Hoods and Hustlers

By R.Z. Sheppard

Subtitled Five Years Inside the Franklin Avenue Posse (a reference to an Afro-Caribbean street gang in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, N.Y.), Douglas Century's Street Kingdom (Warner Books; 415 pages; $25) charts a turbid interracial friendship between two ambitious young men.

One is the author, a Canadian-born Ivy Leaguer whose resume lists work on the Forward, the English-language version of New York City's aged Yiddish daily. The other protagonist, schooled at New York State's best correctional institutions, has an arrest record that includes assault, drug dealing and firing a machine pistol from a speeding car.

Century's dangerous acquaintance answers to the names Knowledge Born, K-God or simply K. All identities in the story have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, which should include Century. Much of his "inside" information is hearsay. And his practice of using aliases in nonfiction is no less dubious because it is commonplace and a legal safeguard. But Century wants to have his fact and fiction at the same time. It can be tricky. If readers overlook an early cryptic footnote, they will be unaware of the name alterations until they reach a disclosure at the end of the book. Moreover, it turns out that even the aliases have aliases.

If you don't mind that ploy and the nonstop obscenities faithfully transcribed in the name of realism, Street Kingdom can be a dramatic subway safari. Shuttling between Manhattan and Brooklyn, Century is an enthusiastic guide to polyglot and polychrome New York City. When outlaw and author first met nearly seven years ago at a lower Manhattan nightclub, K was trying to make it as a hip-hop lyricist and performer. He had the look (270 lbs. of muscular intimidation draped in clothing loose enough to conceal an arsenal) and a showman's instincts. In the book his stage name is American Dread, suggesting both the nation's historical fear of black uprisings and Jamaica's popular hairstyle.

As Century tells it, K did not get a career break because his vocals were too complex to catch on. Judge for yourself: "Straight and simple/ My s___ be mental/ Comin' for your temple/ Soon as they put on instrumental."

The man behind the rap is undeniably more complicated. He has a wife and baby he cares deeply about. He holds down two jobs as a clothing-store guard. He struggles to control mood swings and violent urges. When not wowing Century with gang-war stories and introducing him to a .50-cal. handgun known as the Desert Eagle, he alternates between sounding like a fatalist and a self-help guru. "Think negative, dwell on the negative, and somethin' negative is surely gonna happen," he tells his compliant Boswell.

Plenty of bad things happen in Street Kingdom, and K's easily injured pride and volcanic temper could mean further trouble ahead. The future looks brighter for Century. Perhaps he will get his interracial-buddy story optioned in Hollywood. Then the difference between fact and fiction would no longer matter.

--By R.Z. Sheppard