Well......
It just seems silly to have a gang-banger say to a cop something like:
"My friends and I were cruising through the neighborhood when we heard shots fired. They sounded like they came from a nine-millimeter handgun, officer."
To me, this kind of speech would be truly annoying, because I'd have a very difficult time taking the book seriously at that point.
Even something like: "Man, we were just driving through, and we heard these shots. Sounded like a nine..." seems woefully inaccurate.
I'm just going to jump in with both feet. Please tell me what's annoying (or flat-out wrong) about the following: (It's a flashback to 1995, when MC Antwan Ware and two fellow military trainees head into the back country of Mississippi and stop at the only black-owned fishing camp along the Pascagoula River.)
As the three climbed out of the car, they were met by a large, round black man who grinned and introduced himself as Ike, but then quickly added that his real name was Eki. Eki Saunders, of the Saunders family up in Meridian.
They stepped up onto the long porch, Ike asking if they'd like a Coke, apologizing that he didn't sell anything stronger. "I can, 'cause Jackson County's wet. Been wet for a long spell. But muh wife didn't want me sellin' no beer. She's gone, now, been gone about five year. But I figgered I was gettin' too old to go get a permit. Didn't have money for no coolers, anyways. Don't mind if folks brings a six-pack or two with 'em, though, when we goes out."
The guys thought better of inquiring whether Ike's wife was deceased or had simply walked away. Instead, Marques kept up the idle conversation, saying he'd heard that nearly half the counties in Mississippi were dry. It was among the many things their squadron sergeant had warned them about when they’d arrived two months before: You could get in trouble just taking booze through a dry county, if you got caught. "Yeah," said Ike, "an' y'all gots to be careful, bein' black an' all. Easy to getcha seff pulled over."
"DWB," Marques said with a snort. "Driving While Black."
"Wal," said Ike, "if ya do wants a beer, ya gots ta go back ta the highway an' go up ta the tote-um store."
The three looked at Ike, baffled, and he let out a hoot of laughter, the dark skin of his round face scrunching up around his eyes.
"You ain't never heard of a tote-um store? That's what some folks around these parts calls a convenience store. Ya know, ya buys things an' ya tote 'em home."
As the laughter died down, Antwan asked about Ike's real name.
"Wal, I's born in '42. My great-granmama, on my mama's side, was from Niger (he pronounced it with a hard "J"). Come over as a chile jess after the war…."
"The War? World War…? You don't mean the Civil War?" Marques asked with unfeigned shock.
For the record: Ike's contribution to the story lasts about one page. Nobody else talks like this. Later, we meet Antwan's half-brother who does speak an inner-city dialect, but again, only briefly.
Your thoughts?
