Colorful characters from Hunter's previous two novels (The Hearts of Men; Married But Still Looking) return in this earnest, well-intentioned exploration of the complexities of the urban African-American male experience. Marijuana dealer Jermaine Banks is nearing 30, and while he doesn't see anything wrong with his job ("he felt like he was doing Philadelphians a favor by providing a natural herb that helped folks calm the hell down"), his pregnant girlfriend and her policeman father want him to clean up and become a decent role model for his three-year-old son, Khalil, and his unborn child. Meanwhile, across town, 51-year-old Calvin Sharpe, a shady real estate magnate, asks his wife, Robin, for a divorce so he can marry his white trophy mistress; Robin promptly informs their 15-year-old son, C.J., who has polycystic disease, that Calvin also abandoned another son-Jermaine. When Jermaine's best friend is gunned down by a rival drug gang, Jermaine knows the law of the street demands that he retaliate. Several more twists follow: Jermaine discovers that Khalil's mom is a lesbian; C.J.'s kidneys fail him; and Jermaine's uncle Herb, a heroin addict just out of prison, steals $30,000 of Jermaine's pot proceeds. All of these complications strengthen Jermaine's resolve to find a decent job and get Khalil out of the ghetto. Despite the book's somewhat clumsy prose, prosaic plots and Pollyanna resolutions, motivational speaker Hunter tells a readable tale with an uplifting message. 5-city author tour. (Aug. 12) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Trouble Man
Narrated by Mark Damon Johnson
Travis HunterUnabridged — 7 hours, 24 minutes
Trouble Man
Narrated by Mark Damon Johnson
Travis HunterUnabridged — 7 hours, 24 minutes
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Overview
Editorial Reviews
Hunter’s writing is fluid and fast, and the dialogue is often raw and gritty yet comical.”
—Black Issues Book Review
“DRAMATIC AND GRITTY . . . Travis Hunter raises the bar . . . with the racy Trouble Man. . . . Expansive in its exploration of male accountability, Trouble Man not only shows the consequences of irresponsible behavior, but also allows for redemption and empathy.”
—Upscale magazine
“HIGHLY RECOMMENDED—AND Y’ALL KNOW I DON’T RECOMMEND MUCH!”
—ERIC JEROME DICKEY
Author of The Other Woman
“A VERY EMOTIONAL STORY about a man making choices about being a man for his self-esteem and for the respect of his family.”
—Booklist
“Once again, Travis Hunter gives us unforgettable characters that move and touch us in a way very few authors have done. Trouble Man is full of surprises, and it shows that, with patience, love, and a willingness to look deep within our souls, we all have the capacity to grow and change for the better. This is fabulous work from a writer who has proven once again that he’s here to stay.”
—MARY J. JONES,
PageTurner.net
“Entertaining, funny, true to life . . . a novel about love, war, family, and people struggling to do the right thing. I felt that I knew these people.”
—MALIK YOBA, actor and playwright
“Uplifting . . . colorful characters from Hunter’s previous two novels return in this earnest, well-intentioned exploration of the complexities of the urban African-American male experience.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Colorful characters from Hunter’s previous two novels return in this earnest, well-intentioned exploration of the complexities of the urban African-American male experience. . . . Hunter tells a readable tale with an uplifting message.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Hunter continues to deliver entertaining, funny, true-to-life stories with his latest, Trouble Man, a novel about love, war, family, and people struggling to do the right thing. I felt that I knew these people.”
—MALIK YOBA, actor and playwright
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940171312275 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Recorded Books, LLC |
| Publication date: | 07/28/2008 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
Trouble Man
By Travis Hunter
Random House
Copyright © 2003 Travis Hunter
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780345512567
Chapter One
1
Jermaine’s Day
Jermaine Banks sat on the side of the bathtub as his three-year-old-son, Khalil, played in the sudsy water with a green-and-white plastic boat. The boat was one of the few toys that remained from Jermaine’s own childhood. Khalil loved it and wouldn’t take a bath without it. As Jermaine watched his child’s carefree smile, he felt uneasy. He knew that, in order to keep that smile on his son’s face, he was going to have to make some drastic changes in his life. But how? He was almost thirty years old with only a high school education and absolutely no work experience. Just as he got lost in his thoughts he looked up to see his pregnant girlfriend, Erin, in the doorway.
“Are you guys almost done?” Erin whined, crossing her arms.
“We just got in, Erin. Give us a minute,” Jermaine said, shaking his head.
That girl wants everything on her time, he thought.
“I’m just checking, no need for the attitude,” Erin said as she turned and stomped down the stairs to the living room.
Jermaine shook his head again and went back to washing his son. For the most part he loved Erin and she was a good woman. She had her ways, but who didn’t? They had been together through a lot of thick and thin. Even when Jermaine had stepped out on her and got Khalil’s mother, Amani, pregnant while Erin was completing herundergraduate work at Morgan State University down in Baltimore. But then again, that forgiveness had come with a price, and now that Jermaine was trying to take a more active role in Khalil’s life, he was starting to notice that Erin was pretty ambivalent about her feelings toward his son. Sometimes she went overboard, trying to act as if Khalil were her best friend, like making sure he had a bedroom at her place, but whenever she was upset with Jermaine, her true feelings about Khalil surfaced.
The last few months had been pretty stressful for both of them: Erin getting used to the idea of being a real mom and Jermaine with the burden of becoming a daddy for the second time with no real plans for his future. Rightfully so, Jermaine seemed to be getting it the worst; it seemed as if every day someone was on his case about getting a real job and leaving his hustling days behind him. But just the thought of wearing one of those fast-food uniforms turned Jermaine’s stomach. As far as he was concerned, those kinds of jobs were for high school kids and grown-up losers. Plus, he didn’t see anything wrong with his current “job”—selling weed. As a matter of fact, he felt like he was doing Philadelphians a favor by providing a natural herb that helped folks calm the hell down.
“Jermaine. Jermaine,” Khalil called out, with his arms outstretched toward his father.
“What’s up, lil guy?”
“I’m ready to get out of the bathtub.”
“Okay.” Jermaine pulled the stopper and lifted his son onto the toilet seat. He toweled him dry, rubbed lotion all over his already soft skin, and helped him into his favorite Superman pajamas. The kind with the feet attached.
“You’re all set, my man.”
“Will you sleep with me?”
“You scared?”
“Yep,” Khalil said with no shame.
“Man, how you gonna be a tough guy all day and a big baby at night?”
“I am tough.” Khalil flexed his muscles for his father to examine. “But I still want you to sleep with me. Please.” Khalil smiled.
Jermaine smiled too. He placed his hands on both sides of Khalil’s face and looked down at his son. Khalil looked like a miniature version of himself. They shared the same caramel complexion and the same big brown eyes. Khalil even wore his hair in cornrow braids like his father.
As Jermaine stared into his child’s eyes, he wondered if he had what it took to raise Khalil the way he deserved to be reared. An overwhelming fear came over him. Nothing else on God’s green earth scared him like letting his son down.
“Yeah, I guess I can lay down with you for a minute. But you know what? I want you to stop calling me Jermaine and call me Daddy. Is that a’ight with you?”
“Yep,” Khalil said, unaware of the powerful responsibility the word carried for his father.
Jermaine turned around and let Khalil jump on his back. He walked with him into his bedroom and laid him down on his bed.
“Jermaine, I mean Daddy. Miss Erin said I need to say my prayers.”
“And Miss Erin is right. Let’s do it.”
They both got down on their knees and thanked God for his blessings. Once they were done, Jermaine lay down beside his son, and before a good five minutes were up, Khalil was snoring. Jermaine eased out of the bed and made the dreaded trip downstairs to have the same old tired conversation with Erin.
“So is he off to sleep?” Erin asked as she reached for the remote control to turn the television off.
“Sure is,” Jermaine said, plopping down in the love seat across from her. “And I wish I could join him.” Jermaine sighed, rubbing his temples.
“You can join him but you’re going to have to face the truth about yourself one day, Jermaine.”
“What truth?” Jermaine asked wearily. “I already know the truth about me, Erin. I live it every day. But what I don’t need is for you to sit around all day figuring out ways to judge me.”
“Nobody’s judging you. But you need to get it together because we are having a baby and I’m not about to let you have my child around your drug-dealing friends while I’m at work. Now, you’ve let it be known that I can’t tell you what to do when it comes to Khalil, but that line won’t fly when the baby gets here because this child will be my responsibility.”
“Baby, baby, baby. That’s all you ever talk about. That and me turning into some kind of nerd. This pregnancy is still suspect.”
“Suspect? What is that suppose to mean?”
“All of a sudden Erin just has to have a baby. For the life of me I can’t understand why you feel like you need to compete with Amani.”
“Compete with Amani?” Erin frowned. “Please! Trust me when I say that hood rat is no competition for me.”
“Look at you. Always putting yourself up on some pedestal. If you were as high and mighty as you think you are, you wouldn’t be trying to trap me with a baby.”
Erin started laughing. Laughing so hard she had to hold her side.
“You must’ve fell and bumped your head. Jermaine, what is there about you that would make me want to trap you? You don’t have a job. You got major baby-momma drama and there’s a new police report out on you every month. Please! Now you need to come down off of your pedestal. If there’s anybody that should be doing the trapping it’s you.”
“You crazy! Your family’s got you thinking you’re some kind of prize.”
“Here we go,” Erin said, huffing, leaning back against the sofa with her arms crossed.
“That’s right, here we go. You didn’t have a problem with where my money was coming from when it was paying for those expensive books that you needed for your bachelor’s and your master’s, which you only got so your mother could brag to her corny-ass friends, but that’s another subject.”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Erin shot back.
“Whatever,” Jermaine said, knowing how sensitive Erin was about her family. “Let’s talk about that new car that you had to have, that brand-new Acura TL that my dirty money paid for, or what about when that dirty money paid your rent and all your other bills for two whole years so you could concentrate on school? But now you’re straight and I’m the bad guy.”
“I never told you or encouraged you to sell one dime bag. As a matter of fact, I begged you to stop and get a real job.”
“Yeah, after you got everything you needed. Damn hypocrite!”
“That still doesn’t change the fact that you need a job. And I can do without the name-calling.”
“What kind of job do you want me to get? You want me to throw on a suit and tie and head down to Center City and walk up in one of those high-rises? Maybe then I’ll be good enough for you, huh? You don’t have a problem spending my dough but you got a problem with where it comes from.”
“You know what, Jermaine? You are right. I didn’t always have a problem with how you made your money, but I’ve grown up and you haven’t. When are you going to grow up? You’re still doing the same things you did when we were in high school. The only difference is you went from misdemeanors to felonies.”
“So now I gotta operate on your schedule?”
“Just get a life,” Erin said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She pushed the button on the remote control, letting Jermaine know that their conversation was over.
“You self-centered, arrogant bitch,” Jermaine growled.
Erin’s eyes widened and her creamy light face turned red as an apple. As thugged out as Jermaine was, he had never used profanity around her, never mind calling her that word.
She stood and screamed, “Get out of my house! Get your child and get out of my house!” Erin pointed toward the door.
Jermaine jumped to his feet and ran upstairs. He couldn’t have thought of a better idea for the both of them, because at this point his blood was boiling and he couldn’t stand the sight of Erin one more minute. He felt used and betrayed by the one woman he thought had his back. He knew he had his issues but she wasn’t the one to talk. Here was a woman who wouldn’t know how to cross the street if her mother didn’t tell her, trying to tell him how to live his life. He raced into the room where Khalil was sleeping peacefully and quickly gathered his son and all of his belongings.
“Where we going?” Khalil asked sleepily.
“Go back to sleep, man.”
He raced back downstairs and slightly bumped Erin as he passed her. She exaggeratedly grabbed her shoulder, acting like it was broken.
“Bye, Miss Erin.” Khalil waved as his father carried him out to the street.
Erin sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes, and looked away.
Twenty minutes later, Jermaine parked his black BMW X5 on the street in front of his mother’s row house and turned off the ignition. But before he could open his door there was a huge crash and broken glass went flying everywhere. Startled, he ducked down to avoid being hit by whatever else might be coming.
“Get outta this truck,” an angry man’s voice growled as he reached into the now open window, unlocked and opened the door. He grabbed Jermaine and pulled him to his feet, pushing a gun in his face. “I oughta kill yo’ black ass right here, right now,” the man growled.
The sound of the glass breaking woke Khalil, who had been sleeping peacefully in the backseat, and he let the entire neighborhood know of his displeasure by crying at the top of his lungs.
Once Jermaine got his bearings, he focused on the face in front of him. The bloodshot eyes, the dark skin with a mole on the tip of a pointed nose, and the eighties-style Jheri curl belonged to none other than Roscoe Jones, Erin’s father. The hate subsided a little in Roscoe’s red eyes when he heard Khalil’s cries.
“You trynna make my baby girl have a miscarriage?” Roscoe whispered in a furious tone.
Slap! Punch! Slap!
“Man,” Jermaine said, doubling over in pain. “What’s your damn problem?”
“Didn’t I tell you the next time you made my baby girl cry, I was gonna kill ya? You don’t upset nobody that’s pregnant. Babies come out all deformed and shit. Now take that boy in the house and come right back out here.”
Jermaine touched his lip and looked at the blood on his hand. “Roscoe, have you lost your mind?”
Slap! “I told you to take that child in the house and bring yo’ ass back.” Slap! “I ain’t playing wit’ you,” Roscoe said as he put his police-issue gun back into its holster.
Jermaine closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. I don’t believe this broke-lookin’ Barry White out here beating my ass, he thought.
Jermaine walked around his truck and unbuckled Khalil from his car seat. He picked up his son and placed him on his shoulder, which was enough to quiet him.
“Hurry up, son. I ain’t got all night,” Roscoe said in his country accent, leaning against the hood of Jermaine’s SUV.
Jermaine walked into his mother’s house and sat Khalil down on the sofa.
“What’s going on? Why is the police out there?” Nanette “Nettie” Banks asked her son, turning away from a rerun of Sanford and Son. “And why is your lip bleeding?”
“That’s Roscoe,” Jermaine said, trying to downplay the incident.
“Wait a minute. Roscoe hit you?” Without waiting on an answer Nettie went into a rage. “I don’t play nobody puttin’ they hands on my child. Who in the hell does Roscoe think he is?” Nettie hurried toward the kitchen, no doubt going for her gun. “I’ll show that mother—”
“Hold up, Mom,” Jermaine said, grabbing his mother’s arm to stop her. He knew he had to come clean with his mother or in a matter of minutes Roscoe would be lying on his stomach in the back of an ambulance as the paramedics tried to remove a few .32-caliber slugs from his gluteus maximus. “Erin’s pregnant. That’s why he’s tripping.”
“Pregnant?” Mrs. Banks yelled, then reared back and planted one across Jermaine’s face.
Slap!
Jermaine held his face and frowned. Man, what is this? Slap the shit outta Jermaine day?
“Boy, what is your problem? You barely can take care of this one here with his cute self.” Nettie alternated from ranting to calm just as she always did when Khalil was around. “I’m getting too old to be takin’ care of babies all the time.”
“Who said you had to take care of my kids?” Jermaine said, still holding his face.
“Who else is going to take care of ’em, Jermaine? Not you.
Continues...
Excerpted from Trouble Man by Travis Hunter Copyright © 2003 by Travis Hunter.Excerpted by permission.
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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