Direction,
The Bishop,
Spellbound,
Black Magic,
Sanctuary,
Walk Like a Man,
King of the Jungle,
About the Author,
Copyright,