1st Floor Show me where

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1st Floor FICTION/K'wan Due Dec 20, 2023
New York : St. Martin's Griffin 2006.
Main Author
K'wan (-)
1st ed
Physical Description
326 p. ; 21 cm
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

Evelyn Panelli is of Italian, black, and Irish descent, with red hair and blue-green eyes and with the demeanor of a boy. She has lived a rough life in the streets as a member of the all-girl family, Twenty-Gang. At 17 she is sentenced to a jail term of no less than 18 months but no longer than two years in a juvenile detention center. Upon release, Eve quickly resumes her criminal lifestyle as a strong-arm robber. She also comes home to discover that her former partners, Felon and Butter, are now kings of the street. She and Felon have always had an attraction to one another but have maintained a business relationship. The DeNardises, a powerful Italian family, want to do more business in Harlem, but the son, Carlos, hates doing business with Butter and goes after his girl, Cassidy. The stakes are raised when Butter learns that Cassidy and Carlos have been dealing with one another. The conflict escalates, which forces Eve to single-handedly seek revenge for her family. --Lillian Lewis Copyright 2006 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this juicy, hard-hitting hip-hop romp, K'wan (Hoodlum) paints an almost too raw, black-and-white portrait of Eve Panelli, a banging little Harlem outlaw who's had to grow up fast since the murder of her parents-Joe-Joe, her Italian-Irish dad, a "soldier" in an Italian mob family, and Shanice, her black mother. At 17, Eve feels like a $5 whore when she gets out of juvenile detention after taking the heat for two fellow Harlem gangstas, Felon, whom she's secretly sweet on, and Butter, his closest road dawg. Felon loves Eve, but he's also a hustler who'd "rather be cold and rich than warm and broke" when he begins dealing with Carlo DeNardi, the degenerate son of the mobster who offed Eve's parents. Aside from her cool Uncle Bobby, a vet in a wheelchair, Eve's true "fam" becomes the Twenty-Gang sistaz. The brutal murder of Cassidy, Eve's best home girl and crime partner, leads to Eve's heart-stopping opportunity for revenge and a thrilling conclusion. Author tour. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Urban/hip-hop fiction readers, look out! Here comes Evelyn Pannetti, or Eve, as she is known on the streets. Orphaned at a young age, Eve has run with gangs most of her life and by age 17 has already done time. Back on the street, she must take control when the powerful drug-dealing DeNardi family hits Harlem and her best friend is murdered. Readers will be living a tough life vicariously as the beautiful, cunning, and dangerous Eve confronts crime, love, loss, and revenge in the Big Apple, wonderfully detailed here. The gritty, in-your-face violence will attract some readers and repel others, but this gangsta romp is indisputably a page-turner. K'Wan's (Hoodlum) leap into the world of the Mafia is a bit clich?d but will prove intriguing to readers who enjoy this type of fiction. Recommended for public libraries with contemporary African American fiction collections.-Lisa Jones, Tuscaloosa P.L., AL (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

This sleek, punchy, patently sexist and fairly forgettable hip-hop title by K'wan (Hoodlum, 2005, etc.) trails a young woman freshly sprung from jail as she gets entangled back in the Harlem hood. Evelyn Panelli, a knockout mixture of Italian, black and Irish, emerges from an 18-month jail sentence at age 19 after taking the rap for her so-called friends. Her crew includes Twenty-Gang sister Cassidy, a tall, fetching clotheshorse and trick-turner; Butter, the ruthless new head of the local drug-dealing den and Cassidy's sometimes lover; and his sweet-faced partner Felon, Eve's big-brother mentor who showed her the ropes in her youth and never forgot about her in jail. Needing money and connections, Eve is instantly swept back up into the hood's bad news, where the smooth young stallions call the shots and their slavish women will do anything--"hoeing," carjacking, robbery--for a little "paper" and "cheese." Eve wised up during her time in jail: A virgin still, she eschews prostitution and even entertains thoughts of getting educated, and she demonstrates some exemplary humanity by extending kindness to a mentally challenged friend, Beast, who was shot in the head as the result of a gang fight Eve herself started. But the quick action on the street proves a powerful lure, as does a renewed hunger to avenge the horrific murder of her parents, ambushed in their apartment by a white intruder as their young daughter looked on. When Eve finds out that Cassidy was killed by Carlo, son of the Mafia don, who probably had his hand in the death of her parents, her desire for revenge overwhelms her nobler instincts, setting off plenty of vicious bloodshed. An attempt to engender a romance between Felon and Eve fails sadly, as the two characters are not redeemed from or transformed by their murderous acts. Bright, brief lives that lead nowhere. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter One Cassidy stood in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, trying to get her hair clip to stay in place. She could've kicked herself for not letting her sister, Sheeka, braid it the day before. After getting frustrated, Cassidy threw the clip into the bathroom sink and just tied her hair in a ponytail. She tucked the yellow spandex T-shirt into her sky blue jeans, and strained to examine her ass in the mirror to make sure the fabric wasn't bunched up, giving her the "ass lumps." Normally Cassidy wouldn't dream of leaving the house without being dressed to kill, but comfort was more important than fashion for the drive ahead of her. Cassidy was one of those girls who, no matter what they're wearing are still banging. She was a tall girl who had long straight hair. She was a nice shade of brown with a china-doll face. She was kind of on the thin side, but Cassidy had enough body to turn heads. When she walked into a room, men couldn't help but notice her. Cassidy walked back into the room that she and Sheeka shared, and looked around in disgust. There were clothes strewn all over Sheeka's bed and the computer chair. This was just one more reason that she had to get out of her mother's house. Cassidy was more neat and organized, while Sheeka was a slob. It took Cassidy nearly ten more minutes to find the car keys. By then she was burnt, because she was already late and had a long drive ahead of her. After finding her keys she took one last look in the mirror and headed toward the front door. When she opened it, a drunken Sheeka was standing there, trying to open the neighbor's door with her key. She stood wide-legged, trying to keep her balance on the tiled floor. Her shapely thighs threatened to tear through the fabric of her much-too-tight outfit. Sheeka was Cassidy's sister, but they had two different fathers. Sheeka was short and dark-skinned like their mother. She was cute, but not nearly as pretty as Cassidy. For this she secretly resented her sister. She felt like people favored Cassidy because she was prettier. "Sheeka," Cassidy said, scaring the hell out of the girl. "What the hell are you doing?" "Hey, girl," Sheeka said with a slur. "What you doing coming outta Mr. Brown's house?" Cassidy looked at her sister as if she had bumped her head. "Girl, you are as drunk as a skunk." "Nah, I ain't, sis. I'm just a little tipsy. Will and them niggaz threw a party last night. It was off the hook!" Sheeka said, getting loud. "Girl, you better keep your voice down," Cassidy warned. "If Mommy catches your ass out here all fucked up, she's likely to kill you." "Please," Sheeka said, staggering into the house. "That woman won't be up for a few hours." "And what time do you think it is, Sheeka?" "'Bout . . . two or three," Sheeka said, trying to focus on her fingers as she counted off. "Sheeka, it's six-thirty in the damn morning." "Oops. Guess I was a lil off, huh?" Sheeka tried to walk to the bedroom but she had some trouble balancing on the stiletto heels that she was wearing. Sheeka fell flat on her face, causing her short black skirt to rise up. Cassidy looked at her little sister, disgusted as her entire ass became visible, due to a lack of panties. "Girl, you're a mess," Cassidy scolded. As she reached down to help her sister up, her nose was assaulted by the smell of liquor and sweat. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what Sheeka was doing at Will's party. She had tried to warn her sister time and again about the kinds of men who stalked those mean streets, but Sheeka was determined to do her. There wasn't but so much that Cassidy could do because Sheeka was almost eighteen. "I don't believe this shit," Cassidy said, helping Sheeka to her feet. "What the hell were you drinking?" "Wasn't nothing." Sheeka swayed. "Had a lil Henney, popped a few bottles. Nothing heavy. It sure was a bomb-ass party, though." "I'll bet," Cassidy said sarcastically. She helped her sister into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. She watched the drunken mess as she drifted instantly to sleep. Her little sister was going down the same road that their mother had danced on. She and her sister would definitely need to talk, but it would have to wait until she came back. Felon found himself up with the chickens. He had gotten a good night's sleep, so he was feeling quite refreshed. After he had bagged up the remaining ounce of coke, he lay out to watch a movie. The movie ended up watching him. Nevertheless, he was ready for the day. He needed to get up with his partner and handle some pressing business. Felon was a very handsome young man who danced on the borderline of being pretty. His body was athletic and muscular, but beneath baggy clothes he looked slim. He had skin the color of brown M&Ms and eyes that seemed to twinkle in certain light. Felon wasn't what you would call a lady's man, but he never found himself shorthanded when certain itches needed to be scratched. After taking a quick shower, Felon hopped into his blue Sean Jean sweat suit and his blue New Balance shoes. After checking himself out in the mirror and making sure his smile was on a million, Felon headed for the front door. One his way there, his little brother Sammy passed him in the hallway. Sammy was very dear to Felon. He was still a baby when their father was murdered so he really had no memory of him, but Felon carried the pain with him every day. Sammy was the reason Felon took it to the streets. He knew that he had to step up and fill their father's shoes as the man of the house. He had made a promise to himself to raise Sammy the right way and never subject him to having to go without. In a sense, Felon had traded his own life for his little brother's. Inwardly he hated the fact that he slung poison, but he really didn't have a whole lot of choices. Or at least that's what he constantly told himself. Felon had been a bright student in high school and even had the chance to go to college. He often pondered continuing his education, but the need for money overrode that. He couldn't waste four more years in school while his family went without. He needed to make some quick cash, and the grind was the quickest way to get it. "Blow up or throw up" was how he looked at it. He did what was necessary to ensure the survival of his family. "What up, lil nigga?" Felon asked. "Chilling, yo," Sammy said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. With the same dark skin and sparkling eyes, he looked like a ten-year-old version of Felon. "You getting ready for school?" "Uh huh." "You got paper?" Felon asked, fishing around in his pocket. "Nah uh." "Here," Felon said, fishing a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. "A man should never walk around without having some type of money in his pocket. That jewel is for free, kid." Felon rubbed his little brother's head and headed out the front door. When Felon got downstairs to the lobby, his two soldiers were waiting for him as instructed. The first soldier was a lanky kid who bopped a little too hard when he walked. He called himself Street Wise or Wise for short. The other soldier was a five-foot Spanish kid called Goosey. They were just two knucklehead cats from around the way that were looking to get down with somebody. Felon figured either one of two things would happen with the two. They would pan out and become good soldiers or they would be cannon fodder on a dummy mission. "What's good, fam?" Wise asked, leaning in to hug Felon. "Chilling," Felon said, keeping him at arm's length. He never got too personal with anyone who wasn't within his inner circle. "Check it, there're two packs in the building, right behind the door to the B stairwell. Y'all do the damn thang and by the time y'all finish them, somebody will be bringing you more. I'm out." Felon left without waiting for a response. He wasn't funny about dealing with the soldiers in the crew, but he just didn't fuck with the bird niggaz. They were good for whatever they were good for, but that was as far as it went. Felon had gotten his hands dirty in the past, but now that he was getting his weight up a little something, he tended to stay away from the bullshit. The less he dealt with people, the less they would have to say about him. You couldn't snitch on a nigga that you knew nothing about. That motto had saved him from seeing any real lengthy bids. Felon had been behind the wall, but never for more than a few months to a year or so at a time, and that had always been because of somebody else's fuckup. Felon felt his cell phone vibrating and wondered who the hell could be ringing him at that hour of the morning. Felon looked at his caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. When he answered the call, his ears were assaulted by the sounds Spice 1's "A Nigger Got No Heart." He knew it could only be one crazy-ass broad. "What up, Kiki?" "My nigga, Felon," Kiki said on the other end. "What you doing up at this hour?" "You know I don't waste a day, ma." "I know it, boy. Say, you still wanted me to see about that thing, right?" "For sure, ma. You got that?" "Not yet," she said looking out the window of her truck at a chromed-out Benz. "Me and Rah bout to handle that right now. Have my money when I hit the hood, nigga." "I got you, Kiki. Thanks." Felon hung up his phone and kept walking. Big Kiki was a part-time bouncer and a full-time criminal. She was an enforcer in the Twenty-Gang click. Both women and men feared Kiki on the streets. She was easily six feet tall and built to brawl. Kiki had a rep as being a knockout artist. Felon ducked into the store on the corner of 132nd and Madison Avenue. When he was out early enough, he would go into the store to get a coffee and a Daily News . He liked to spend money with the cats in that store, cause they treated everyone in the neighborhood with respect. As he waited for his coffee and sandwich, Felon took a minute to go through the paper. On one page he read about a family getting burned out of their home in Queens. On another page he read about a little girl getting hit with a stray bullet. As he thumbed toward the back he saw that the Knicks had lost to the Raptors by twenty. Felon decided against purchasing a newspaper that morning. The world was too damn depressing. Kiki hopped from the Eddie Bauer and looked around cautiously. They were in a quiet area of Brooklyn that consisted mostly of houses. She motioned for her partner Rah to follow. She and Rah looked like Laurel and Hardy trying to be discreet about sneaking up on someone's car. While Kiki was a big woman, Rah was a petite young girl with big eyes. Kiki reached up under her sweatshirt and removed the "Slim-Jim" she had been concealing. She jacked the rod down into the space between the window and the door until the lock sprang. Kiki quickly slid under the wheel and disconnected the alarm system. After fumbling with the proper wires, the car came to life. Kiki gave Rah the nod and she hopped back into Kiki's truck. Kiki pulled off in the Benz, with Rah following in the truck. When the owner of the car later found out that his car had been jacked, he complained to the police that it was hood shit. But to the two ladies who would reap the rewards of the heist, it was just another day at the office. Spooky crept down 140th Street, making sure he stayed close to the buildings. At that time of morning, there weren't that many people about. Still, for the kind of bullshit Spooky was doing, he couldn't run the risk of getting caught. He knew that if Felon or Butter caught wind of what he was doing, his life wouldn't be worth shit. Spooky continued to move up and down the block, serving the fiends as he went along. He kept two packs of bagged-up crack on him, so he had to pay attention to which pocket he dug into to serve each fiend. Both of the packs were identical. The only difference was that one package contained Felon's work and the other pack contained Spooky's. That's why he had to make sure that he was on point. Felon had been kind to Spooky when he was down and out, and Spooky had repaid him by trying to slit his throat. He was selling his own work and packaging it to look like Felon's. He was still moving work for Felon while he was hustling his wares, but it was still some underhanded shit. When Felon put Spooky on, he had promised to promote him once he had proven his worth. The promotion was taking a little too long for Spooky, so he went on the offensive. Spooky was only fifteen years old and still lived at home, so his bills were minimal, but to him he still needed shit. Spooky was a dude who had Gucci tastes, with a Kmart budget. He needed to come up. When Spooky had told his man Sean about what he had planned, Sean's exact words were, "You're gonna fuck around and get murdered." Sean would have no part in that scheme. Spooky hadn't really given it much thought, though. He felt that Sean was just being a pussy, while he was a nigga with heart. At least that's what was going on in his ignorant-ass mind. He figured that if he were to ever get caught, he might be able to talk his way out of it. Felon was far from a sucker, but he was a good dude. Spooky figured he'd give his boss a lame-ass excuse about trying to show that he was on a come-up and needed the extra bread. Felon might beat the hell out of Spooky, but he would probably let him keep his life. Butter was another story altogether. A lot of niggaz in the hood is gangsta, but Butter was downright mean. That boy got some kinda strange thrill out of seeing people hurting. Spooky had once heard a story about how some kid had called Butter's sister a bitch last summer. When Butter caught the kid, he made him run out onto the I-95. The kid had made it almost all the way across when an eighteen-wheeler mangled him. It was a good bet that if Butter was set on the case, Spooky would surely meet a very similar fate. He just had to make sure that he stayed one step ahead of Felon and his bulldog. Copyright © 2006 by K'wan Foye Excerpted from Eve by K'Wan Foye All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.