The setting for this book is on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.  Its characters are typical of many African Americans who reside in Moss Point, Pascagoula and surrounding areas of < s t 1:State>Mississippi.

Many authors have written about the beautiful coastal towns of Mississippi but none have captured the underworld of Black life with its roots so deeply entrenched in drugs, gambling and prostitution.

Bo-Gator, the “King of Mean,” will take you to the very bowels of the southern gangster crime world.  For anyone with the steel nerves to challenge him, he is always ready to deliver swift, unrelenting vengeance.  He is ruthless, self-centered and more cold-blooded than his trained killer pit bulls.

The small town drug dealers hate and fear him.  Tammy, his woman – despite his depraved sexual antics – loves him more than she loves herself, and will kill any man trying to harm him, and any woman trying to have him.

Warning!  Do not read this book if you currently have difficulty sleeping.  You are hereby warned that once you become entangled in Bo-Gator’s web, you may never have a peaceful night’s sleep again…so be very afraid!

Crime Don’t Pay, Book I:   < s t 1 : S t a te>Mississippi Madness

Growing up in the small city of Moss Point, Mississippi, the oldest of six children, things were rough. Bo-Gator never knew his father, and although his mother worked seemingly non-stop, they were debatably the poorest residents in the community. As the eldest child, he was the first to be crossed off the Christmas shopping list, crossed off the school shopping list and was the first to be put on the drop-out-of-school-and-get-a-job list.

Although his formal education barely reached fifth grade, he had a street education equal to that of a Ph.D.  Whatever he has to do to make money – he does. And with the exception of selling his ass, Bo-Gator has done it.

At this particular stage of the game, which is his life, he makes his money mainly in two ways: gambling and slangin’ cocaine - crack cocaine. In both fields, Bo-Gator is a master. To master either field, one must possess two unwavering qualities -- nerves of steel and absolutely no conscience at all.

After finishing off his breakfast of grits, eggs, ham, toast and grape jelly, Bo-Gator washed it all down with a tall glass of what he calls “50-50 Split”… half coffee – half Seagram’s gin. Though lately, it has become more like “70-30 Split” with the split favoring the Seagram’s.

 After downing the 50-50, he went to the clothes he’d worn last night, which lay in a pile on the living room floor of the trailer. He picked up the blue jeans and fished a half-ounce of weed out of one of the pockets, along with a cigarette lighter and box of Peach Optimo cigars. Taking the ingredients to the table, he began rolling blunts so fat that they appeared to be pregnant – which of course they were, impregnated with the best buds in town – red hair sensimilla. After rolling five blunts, enough to get the day started, Bo-Gator lit one up and inhaled deeply, holding his breath as if he were trapped under water, savoring the last air he’d ever breathe. As he exhaled, he reached for the half empty bottle of gin that had been left on the table with the rest of the breakfast dishes.

  The feeling of no pain started to settle over him and he smiled, saying to himself,

“Yeaaah, it’s on today baby!”