Gutter

chapter 1

LENOX AVENUE was especially crowded that night. Summertime was in full swing, so the streets were alive with activity. A dozen or so young men crowded the park, either playing ball or waiting for next on the double courts. It was dark out, but children still ran in and out of the park playing tag or climbing the monkey bars. Even in light of the past few months, Harlem had gained back its luster.

Lloyd sat on the stoop, kicking it with several of the homeys and drinking a forty ounce. The Cincinnati Reds fitted that crowned his dome was tilted slightly to the right. The lesser soldiers sat around listening to him tell war stories. Some were factual, but most were fabrications of the truth.

“Word to mine, son, these niggaz is mad fake,” Lloyd declared, swigging from the forty bottle. “Muthafuckas be acting like our click ain’t the tightest out here, fuck Harlem!”

Lloyd fashioned himself as somewhat of a big man on the streets. Early on in his youth he made a name for himself by being a general knucklehead. He had been arrested several times, but had never done more than a few months in jail. He made his climb from a low-level nobody to a blip on the radar. Lloyd was eighteen and down with one of the largest gangs in the country, the Bloods.

“Yeah, fuck them niggaz,” a young man wearing a Cleveland Cavaliers jersey added, trying to sound surer of himself than he really was. “But yo…” He hesitated for a minute. “Man, I heard they had this shit sewed up not so long ago.”

“That’s bullshit. They tried to get it popping, but we stomped them muthafuckas!” Lloyd declared. The young men stood around debating history of the B &C rivalry in New York and watching the world go by. Hearing their own voices, coupled with the sights and sounds of Harlem made them totally oblivious to what was about to go down.

Two mountain bikes were coasting along the shadows of the street in front of the building. The riders were dressed in oversized white T-shirts that laid flat across their laps, but if you looked closely you could see the slight awkward lumps. Hook and Noodles were the latest lost souls who had found something of worth in the “movement” as they liked to call it. They had murder on their minds and big things on their persons.

A kid by the name of Benny, who happened to have the misfortune of being with Lloyd, was the first to notice the duo. “Who them niggaz?”

When Lloyd turned around the beer in his mouth quickly dried into a paste as the cyclists drew matching.40 calibers. Noodles’s face twisted into a mask of pure hatred as he skidded to a stop and jerked the trigger.

“Harlem muthafucka!”

The whole avenue seemed to stop moving as the sound of the.40 cut through the night air. Benny clutched at his neck as a large chunk of it and his collarbone came loose. Blood sprayed over his comrades and a girl who was coming out of the building. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but another blast from the.40 sent her flying back through the door she had just exited.

The kid in the basketball jersey flipped backward as Hook gave him two to the chest. Lloyd thought about fleeing until he found himself staring down the barrel of two high-powered handguns.

“Chill!” Lloyd pleaded, crouching in the corner.

“Fuck that chill shit, nigga, you know what it is!” Hook hissed.

There was a coldness in his eyes that told Lloyd that he was going to die no matter what he did or said. He tried to bolt, but Noodles tripped him into a pile of garbage. Hook yanked Lloyd roughly to his feet and shoved the barrel of the.40 under Lloyd’s chin.

“The big homey wanted you to have this,” Hook said before pulling the trigger. Lloyd’s body jerked once and his brains shot up through the top of his head. Hook cursed and wiped the blood and chunks from his face with the bandanna he had wrapped around his wrist.

“Damn, nigga, you almost got that shit on my whites!” Noodles scolded his partner for the mess he had made with Lloyd.

“Nigga, stop crying. The O.G. says the bodies keep dropping until he says otherwise,” Hook shot back.

Noodles looked at the several dead bodies and shook his head. “All this over one dead nigga?”

“He wasn’t just some nigga, he was a legend and you better not let the big homey hear you talking that crazy shit,” Hook scolded. “Speaking of crazy shit though, why’d you pop the bitch?” He nodded toward the young girl sprawled on the steps.

Noodles just shrugged. “Casualty of war, my nigga. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

KENYATTA KNELT on his balcony looking out at the sunrise. He touched his head to the ground, while he went into his third repetition of the prayer. His long braids swept gently across his naked back. Fallen Soldier was tattooed across his shoulders, while a portrait of his best friend stretched down his spine. After completing the prayer ritual, Gutter rose to his feet.

Gutter walked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing. Beads of dew-clung to his body, causing him to sparkle in the orange glow. Below people jogged and walked their dogs through the quiet Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. For the umpteenth time, he wished his comrade had lived to see what he had made of his life.

Kenyatta Soladine, aka Gutter, was the most troublesome son of Algerian immigrants. Born and raised in South Central Los Angeles, Gutter knew just what a hard knock life it was. After the death of his father and grandfather, it had been up to the streets to raise him. Gutter’s mother did what she could to keep her son on the straight and narrow, but the hood had always been his first love.

Gutter ate, slept, breathed, and fantasized about the hustle. He was a man who had been through so much that the life of a square held no place in his world. Gutter believed in and respected Allah, but unlike most people, he wouldn’t waste time on his knees waiting for the Most High to shape his destiny. He would do it himself.

He stepped from the balcony into his bedroom, feeling the warm rush of air on his neck and chest. There was a time when Gutter would sleep through the sacred hour of prayer, but since the nightmares began he and sleep didn’t always see eye-to-eye. The master bedroom of the duplex was dark, but the sun coming over the horizon was beginning to illuminate it. The first few rays had already crept up to the floor and gently touched the sleeping girl’s face.

He leaned down and brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead, and found that his fingers came away damp. Gutter couldn’t help but wonder if Sharell’s sleep was as fitful as his had been. He had literally taken her through hell and back and she was still with him. The murders, the drugs, him dying and rising again like the fabled Lazarus. She had been through it all. If he had it his way, she would never see another moment of hurt. Life would be good for his boo, but that didn’t change the fact that he had business to handle. Blood would answer for blood.

Tucking his.38 snub into the waistline of his sweats, Gutter made his way down the stairs. The sun hadn’t made it to the hall yet, so that remained dark. He didn’t need any light though. Gutter performed this routine so often that he could do it with his eyes closed. He crossed through the spacious living room and retracted the metallic blinds. The orange rays of the sun seeped through the window and coated the living room in a soothing light.

The floors were made of mahogany and polished to an almost mirrored finish. The cream-colored sofa and love seat were made from butter-soft leather that had a sunken effect for the few privileged to sit in them. The apartment was decorated more for comfort than floss.

After securing the place, Gutter began his calisthenics. He started with push-ups, then went to sit-ups and back again. This went on for about a half hour or so. Often if he tried to work out too hard the old wounds began to ache. Cross had restored his body as best he could, but some of the wounds would still take time to completely heal. He hated the assassin for what he was, but was grateful that he had allowed him to breathe on his own again.

After the workout, he proceeded to the kitchen to make breakfast for himself and his lady. The meal consisted of eggs, waffles, and turkey bacon. No swine would be tolerated in the Soladine household. After completing the meal, Gutter proceeded to set the table.

SHARELL SAT bolt upright in the king-sized bed. Her gown was drenched with sweat, while her heart threatened to leap from her chest. She clutched the cross around her neck and tried to banish the fading images in her mind. It had been awhile since she had enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of the dead. She always put God first in her life, but she knew she would have to atone for the part she played in the story that had unfolded.

Donning her robe and slippers, Sharell made her way into the hall. The first thing she noticed was the smell of breakfast being cooked. The scent greeted her nostrils and sent a signal to her stomach. Turkey bacon, she figured. She would know the smell anywhere. She enjoyed the tender strips of meat, but longed for her lost pork. There was really no comparison between the two.

When she got downstairs, Gutter had already set the table. The plates were decorated with fruits and dressing for appearance, and orange juice filled the crystal goblets. Smiling at her from the far side of the table was Gutter.

“Hey, baby,” he said, getting up and pulling her chair out for her, “did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” she lied. She didn’t want to upset Gutter with tales of her nightmares. She had mentioned the dreams to him before, but had never told him the extent of them.

Gutter gave thanks to Allah, while she said a prayer to her god, before tearing into the food. They made small conversation at the table, but nothing significant. It had been this way for a while now. Gutter was still as attentive and caring as ever, but his mind always seemed to be elsewhere. It was no secret where that was.

“So, what you getting into today, baby?” Sharell asked, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth.

Gutter shrugged. “Probably bend a few corners. I got some things I gotta take care of on the set.”

“The set,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Kenyatta, you spend more time in the streets than a little bit. When you gonna give them corners up?”

“When the black man can get a fair shake in America.” He winked.

She gave him a mock laugh. “I see you got jokes this morning.”

“Ain’t nothing funny about chasing a dollar, baby.”

“Then why continue to do it?” she asked. Gutter gave her a look like he didn’t understand the question so she elaborated. “Kenyatta, we’ve got money saved up and I’m no stranger to hard work. Why don’t you get up out them streets?”

Gutter laughed, but Sharell’s face remained serious. “Baby, you know I can’t do that right now. I’ve got unfinished business to take care of.”

She knew what he meant without him having to say it directly. She had been thrilled beyond words when he woke up from the coma. Through the grace of God her lover had been returned to her, but the man who got up out of that hospital bed wasn’t the man she knew. On the surface he was still her Kenyatta, but there was a change in his soul. Though no one blamed him for what happened to Lou-Loc, Gutter felt otherwise. He believed that if he had been there his friend would still be alive. Instead of focusing on healing, his thoughts were consumed with revenge. No matter how much Sharell fought him on it he wouldn’t let the vendetta go, blood would answer for blood. Sharell was forced to watch helplessly as her lover slipped further and further into the darkness. She could only pray that the Lord would deliver him from the insane quest before it consumed him.

“Kenyatta”-she placed her hand over his-“no matter how much work you put in, you can’t bring him back.”

“Come on, Sharell, don’t start tripping this morning.” He pulled his hand away.

“Kenyatta, I’m not the one tripping, you are. Baby, I know how you feel, believe me-”

“Sharell, ain’t no way in hell you could know how I feel.” His words were sharp, but the anger wasn’t directed toward her. “My brother is dead… gone… fucking outta here. Them niggaz killed him like a dog in the street when all he wanted to do was get out of the game, and I’m supposed to let that ride? Fuck that, it’s over when all them busters is dead.” He slammed his fist against the table, nearly knocking over Sharell’s orange juice.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. It took all of his concentration to stop the mounting rage from spilling over. “I see him every night, Sharell. Whenever I close my eyes I see my friend.” Gutter placed his face in his hands and she almost thought she heard him sobbing. “He shouldn’t have gone out like that, I should’ve been there.”

Sharell got up from her chair and went to kneel beside Gutter. She moved his hands from his face and looked into his glassy eyes. “Kenyatta, the Lord decides who he calls home and when. Even if you had been there you can’t say for sure that Lou-Loc would still be alive. It could’ve been two dead black boys instead of one. Baby”-she ran her fingers through his nappy beard-“it’s a sad thing that happened to Lou-Loc, but you can’t change what has already come to pass. You weren’t there with Lou-Loc so you could be here with me”-she placed his hand over her stomach-“with us.”

This brought a faint smile to his lips. “Yeah, I gotta make sure my little man comes up right.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“Or little girl,” she corrected him. With Gutter’s help, she got off the floor and moved back to her seat.

“Whatever, you know damn well my first child gotta be a son.”

“All your first child has to be is healthy, Ken. Boy or girl it’s still gonna be ours.”

After breakfast Sharell cleared the table while Gutter went upstairs to prepare for the day. From their walk-in closet, he chose a pair of blue jeans and a white Air Force. After pulling on his white T-shirt, he retrieved his chain from the dresser. It was a thirty-inch platinum cable that twirled in on itself and around the diamonds. The piece was a script G that had sapphires embedded in the grooves. The last accessory was a black.40 caliber, which he slipped into his pocket. He was ready to hit the streets.

chapter 2

DANNY-BOY LEANED against the black Escalade watching the people watch him. Dressed in a blue hoodie and sagging blue jeans, he stuck out like a sore thumb in the upper-class neighborhood. It didn’t offend him though. He got a kick out of their reactions. One woman nearly snatched her dog off its feet for wandering too close to the banger.

Daniel “Danny-Boy” Thomas got his name because of his youthful appearance. He was twenty, but looked fifteen. His skin was the color of caramel, and he always wore his hair in a wavy Caesar. He was one of the set’s newest recruits. When Gutter found him, he was a young knucklehead looking for acceptance. Under the O.G.’s tutelage, Danny-Boy was becoming a true-blue soldier.

When Danny spotted Gutter coming down the steps of the brownstone, he immediately straightened his posture, so as not to look like he wasn’t on point. He respected and admired Gutter, so he was always looking for approval. Danny put on his best mean face and nodded.

“Boy, you look like you just swallowed a lemon,” Gutter joked.

“Why you always gotta clown me, cuz?” Danny asked.

“’Cause you’re trying too hard,” Gutter said, walking around to the passenger’s side. “Lil homey, I know you’re official so you ain’t gotta come wit the mean mug.”

“Nah, man, I know you know. I just want the rest of these muthafuckas to recognize. When people see my face, they’ll know not to try me.”

“Danny, that’s bullshit. If a nigga is gonna try you, he’s gonna try you. It don’t really make no never mind what’s on your face. It’s all about what’s in your heart. Remember that shit.”

Gutter had love for the young soldier, but sometimes Danny could be like a child. He was definitely one of the most dedicated little niggaz Gutter had encountered since being on the East Coast. Danny would put in work without question. His only hang-up was inexperience. He was always asking questions and speaking out of turn. Gutter tried not to be too hard on him, because he knew the boy was still young and didn’t know any better. What Danny lacked in etiquette, he more than made up for in other areas. Before becoming a full-time banger, Danny was a boxer. He came up short during the Olympic trials, but he was lethal with his hands.

During the ride uptown Gutter and Danny smoked a blunt and made small talk. Danny did most of the talking, while Gutter half listened. He had a lot on his mind. During the time he spent in his coma, much had changed. L.C. Blood was still around, but their numbers had been decimated by Gutter’s hit squads. Harlem Crip was still functioning, but not at peak efficiency. Pop Top had done what he could to hold the set together, but he was more of a soldier than a general. They had lost lives and money under his reign. Now it was up to Gutter to put things in order.

They exited the West Side Highway at 125th and coasted through Harlem. Gutter sat in the passenger side of the truck taking in the scenery. The weather was warm, so people were out in numbers. Shoppers shoved their way up and down the strip, visiting the stores or making their purchases from the vendors.

They made the left on Lenox Avenue, and headed farther into the hood. It seemed like every block was popping that day. People were either outside barbecuing or just shooting the shit. Every hood they went through, someone acknowledged Gutter. They either waved or just stared. His exploits in Harlem had made him both known and feared uptown.

Cutting across 132nd, they made their way east. Danny suggested they not take that route, but as usual, Gutter insisted. They had been shot at on several occasions passing through some of these hoods, but Gutter wasn’t easily spooked. How could you scare a man that had already died once? Even though it wasn’t the safest way, he wanted his face to be seen. It was to be made clear to each and every hood that he went wherever he pleased.

When they approached the Abraham Lincoln housing projects, Gutter placed his gun on his lap. He had quite a few projects on smash, but Lincoln wasn’t one of them. The project was once totally dominated by Bloods, but the increased work the Crips were putting in had caused their control to slip. The project became a free-fire zone coveted by both sides.

When they crossed Madison Avenue, some local hardheads in front of the bodega tried to ice Gutter. He turned his soulless eyes on them and threw up his hood, causing the boys to turn their heads.

“Punk-ass niggaz.” Danny snickered. “We should go back and set it on them faggots.”

“For what?” Gutter slouched a bit in the seat. “We already got they hearts. Ain’t no thrill in busting on a nigga that’s scared.” Gutter noticed the questioning glance Danny gave him, but continued looking out the window. He would learn in his own time.

They finally arrived at their destination. It was a storage facility on Park Avenue at 125th, right next to the Metro-North. The young woman behind the reception desk didn’t even look up from her magazine when the two bangers came through the front door. Gutter and Danny boarded an elevator and took it to the third floor. When they stepped off they were greeted by home boys smoking blunts and shooting the breeze. Gutter nodded at a few of them and proceeded to the rear storage unit.

The man Gutter had come to see sat on a crate in the last unit. Also inside the unit were Young Rob, Hollywood, and a female named C-style. The room was filled with wooden crates, marked from different ports in the Middle East, and loose sheets of bubble wrap. Some of the crates were sealed, while others sat on the floor open. In the center of all this, Pop Top was hunched over examining a Russian machine gun.

“Sup, O.G. Gutter?” Top asked, looking up from his inspection. A crown of dusty black hair sat atop his head. It had begun to thin in the middle from the stress of hard living, but Top refused to cut it. He was never big on appearances.

“Maintaining,” Gutter said, making a mental note of how many boxes were stacked in the room. “Sup wit all that traffic out there?”

“That ain’t ’bout nothing,” Top said, putting the gun down. “A few of the homeys came by to spend something wit Harlem. Them niggaz is hyped off the new hardware we got.”

“If they copped already, why they still here?” Gutter questioned.

“It’s blue, cuz. They just kick’n it,” Top responded.

“It ain’t blue, cuz. You sitting in here on a shitload of illegal burners and you got muthafuckas smoking, congregating in the hall. This ain’t no hangout, Top.”

“I’ll tell the homeys to bounce,” Hollywood said from behind his shades. He had been down with the set since the days when Lou-Loc was around. He was a lanky yellow dude, who always dressed in flamboyant gear. Even his jewels were different. From the iced-out globe he wore around his neck, to his bracelet that spelled out his set, Hollywood was a fly nigga. The former hoops star strode from the room to pass along Gutter’s decree.

Top and Gutter made eye contact, but no challenge was issued. When Gutter had gotten hit up, Lou-Loc had turned Harlem Crip over to Pop Top. At the time it seemed like a wise decision, but it soon turned sour. Pop Top was a warrior to the heart, but he lacked the diplomacy skills to efficiently lead the set.

Havoc reigned in the coming weeks. Top allowed the homeys to run wild and do as they liked. It didn’t take long before the police started riding down on the team, snatching up quite a few of their number on charges. Top solidified Harlem Crip on the streets, but he also sent a blue flag up for the police.

“What we looking at?” Gutter asked, looking over the shipment.

“Shit, ya peoples done set it out,” Top replied, pulling out an invoice. “We got all kind of shit up in this piece. Rifles, handguns, the whole shit, cuz. The regular shit is already sold on the streets, but we got some choice clientele for the pretty shit. We doing the damn thang, cuz.”

“That’s what’s up. Sell off whatever you can and hit the homeys off with the rest. I don’t want nobody on the set to be without a strap. You hear me?” Gutter slapped his hands together.

“I got you, homey.” Pop Top nodded.

“The boy, Diamonds, get wit you on that yet?”

“Yeah, he said he needs like seven and a half this rip.”

Gutter thought on it for a minute. “When he comes to cop, give him eight. I like that country muthafucka’s style.”

“Y’all need to let a bitch hold one of these down,” C-style added, picking up a nickel-plated.22. “I got some lingerie to go with this here.”

“Bitch, please.” Top snatched the gun from her. “You hoes ain’t trying to pop nothing.”

“Fuck you, nigga! Do you call your mama a bitch, bitch?” C-style had a supermodel figure and the features of an Egyptian princess. High cheekbones sat behind her cinnamon face. Though she was a fun-loving chick, she had a low tolerance for disrespect, which Top had to be reminded of all too often.

“Yo, cuz,” Young Rob spoke up. “I heard the young boys Hook and Noodles put the heat to them niggaz from over on Lenox last night.” His youthful brown eyes looked at Gutter eagerly for a response.

“Word?” Gutter replied in a very uninterested tone. When Gutter had gotten the wire the night before he knew it was a good move to bring Hook and Noodles in. They were like he and Lou-Loc had been when they were young and didn’t give a fuck, which made them the perfect protégés. He currently had them tucked away up in Yonkers until the heat in the city died down.

“Straight gangsta,” Rob continued. “Harlem ain’t to be fucked with.”

Gutter ignored Rob’s praises and continued to inspect the arsenal. He was pleased that two more “dead rags” had been taken out of the game, but he didn’t show it. To him, the movement wasn’t about praise; it was about power and old scores. Before it was all said and done, the other side would pay for his friend’s murder a thousand times over.

“I’m taking these,” Gutter said, holding up two German assault rifles.

“Drama, cuz?” Top asked.

“Nah, a birthday present for a friend. Let’s go, Danny.” Gutter said his goodbyes and led Danny from the unit.

NOT LONG after Gutter left, Sharell got ready to start her day. It was her day off and as much as she wanted to sleep in, she knew she couldn’t. After taking a long hot shower, Sharell sat on the edge of the bed and began to apply lotion to her body. When she got to her protruding stomach, she smiled.

She and Kenyatta were expecting their first child. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but abortion was never an option. God had blessed them with the most precious of all gifts and she had no intentions on going against his will. With all the stress she had been under, it was a wonder she hadn’t miscarried. With Gutter being hell-bent on his insane quest for vengeance, she feared that the child would grow up without a father. She just hoped that fatherhood would get him to calm down.

Since Lou-Loc’s murder he had ate, slept, and breathed revenge. Diablo and Cisco were dead, but that wasn’t enough for him. In his heart, Gutter felt like he was responsible. Sharell tried to convince him that he wasn’t at fault, but he still carried the burden. He was determined to make anyone affiliated with the rival gang feel his pain.

“Pain,” Sharell said aloud. She was no stranger to it, physically or emotionally. Since she was a little girl it had always been with her and it probably always would.

Sharell was a devout Christian, putting God and family above all else, but it hadn’t always been like that for her. She came up hard on the Harlem streets, right off of 143rd and Lenox Avenue. Her father was a hustler and her mother was an on-again, off-again junkie. Daddy spoiled Sharell when she was little, making sure she was always fly and wanted for nothing. Though her mother spent most of her time nodded out, Sharell had a relatively pleasant childhood. But all that came to an abrupt end shortly before her thirteenth birthday.

Her father had been murdered by a rival drug crew over some money he owed them, or so the police had deduced. The streets told a different story: one where his right-hand man and lieutenant had set him up so he could take his spot. Her father’s soldiers promised to make sure Sharell and her mother were good, but of course it didn’t play out like that. For a while they would come by to check on things or drop a few dollars off, but as time went on and the memory of her father began to fade from the streets, the visits slowed and eventually stopped altogether.

Though Sharell took the death hard, her mother became completely unglued. She stopped going to work and let herself go physically. She wouldn’t eat or wash her ass for days on end. All she did was sit in her room shooting up. As her mother’s grip on reality began to slip, so did her hold on her children. Her younger brother, Malik, took to the streets, determined to pick up where his father left off, while Sharell was left to explore the very same ghettos her father had always tried to keep her sheltered from. It wasn’t long before she was staying out all night, trying different drugs, and living life at a million miles a minute.

It was the freest Sharell had ever felt in her life. For the next few years she was on a high horse that no one could knock her off. This newfound feeling of liberation lasted up until the point when they got the call that Malik had been killed. You would’ve thought that losing her baby boy would’ve sobered her mother up, but it didn’t. She would go to rehab just to come back out and relapse. What most people don’t realize about addiction is that it’s something that never leaves you. No matter how long you stay clean, you always hear the call in the back of your mind. There was only one real escape from addiction, and Sharell’s mother found it when her heart finally gave out on her.

Sharell now found herself a nineteen-year-old high school drop-out, alone in the world. She would spend her days hiding under the covers and her nights clubbing and smoking weed. Her life seemed to be heading in the same direction as her parents and sibling until a chance meeting with a homeless woman one night.

It was about three in the morning when she and her friends were staggering out of a club, drunk and high as kites. As was their ritual, they stopped by White Castle on 125th for a late night-early morning snack. Outside there was a homeless woman begging for change. Her friends passed the woman by, but Sharell stopped and gave her a dollar, which from the woman’s reaction might as well have been a winning lottery ticket.

“Bless you, child.” The woman smiled, revealing a mouth full of crooked and yellowing teeth. “Bless your heart.”

“It’s all good,” Sharell told her, about to rejoin her friends.

“The Lord is truly gonna shine on you for your kindness,” the woman called after her, stopping Sharell short.

“The Lord?” Sharell snorted. “Ma, your god ain’t got a whole lot of love for little ghetto kids.”

The woman’s face took on a look of shock. “No, child, you’re wrong. The Lord loves everyone, we are all his children. All we gotta have is a little faith.”

“Well, I guess that rules me out because I’m all outta faith.”

The woman looked at Sharell sadly. “Don’t fret, child, we all waver in the faith from time to time, but whether we know it or not it’s always there. But don’t you worry none, I’m gonna pray for you and the Lord will show you that he has not abandoned you, no matter how bleak it seems.”

“I hear that hot shit,” Sharell said, walking away.

“I’m gonna pray for you, child!” the woman called after her. “The Lord loves you, all you gotta do is let him in.”

Sharell was dead tired when she got home, but found that she couldn’t seem to get to sleep. The old woman’s words kept ringing in her head. “The Lord loves you,” yeah right. God had taken everything she ever cared about and left her alone in the world. If that was the kinda love he showed than she didn’t need it or want it.

Before she knew it, the sun had risen high in the smog-filled sky. Sharell decided to take a walk and try to tire herself out so she could crash. Though she didn’t have a particular destination when she left the house, she found herself on the corner of 132nd and Fifth Avenue, staring up at a huge stone church. For reasons that she still couldn’t put into words, she stepped inside the house of worship. Sharell hadn’t been inside that church in almost ten years and even that was on Easter. Her family had never been very religious, but her mother made sure she and Malik were in church every holiday. The inside was the same as she had remembered it. Wooden benches polished to a high shine, and stained-glass windows that reflected rainbows on the floor.

She walked down the aisle, gently touching the backrest of each bench as she passed it. She could almost see her mother sitting there decked out in her good blue dress and white handbag. Being forced to go to church had always been a pain in the ass for her and Malik, but they dealt with it because it was one of the few days that their mother was guaranteed to be as sober as a judge. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, snapping her out of her daydream. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, but there was another one behind it. The next thing she knew the tears were flowing freely down her face. She tried to walk away, but found that she didn’t have the strength to do more than plop down on a bench at the foot of the aisle.

“Why, God,” she whispered, looking up at the large cross that was mounted on the wall, just behind the diesis. “I haven’t been the best person, but I could be worse. I was going to school and trying to live my life the right way, even if people around me weren’t. If you love me so much then why shit on me? Why leave me all by myself?”

“Something that is a part of you can never leave you,” a voice called behind her. Though he was a little heavier and his hair had gone completely gray, Sharell still recognized Reverend Greene. He was dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and gray slacks, his ever present Bible tucked under his arm.

“I’m sorry, Reverend Greene, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Sharell said, trying to compose herself.

“This is just as much your house as it is his.” He pointed his Bible heavenward. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Sister Baker.”

“I’ve been kinda busy,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“So I’ve heard.” He sat down on the bench behind her, so she had to turn around to speak to him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked defensively.

He shrugged. “It means that just because you don’t come by to check up on me doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping abreast of you.” She was about to say something, but he raised his hand and silenced her. “Sharell, I’ve known your family since before you were born. I’ve watched you go from a promising young lady to a lost little girl who doesn’t know trouble when it’s staring her in the face.”

“I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself,” she told him.

“Just because your ID says you’re grown doesn’t mean you are. I’m fifty-something years old and there’s still much that I have to learn before my time is done here. What’s weighing so heavy on you, child?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sharell said. She wasn’t even sure that she did.

“You’d be surprised what I understand. I’ve been around a long time, Sharell, and have seen a great many things.”

“No offense, Reverend Greene, but I don’t think me and you have seen the same things, the hood is a little different than the church. I don’t think you could even begin to grasp my grief.”

Reverend Greene laughed and placed his Bible on the bench next to him. “Grief,” he said, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up and holding it out so Sharell could see the old track marks and scars. “I live with grief every day. The grief of what I’ve done and what I’ll never do. See, this church wasn’t always my life; I was a child of the streets. I’ve sold dope, coke, and my body for all in the name of the devil and his vices. I ain’t proud of it, but neither am I ashamed. We make mistakes so that we can learn from them and pass the lesson on to others.”

“And what lessons would you pass on to me, Reverend,” Sharell asked, in a half sarcastic tone.

“That there is light at the end of even the blackest tunnels,” he said seriously. “Listen, Sharell, I know your grief, and God knows that my heart goes out to you, but you can’t let the devil and your own sadness take you out of the fight. You’ve got to go out into the world and make something of yourself. You’ve got to show your family that you learned from the lessons they passed on to you.”

Sharell shook her head frantically. She tried to maintain a cool façade, but couldn’t hold it together. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t tackle this world by myself.”

“You don’t have to.” He hugged her. “Sharell, you aren’t too far gone to pull it together. If you need a crutch, I’ll be there for you to see you through it.”

“I don’t want charity, Reverend.”

“It ain’t charity, Sharell, I owe this to you.”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “Owe it to me?”

Reverend Greene nodded. He took a few minutes to examine a scuff on the hardwood floor before speaking. “Thirty years ago this up-and-coming little punk came to me to front him a package. The boy didn’t look old enough to be off his mama’s bosom, but he was hungry, and I liked that about him. So, after a little bit of convincing I fronted it to him, which turned out to be one of my biggest regrets in life. Three decades later I find myself looking into the face of his ailing daughter, trying to figure out how to help her pick up the pieces.”

“But, Reverend, you didn’t take my family,” she told him.

“Oh, but I did. I might not have tied your mother off for that last hit, or put them bullets in Malik, but I set off the chain of events. Sharell”-he took her by the shoulders and stood her up-“I couldn’t save your father, but I will save you. Let me help you, child. Let us help you.” He nodded toward the cross.

A million and one thoughts flashed through Sharell’s mind as the weight of his words washed over her. Looking up into the eyes of the man she had known since birth, but actually didn’t know anything about, she felt a tingling in the center of her chest. The tingling became a swelling so intense that she felt as if she was having trouble breathing. “I can’t do it.”

“You can and you will.” He tightened his grip on her arms. “All things are possible through God, but you have to be willing to let him in. Are you willing to accept the lord Jesus Christ as your savior?”

With tears stinging her eyes, Sharell looked up and whispered, “Yes.” Just like that the bubble in her chest burst and she sucked in the cool air. For the next two hours she sat in the pew with Reverend Greene and talked about her life. It felt like the things that had been weighing her down for years began to fall away piece by piece the more she talked. Sharell went on and on and the reverend sat quietly and listened. He wasn’t preaching or judging her, just listening, which is what she needed more than anything else.

True to his word, Reverend Greene helped Sharell get her life back on track. He gave her a part-time job at the church to help her keep up the rent on her parents’ apartment and got her into a nursing program that allowed women to take their GED test while studying to be a registered nurse. From that point on, Sharell devoted her life to the church and helping others find their way. Ironically, the soul she was having the most trouble saving was that of the man who was to be her soul mate, Gutter.

Most of her friends thought that she was out of her mind falling for a gangster, but Sharell saw more than just what was on the surface. In Gutter she saw a brave and loving man who would go above and beyond to provide safety and shelter for his family… a man much like her father. Gutter was way rougher around the edges than her father had been, but still she found comfort and love in his arms. At the end of the day it didn’t really matter to her what the church or anyone else thought about Gutter, what was important was that she would ride for him whether he was right or wrong. The heart was funny like that.

After dressing in a peach sweat suit, Sharell went downstairs and got into her vehicle. It was a candy-red X5 that Gutter had bought her when they moved to Brooklyn. He wanted to keep her sheltered from the violence that was erupting in Harlem, but she still wanted to be in arm’s reach of her friends, so Brooklyn was the compromise.

The ride to Connecticut took her about two hours. Sharell hated driving long distances, but it was for a noble cause. She pulled up to a security booth that sat in the center of a block-long iron fence. After giving the security guard her identification and the name of the patient, Sharell was buzzed through the gate. The grounds of the facility were well kept and smelled of fresh-cut grass. Sharell parked her car in a visitor’s space and began the short walk to the main building.

Orderlies patrolled the grounds and escorted patients on walks. A woman of about thirty gave Sharell a childlike grin. Sharell replied with a wave and a smile. She felt bad for the people who made their home at the facility. As much pity as she felt for them, she knew it was a necessary evil.

Sharell walked through the front doors and made her way down a long corridor. At the end of the corridor was a spacious waiting room. A few people sat around in hard plastic chairs, but the room was relatively empty. When Sharell approached the desk she was greeted by a portly nurse.

“Hello, Ms. Baker.” The nurse smiled. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Sharell replied.

“I see you made it this week.”

“Yeah, I’d like to come more often, but it’s hard for me to get off from work on visiting days. How is she?”

“Up and down.” The nurse sighed. “Some days it seems like we’re making progress, while others she’s totally nonresponsive. She’s eating on her own now, but not doing much else. Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

The nurse led Sharell to a door that required a card to be opened. Beyond the door was another hall with rooms on either side. Each room contained one patient. Some were busy with different activities while others just occupied space. Sharell tried not to stare too long and followed the nurse to the last door.

“You can go on in,” the nurse said, opening the door. “If you need anything, just ask one of the orderlies. Enjoy your visit.”

“Thanks.” Sharell smiled. After the nurse had gone, she took a deep breath and entered the room.

Satin sat in a recliner, staring out the window. Whether she heard Sharell come in or not, she didn’t acknowledge her. It had been about a month or so since she had last seen Satin. She would’ve liked to spend more time with her, but in addition to it being a long drive to the facility, the visits were painful. She couldn’t bear to see what Lou-Loc’s soul mate had become.

Before the murder Sharell hadn’t really had a chance to get to know Satin. They had spoken on the phone once or twice, but that was about as far as it went. They all planned to vacation in Miami Beach when Gutter came out of his coma, but they never got the chance. Gutter had come to visit her when she first came to the facility, but he too found the scene heartbreaking. His visits became less and less frequent, but Sharell still came when she could.

“Hey, baby,” Sharell said, pulling a folding chair beside Satin’s. “How you been?” Satin turned and smiled at her, but she didn’t respond. Sharell was used to this. Sometimes she and Satin would pass a few words between each other, but most of the time, Sharell did most of the talking.

Satin didn’t look anything like the pictures Sharell had seen of her and Lou-Loc. Her hair was uncombed and she had deep circles under her eyes from sleepless nights. She was still beautiful, but she looked worn. The glow appeared to be returning to her color, but she was still pale. Her lips were chapped and she looked like she had put on a few pounds since Sharell’s last visit. At least she was eating.

“Do you feel like talking today?” asked Sharell. Satin just continued to stare. “Satin”-Sharell took her hand-“I know you can hear me. Baby, I’m not even gonna front like I know what you’re going through, ’cause I’ve never walked a mile in your shoes. You’re probably still in a lot of pain, but trust that the Lord will make things right.”

More silence.

“Okay,” Sharell said, pulling a small Bible from her purse, “you don’t have to talk, just listen.” Sharell proceeded to read a passage from the Bible.

chapter 3

DANNY PULLED the truck up in front of the bodega and killed the engine. He wanted to accompany the O.G. inside, but Gutter instructed him to wait. He never brought people into the stronghold of his partner. After retrieving the duffel bag containing one of the German machine guns, Gutter walked into the store.

Inside, the store was buzzing with activity. People were browsing through the aisles, while others were paying for their purchases. As usual, Roc was at his post behind the counter. Noticing Gutter, he motioned for Hassan to relieve him. The skinny boy still looked the same as he did during their first meeting.

“Al-salaam alaykum,” Roc greeted Gutter, coming from behind the counter.

“Alaykum salaam,” Gutter replied.

“Anwar awaits you in the war room. I trust you remember the way?”

“All day, cuz,” Gutter said, cutting through the aisle. He pushed open the door to the storeroom and proceeded to the freezer. Stepping inside the freezer, Gutter punched the numeric code into the keyboard. It took Anwar awhile before he trusted him enough to reveal the combination. The Al Mukalla valued their privacy, which is why Gutter never brought anyone within their hall with him.

The elevator went dark, but the metal detectors didn’t sweep him this time. He had given Roc prior notice of the parcel he was carrying. He stepped off on the ground floor and made his way down the infamous hall of eyes. The hidden cameras observed his approach, but he didn’t spare them a second look. Approaching the door to the war room Gutter looked at the Arabic writing and chuckled. “Freedom for the sons and daughters of Allah,” he read it out loud. Bush had yet to withdraw the troops so it looked like the freedom wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. Gutter removed his shoes and knocked on the iron door.

After a brief wait, the door clicked partially open. Gutter pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside. As usual the room was dimly lit. The conference table and sofa were gone, but the desk and vast wall of monitors remained. Sitting cross-legged on a prayer rug was Anwar.

The leader of the Al Mukalla swept his long hair from his face and looked up at his visitor. “Enter and be welcomed, child of the Soladine family,” Anwar said, in a formal tone.

“Greetings, young prince, I come to you in friendship and thank you for your hospitality.” Gutter matched his tone.

“Please, come and be seated,” Anwar said, motioning to an empty space on the rug.

Gutter adjusted the duffel bag and took a seat on the rug with Anwar. “A gift for the birthday boy.” Gutter smiled, handing him the bag.

Anwar smiled and accepted the gift. He examined the machine gun and nodded in approval. “Very nice.”

“I thought you might like it.”

“Indeed,” Anwar said, setting the weapon off to the side. “How goes things?”

“Another day, another hustle.” Gutter sighed. “Things are still a little crazy, but it’s coming together.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anwar nodded. “For a time, we were concerned about the state of our agreement. No disrespect to your comrade Pop Top, but I did not relish the idea of having to do business with him.”

“Top means well, but not everyone is skilled at diplomacy. He’s served his purpose, but I’m back running the show now. I’m gonna do what I gotta to make sure the set flourishes.”

“Indeed,” Anwar agreed. “How’s Sharell?”

“She’s good. She still hasn’t gotten used to the idea of living in Brooklyn, but it’s for the best. I love that girl with everything that I am, so I need to keep her out of harm’s way.”

“As you should. Tell me this though, when are you going to make it official?”

“Come on with that.” Gutter waved him off.

“I’m serious. Even if she wasn’t carrying your child, I think she has more than proven her loyalty and love for you.”

“I plan to marry her one day; it’s just that the time isn’t right yet.”

“Kenyatta, that’s a weak excuse and you know it. Though you lost your way for a time, you are still one of Allah’s children. Living with a woman and giving her a child outside of marriage is an American custom. Being as we are, a wife completes the foundation of life. She is the earth which you have planted your seed in and should be cherished as such.”

“I know, but there’s just so much going on with me right now,” Gutter explained.

“Speaking of which, how are you?” Anwar questioned.

“I’m fine,” Gutter shrugged. “Still got a few aches, but I’ll be okay.”

“Not your physical, my brother, your soul. I see much unrest in your eyes. The devil tries to worm its way into your spirit and you welcome him with open arms.”

“It ain’t like that, Anwar. It’s just that a lot of shit has to be made right before I can move on.”

“And what constitutes making it right? Since you’ve come back on the scene, much blood has been spilled in the streets. The murderers of your brother are dead and gone, yet you carry on the siege. Will it take your own death to end it?”

“If need be,” Gutter said very seriously. “Lou-Loc was the only friend I ever had. They cut him down like a dog in the streets. I can’t let that shit ride. They gotta pay!”

“Kenyatta”-Anwar placed his hand on Gutter’s forearm-“I understand your need for vengeance, but what about your need for peace? How can one pay a debt that has no denomination? You have swimmed through rivers of blood to reach this point. You have money and an army behind you. I implore you to abandon this quest before it consumes you.”

“I wish I could,” Gutter said, trying not to get choked up, “but I can’t. These busters gotta feel what I feel. I wanna hurt them, Anwar.”

“Gutter,” Anwar said, using his street name. “Your father and his father before him were both very wise men, but I fear the trait wasn’t passed along to you. Only a fool has everything, but still feels it isn’t enough. You must ask yourself, are you killing for vengeance or is it something deeper than that?”

Gutter felt his anger clawing its way to the top. He was sure Anwar saw the rage flickering in his eyes, but he still sat motionless, staring at the ganglord. Had this been anyone else, Gutter would’ve pummeled him for speaking so freely. But the man sitting before him wasn’t anyone else. He was the prince of a city within a city. More important, he was right. The killing would have to end at some point, but it wouldn’t be today.

“I gotta go,” Gutter said, rising to his feet. He made for the door, while Anwar remained seated.

“I’m sorry, Kenyatta,” Anwar called behind him. “Not sorry for expressing myself, but for the conflict that continues to poison your soul. May Allah walk with you on whatever road you choose.”

GUTTER WAS tight when he left the bodega. Leave it to Anwar’s little philosophical ass to rain on a nigga’s day, Gutter thought to himself. He understood what Anwar was saying about losing focus, but why didn’t Anwar understand what he was saying? Anwar was beginning to sound like Sharell.

Just thinking of his boo drained some of the anger from his face. If nobody was in his corner, she was, even when he was on his bullshit, which was most of the time lately. Still, she rode with him and had been just as solid as when he’d met her.

He and Lou-Loc had only been in New York for a few months and still trying to get the lay of the land. It didn’t take them long to open up shop and get a short crack flow popping out of this base head’s house on Lexington. It was the first of the month and they had sold out of product just after sundown. Being that they wouldn’t be able to re-up until the next day they decided to hit the party scene and blow some of their newfound wealth.

They tried to hit up some popular spots in Midtown, but because they were dressed in boots and jeans instead of button-ups and loafers it didn’t go too well. They ended up rolling through this spot on Eighth called the Sugar Shack. It was a small spot, but the atmosphere was mellow. There were some birds in the joint, but for the most part it was a light crowd. Gutter was about to suggest that they bail when the night suddenly started looking up.

Lou-Loc was leaning against the bar, jabbing with a thick Spanish chick while Gutter played the cut, brooding over his Heineken when Sharell walked in with two of her peoples. Gutter could tell they were squares by their conservative dress, when most of the other chicks were in man-catching gear. Still, all three chicks were fine and Gutter was lonely. As they passed he tried to capture them with his alluring green eyes, but the first two passed without giving him so much as a glance. It was the last one who looked over at him. The look couldn’t have been for more than a heartbeat, but in that heartbeat something passed between them.

“Say, cuz.” Gutter tapped his partner. “Check them joints right there.” He nodded toward the trio that had taken one of the tables in the back.

Lou-Loc kept his hand on the girl’s thigh and leaned over to his friend. “Who, them square bitches?”

“Yeah, man. Yo, I think I’m about to move on baby girl in the green sweater.” He rubbed his perspiring hands against his jeans.

“Man, that broad ain’t fucking wit yo old thug-ass. Kick back, cuz, I’m ’bout to see if baby here got a friend.” He jerked his head toward the girl he was talking to.

“Man, fuck that bitch; I need you to help me break the ice with baby girl,” Gutter said, not really caring if the current object of Lou-Loc’s affection heard him.

“Man, you tripping. I ain’t ’bout to go over there looking in no projects when I got prime real estate right here.” He traced his finger down the girl’s arm, causing her to giggle. Lou-Loc was about to lean over and whisper something in her ear when Gutter grabbed him roughly by the arm. He was surprised to see the seriousness in Gutter’s eyes.

“Cuz, you know I wouldn’t even put you out there unless it was serious,” Gutter told him.

“Damn, you really snagged, huh?” Lou-Loc shook his head.

“Nigga, I ain’t asking for your firstborn kid or no shit like that. All I want you to do is go over there and ask honey if I can speak to her for a minute.”

Lou-Loc twisted his lips. “Dawg, not only do you want me to smile and nod for these lame hoes, but you got me on some high school shit at that?” Gutter’s eyes were almost pleading now. Lou-Loc whispered something to the girl he had been talking to. From the way she stormed off you could tell that she didn’t take rejection well.

“A’ight, loc, I got you on this here, but I ain’t tricking no bread on getting these chicks faded. You got the crush, you buying the damn drinks.” Lou-Loc swaggered over to the table.

Gutter fumbled around on the bar stool, trying to find a cool-ass position while Lou-Loc approached the table. The girls looked up at him with everything from lust to disgust as he spoke, moving his hands to punctuate his words. One girl, who Gutter would later come to know as Lauren, rolled her eyes while the other two broke out into a fit of laughter. Gutter felt like he had played hisself and wished he’d listened to Lou-Loc. The girl in the green sweater tugged him down by the arm and whispered something in his ear. Lou-Loc shrugged and made his way back to the bar with a smirk on his face.

“What she say, cuz?” Gutter asked, trying not to make eye contact with the girl in the green sweater because she and her friends were staring over at them.

Lou-Loc took his time before answering. “She say that I need to take you home.”

“What?” Gutter looked confused.

“Home girl said that anybody who is still sending his friend to step to girls for him ain’t old enough to be in no bar.” Lou-Loc slipped and let out the laughter he had been holding.

“Fuck you, Lou-Loc.” Gutter shoved him.

“My fault, man, but you should’ve seen your face when I told you you’d been shot down!”

“I ain’t stunting that broad.” Gutter tapped the bar to get the bartender’s attention.

“G, why you just go over there and holla at her?”

“Why, so them bitches can get another good laugh off me? Nah, I’m good.”

Lou-Loc stopped laughing. “Cuz, I know you ain’t scared of no broad? Oh, hell nah, not big muthafucking Gutter from Harlem! Nigga, fuck licking your wounds about this shit, you want shorty then you go get her. You know how we do it on the left, cuz.” Lou-Loc knew just the right things to say to get his friend motivated, because right after Gutter downed the shot of Crown Royal the bartender had set down, he was on his feet and on his way across to the spot where the three girls were sitting.

Gutter’s heart was slamming against his chest so rapidly that it’s a wonder it wasn’t visible through his shirt. Lou-Loc and Crown Royal had put the battery in him, but he was already committed to the move so he couldn’t back out. All eyes were on him as he crossed the room, but when he arrived at the table only the girl in the green sweater kept his gaze.

Gathering his courage Gutter said, “Sup, baby, they call me Gutter. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink of something?”

“No the hell he didn’t,” Lauren said.

“Tired, tired, tired,” the other girl mumbled.

Green sweater turned around in her chair and looked Gutter up and down. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Fo sho,” he said, figuring he had her.

“Are you a virgin?”

Gutter looked at her quizzically. “Hell, nah, why?”

“Because it’s a wonder that you can get a woman to sleep with you approaching her like that. No, I don’t know if you prefer hood rats or ghetto girls, but I don’t fall into either category. So if you’re really trying to get my attention you need to rethink your approach.” Without another word, she turned her back to him and went back to her martini.

“What? Man, fuck this shit.” He stormed away. He was halfway back to the bar when he glanced over his shoulder. Lauren and the other girl were laughing at him, but the young lady in the green sweater was giving him a look somewhere between pity and curiosity. He looked over at Lou-Loc who just threw his hands up. “I ain’t no chump,” Gutter said to himself before busting a U-turn and heading back to the table.

“Excuse me,” he said when he got back to the table. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies, but I just had to come over here and tell you what a vision you were. My name is Kenyatta”-he extended his hand to the young lady in the green sweater-“and you are?”

The girl in the green sweater looked up and smiled at him for getting it right that time. “Sharell.” She took his hand and held it for a minute.

“Well, Ms. Sharell, if I’m not overstepping my bounds, I’d like to invite you to the bar to join me for a drink.”

“I can’t run out on my girls like that,” she answered. His eyes flashed disappointment but it was only for a second before she continued. “But you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Lauren took this time to press her hate campaign. “Sharell, you don’t know this thug from a hole in the wall. Ain’t no way-”

“Lauren, knock it off,” Sharell cut her off. “Gutter,” she called him by his street name to ease some of the tension mounting in his face. “Please pay my friend no mind, she’s off her meds today. You can sit with us.”

“Yeah, especially if you bring your friend with you,” the third girl added.

Lou-Loc was reluctant at first, but Gutter promised him a half ounce of haze for his services so he came over. There was an instant connection between Gutter and Sharell. They were from two totally different walks of life, but their personalities seemed to go together like peanut butter and jelly. The five of them had a good time that night, even with Lauren hating on the sidelines. When the lounge closed Gutter and Sharell went for breakfast, while Lou-Loc agreed to drop her girls off. Gutter had heard whispers that Lou-Loc had convinced Lauren and her friend to get into some freak shit that night, but none of them would ever admit it.

Gutter and Sharell stayed together that night and well into the next day, just enjoying each other’s company. For as much as he wanted to taste Sharell’s fine ass, she made it clear from the gate that she didn’t rock like that. Gutter was so into her that didn’t even matter to him. He was willing to wait a lifetime for her, but luckily they only put off sex for a month, and by then they were an exclusive couple. Gutter had engaged in the random fling, but ever since the night he’d met her, Sharell would always have his heart. The street, however, had a receipt for his soul.

SINCE GUTTER had gotten back in the truck, he had hardly said a word to Danny. It wasn’t usual for him to get quiet after a visit to the suspicious bodega, but this time it was different. He seemed almost hostile. Even when he gave Danny their next destination, there was an edge to his voice.

When they arrived in Fort Greene, Gutter punched in a number on his cell phone. When the caller answered, all Gutter said was, “I’m here,” and hung up. After a few minutes, two young men came walking out of the projects. Danny didn’t know the dark-skinned boy, but he recognized the Puerto Rican.

Louie was a professional thief. He and a few of his associates were former members of the Low Lifes, turned Crips. They made paper hustling other people out of theirs. They robbed everything from stores to supermarkets. It really didn’t make a difference to them. If Gutter was coming to see him, he either wanted something stolen or wanted to purchase a hot item.

“Sup, cuz,” Louie said, leaning into the truck.

“You got that for me?” Gutter asked, lighting a cigarette.

“All day, my nigga. Come on.”

Gutter told Danny to keep the engine running while he followed Louie around the corner. They cut through the projects and found themselves in a parking lot. Louie led Gutter to a gray Honda Accord. The car had seen better days, but it would do.

“Yeah, this should work,” Gutter said, handing Louie a roll of bills. Gutter got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“My sister works at the DMV, so I was able to get you a temp plate,” Louie said, pointing at the orange sticker in the back window. “Just make sure you snatch it out when you dump the car.”

“I got you, cuz.” Gutter gave Louie dap and pulled out of the parking lot. When he pulled up next to the truck, Danny was already reaching for his hammer. “Easy,” Gutter said, rolling down the window. “Follow me. We’re gonna park the truck, and then I want you to drive this muthafucka.”

“A’ight, G,” Danny said, putting the car in gear. “Where we going?”

“To bust on some slobs.” Gutter mashed the gas pedal and pulled out.

Danny grinned as he tailed the Honda to the B.Q.E. The crew was dropping bodies throughout the five boroughs, but Gutter mostly pulled the strings. If he was about to ride out, it must be a big fish. Danny didn’t care either way. As long as he was getting a chance to earn his stripes, he was wit it.

“YOU KNOW I don’t be doing this kinda shit,” C-style said, undoing her bra.

“I know, baby, but moms ain’t go to work today,” Rob said, planting kisses on her now exposed breasts. C-style was a slim girl, but had just enough of everything in all the right places.

“A’ight, but hurry the fuck up. I don’t want nobody to catch us and start spreading rumors about me being a ho, you know it ain’t that type of party.” She turned to the staircase wall and braced her hands against it. Had it been anybody else there was no way in hell C-style would’ve agreed to have sex in a stairwell, but she had a soft spot for Young Rob’s handsome ass. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been in love before, but what she felt for Rob was the closest thing to it.

“Baby, I’d put lead to any nigga who ever called you out your name,” he said, slipping her sweatpants down passed her waist.

“Hold up.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You got a condom on?”

“C, you know I ain’t got nothing. We got tested at the same time, remember?” he reminded her.

“It ain’t about catching nothing, Rob, but I ain’t trying to end up no damn teenage mother like the rest of these bitches.”

“Don’t worry.” He kissed her passionately. “I’ll pull out when I cum.” Before C-style could protest further, Rob was inside her. Rob was so thirsty to get it going he didn’t take into consideration that she was still mostly dry, so it hurt when he first entered her, but once her juices started flowing, it was all good.

Rob humped away like a man on a mission while she tried her best to keep from skinning her face against the concrete wall. Though Rob was well hung and C-style enjoyed their little fuck sessions, he had a lot to learn about tact. He wasn’t trying to make it pleasurable for her, just working to get his nut off. She made a mental note to herself to talk to him about it as soon as she got a chance. Before C-style could even tell him to slow down, she felt Rob’s body go stiff and him dump out inside her.

“Oh, hell no!” She pushed him off her. C-style looked between her legs and saw semen running down her thigh and into her sweatpants.

“My fault, ma. That shit got so good I couldn’t hold it.” Rob was leaning against the wall with his pants around his ankles. His dick was swinging freely with leftover cum dripping from the tip.

“Rob, you are so fucking irresponsible. I told you I don’t want to get pregnant!” she barked, taking a sanitary wipe from her bag and trying to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Damn, why you tripping. It’s not like I wouldn’t be there for you if you got pregnant. I’d handle mine,” he assured her.

C-style gave him an angry look. “Rob, how the hell you gonna handle anything when all you do is run the streets with the set? You ain’t even got a job.”

“I sling stones for mine, baby, you know what it is,” he said proudly.

“Rob, your ass is too smart to be so stupid. You think you can play the block forever?”

“Nah, not forever. Just until I get my cake up. Fucking with Gutter we all gonna be rich.”

“Fucking with Gutter you’re more likely to end up dead than rich,” she said seriously. “Rob, you know I love the big homey too, but he’s gang-banging on a whole ’nother level.”

“So, what you trying to say? You don’t think I can hang?”

“Rob”-she touched his face-“I’m not saying that at all. What I’m saying is to get where Gutter is, you’ve gotta be willing to go to hell and spit in the devil’s face. When I look into your eyes I see life and promise, when I look into his eyes I don’t see anything.”

Rob sucked his teeth. “Whatever, man. One day you’re gonna see that your man is just as down as anybody else, you watch.” He pulled his pants up and started walking down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked with an attitude.

“I gotta meet the homeys,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll get up with you later, ma.”

C-style stood in the staircase not knowing whether she should be mad at Rob or herself. He had pulled a typical nigga move, getting his then leaving her without so much as a hug or a kiss, just to go be with the set. Being down used to be fun, but that was before the killing. Gutter promised to bring prominence back to the C-nation, but all he’d brought was death. She and Rob were both down with the movement, but it was Rob’s determination to prove himself that scared her. She knew how Gutter and Pop Top broke in their shooters and knew that Rob couldn’t handle that kind of pressure.

HOLLYWOOD STEPPED out of his smoke-gray Chrysler 300 Limited. The vehicle resembled a Bentley, but the design was more squared. He fitted it with whitewalls, but left the factory rims on it. He would always tell people that the factories on that particular car gave it nobility. Hollywood had what people would call refined taste. He liked his cars plush, his women seasoned, and his money new. This is what pulled him from between a young girl’s thighs to the block.

Hollywood gave himself the once-over in the vehicle’s tinted reflection. He ran a manicured hand down the waves that rippled through his dark hair. The laces of his Nike Airs looked as if they had been bleached, while the cuffs of his jeans were perfect. After adjusting the collar on his smoke-gray blazer, he stepped off the curb.

He saw B. T. and a few of the other homeys congregating in front of the store. The timing couldn’t have been better. B. T. owed him some money through one of his girls. She had swung an episode with the Crip, but he couldn’t pay all of the money. After dropping Hollywood’s name, and agreeing to repay the rest, she let him rock. Now, it was a week later and B. T. didn’t have Hollywood’s bread. The set was the set, but this was business.

Hollywood adjusted the pistol tucked in his pants, near his kidneys, and headed in their direction. As he passed the bus stop, he was confronted with a vision. The young girl was brown-skinned with hair that tickled her shoulders. She had nice round breasts and a shapely ass. She was reading a copy of Section 8 over her glasses.

“Hey, baby girl,” Hollywood said, easing around the advertisement to stand next to the girl.

She glanced at him with a look of disgust on her face. After looking up and down at him, she snorted and went back to her book. Now someone in the know might’ve taken this as rejection, but Hollywood always dug deeper than the surface. The fact that she had even bothered to look him over meant that she was considering it. That was incentive enough for him.

“I didn’t mean to come between you and your reading, but I’m a lil lost at the moment,” Hollywood lied. “I just wanted to know if you could point me to building Two Fifty-nine?”

“I ain’t from around here.” The girl had a soft voice.

“A blind man could see that. You came from heaven right?” Hollywood flattered her.

“Yeah, right.” She blushed.

“True story”-he eased closer-“I’d be thankful for the directions, but I’d be thrilled with a moment of your time.”

The girl looked Hollywood over once more. She found him very attractive, and from the looks of his gear, he was getting some type of money. The bus came and went, but the girl remained. After about ten minutes, Hollywood was letting her into his car with instructions to wait for him. Then he stepped back across the street to handle his money.

“Damn, you don’t play,” China said, slapping Hollywood’s palm. He was a brown-skinned cat with slanted eyes. Originally from San Francisco, China was the product of a black whore who had the misfortune of having the condom break while turning an Asian trick.

“You know how it is, man. I gotta stay one step ahead of the competition,” Hollywood replied. “Sup, B. T.?”

“Ain’t nothing,” B. T. said. His beady little eyes kept going from Hollywood to the car. If you looked closely, you could still see the scar on his head from when Lou-Loc had pistol-whipped him. Though he never said it out loud, he wasn’t sad to see him go.

“Say, I need to holla at you, T,” Hollywood said.

“So, talk.” He shrugged.

“Dig, you and one of my ladies came to an understanding over some paper, and she says she ain’t seen it yet.”

“Oh, I told shorty I’d square up with her.” B. T. brushed him off.

“Yeah, I dig that. Thing is, you ain’t made no moves to settle the debt.”

“Yo, you stunting me over a few dollars?” asked B. T., sounding a bit hostile.

“Listen, man,” Hollywood said, hooking his thumbs in his belt. He kept his hand close to his gun. “You know I don’t do nothing but count money. Them few dollars you skipped with don’t mean shit. This is about principle. Pay to play, cuz.”

“Damn, kid. All that shit you slinging in the hood and you shorting bitches,” China clowned.

“Fuck you,” B. T. snapped, “and for damn sure fuck that bitch!” He tried to give Hollywood his coldest stare, hoping it would rattle the pretty boy. It didn’t.

“Yo, I think you need to watch your tone, cuz,” Hollywood replied, removing his shades. No matter how flashy Hollywood was, there was nothing sweet about him.

“Fuck y’all bitch-ass niggaz arguing about?” Pop Top came out of the store, breaking the tension.

“Ain’t nothing,” Hollywood said, never taking his eyes off B. T., “just a little dispute between the homeys.”

“B. T. owes Wood some paper and he stunting on the debt,” China confessed.

“Why don’t you mind ya muthafucking business?” B. T. turned on China.

“Them stitches in the side of your head ain’t taught you nothing.” Top nodded toward the scar Lou-Loc had given him shortly before his murder. “Either pay, cuz, or go head up for it, but ain’t gonna be no extra shit. That goes for both you muthafuckas.”

B. T. sized Hollywood up and weighed his options. True, he owed the girl some money, but he wasn’t really feeling how Wood was coming at him. He had been down with the set longer, so he figured his seniority should’ve been respected in that right, but Hollywood was about his paper. He reasoned that he could take Hollywood in a fight, but if he lost he would’ve been embarrassed as well as wrong. Reluctantly B. T. reached into his pocket and gave Hollywood what he owed him.

“Now, was that so hard?” Pop Top patted B. T. on his back. “Y’all niggaz always going at each other instead of dropping these dead rag chumps. You got the young boys showing you up.”

“I heard Hook and them dropped some brims the other night?” China asked.

“Square biz,” Top confirmed.

“That nigga Gutter got this shit like the Wild West. Soon we ain’t gonna have nobody to bang on,” Hollywood joked.

“Some niggaz know how to hold a grudge.” Top shrugged.

“Shit, he fucking up our paper.” B. T. snorted. “Police running all up and through the block and shit, how we supposed to sling?”

“Same way you been doing it. With caution,” Top said. “Gutter gonna keep riding for his nigga until he gets it out of his system. I know it’s hard on y’all, but that’s how the homey wants it.”

“Man, fuck that,” B. T. spat. “That nigga been dead how long? I’m trying to get money, fuck that ol’ mourning shit.”

“Watch ya mouth, cuz.” Top glared at him. “That nigga you wolfing ’bout is a ghetto legend. I know you still salty over that ass-whipping, but you had it coming. Learn when to shut the fuck up!”

B. T. was uptight, but he didn’t say anything. Awhile back he and Lou-Loc had a dispute over his relationship with Satin. The end result was him getting pistol-whipped and stripped of his rank on the set. He had tried to have the assassin murdered, but his people were sent back in bags. Before B. T. could make a second attempt, someone blew Lou-Loc’s brains out.

“Well”-Hollywood popped his collar-“I’d love to stay and chat with you fellas, but I got some new pussy to sample. Nice doing business with you, B. T.” Hollywood winked at him and went to join the young lady waiting in his car.

chapter 4

“LOOK AT this shit,” Ruby said, slapping a copy of the New York Post down on the table. Highlighted in the corner was an article about a gang-related shooting in Harlem. “Three more soldiers gone. These crabs is getting out of hand.”

“Relax,” Supreme said, tearing into a piece of chicken. “Their little run is gonna come to an end soon enough.” Supreme was a chunky cat who wore his hair in braids. The sleeves of his red shirt were rolled up slightly, advertising the iced-out watch on his right arm. He commanded a small army of soldiers from Hillside, Queens, that had been called in to lend aid against the rival set. Supreme and his soldiers had proven to be efficient killers, and were respected even by the Crips.

“I don’t see it,” she continued. “We’ve been dancing in place for damn near three years and we’re still getting our asses kicked. Then that stupid little fuck Cisco stirs up all this shit. ‘Once Lou-Loc is gone, Harlem will be wide-open.’ Bullshit. What we went through with him was like a light slap on the ass compared to what Gutter is putting down. He took that shit way personal.”

“Yeah, I gotta give it to him. Gutter turned out to be a real headache,” Supreme confessed. “What I wanna know is, how the hell he got back up when Scales and them laid him out?”

“That’s what a lot of people wanna know,” Ruby said, pushing a strand of red hair from her face. “No one expect him to live, let alone be running around shooting muthafuckas. Shit, even the big boys are scratching their heads about this one. I heard a rumor that their thinking about calling in some help. Some of us are gonna find ourselves without a set to run.”

“Fuck it.” Supreme wiped his hands on a napkin. “We put him down once, we can do it again. Ain’t nobody gonna come in here trying to tell me how to conduct my shit. When I put a bullet in that muthafucka, they’re gonna give me a promotion.”

Supreme had already begun putting a plan together to get at Gutter. He had successfully murdered several key players in the Crip army and he reasoned it would only be a matter of time before he snagged the prize. After dropping some money on the table, he and Ruby exited the restaurant.

Supreme smiled proudly as he held the door for Ruby. She was hard as hell, but she still had it. Ruby was the color of a Hershey’s Kiss, with a body straight off sticky pages. The tight shorts she wore exposed just enough ass cheek to make a man do a double take. In addition to being set leaders, she and Supreme were also fuck buddies.

The sun was beginning to set, but Jamaica Avenue was still buzzing with activity. People were either going in and out of stores, or just on the strip stunting. Supreme smiled proudly as he followed Ruby to her car. No sooner than he walked around to the passenger side, a gray Honda skidded to a stop beside them.

“Say, Blood, you looking for me?” Gutter asked, aiming his.40 caliber over the roof of the car. When Supreme turned around, Gutter shot him once in the face and twice in the chest.

Blood splattered on the car as well as a shocked Ruby. Seeing Supreme get splattered stunned her, but it didn’t last long. She pulled her.380 from her handbag and returned fire. The back window shattered, but she didn’t hit Gutter or the driver. Ruby walked around the car and looked over what was left of Supreme. As she watched his life drain into the gutter she vowed that there would be a reckoning.

NIGHT HAD fallen and the fiends had come out to get their blast. In the depths of the jungle you cop whatever you needed to escape whatever troubles you had. They readily sold their souls for a temporary release. Even with the increased police patrols, business was still able to be handled. B. T. and China sat on the bench, passing a blunt back and forth watching it all.

“These niggaz is a trip,” China said, taking a toke of the blunt. “How can you know crack is gonna fuck your life up, and still smoke it? These people ain’t got no scruples.”

“Man, fuck these niggaz,” B. T. said, spitting on the ground. “They can get as high as they want as long as I got a fat pocket.”

“You’re a sick dude.” China laughed him off. “Say, what was that shit wit you and Top earlier?” Being fairly new to the set, China didn’t know B. T.’s story.

“Fuck that nigga,” B. T. replied. “He riding a dead man’s dick.”

“Everywhere I go I hear about this Lou-Loc cat,” China said, passing the blunt.

“Man, he wasn’t nobody. If he was so muthafucking hard, them brims wouldn’t have aired his ass out.”

A fiend walking up on them broke up their conversation. She was a Hispanic girl with a pretty, round face. The effects of drug abuse had begun to make her lose weight, but she still had a very nice shape. Her eyes held a look of hunger that both men understood.

“What’s up, fellas. Got some coke?” she asked, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Bitch, you better go see them lil’ niggaz like everybody else,” B. T. snapped.

“Come on, B. T. Don’t do me like that, you know we go way back.”

“Marisol, you better get the fuck away from me.”

“We can work something out,” she said, touching his knee.

“You must be out ya fucking mind.” He slapped her hand away. “You just as grimy as ya sister was. I slide with you, and I’ll probably wake up with a pistol to my head. Get out my face!”

Marisol sucked her teeth and walked away. She knew she was playing herself by being out there like that, but what choice did she really have? Her boyfriend had lost his position at the firm for drug abuse, then he up and left her to move back with his family. She found herself out on her ass and broke. The fall from diva to dopehead was a short but hard one. She started out snorting with her boo in the high-class circles then ended up stalking a fix on the block like the rest of the fiends. The sick part of her addicted brain told her that the actions of her sister Martina had cast a black shadow over her family.

The downhill spiral began when Lou-Loc was murdered. Though she knew her sister was hurt over the loss of her meal ticket she never thought she would take it to the extremes she did. Martina couldn’t accept the fact that Lou-Loc didn’t want her so she concocted a plan to punish him. Though Marisol and Lou-Loc had never seen eye to eye she still didn’t believe he should’ve been murdered, especially like that. After his death Martina was found dead. The police still had no clues as to exactly what had happened, but Marisol knew. The devil she had served for so long had come back to swallow her. It was just too bad that she had set him on everyone else’s heels in the process.

Marisol wiped the long tear from her cheek that the stroll down memory lane had left her and moved deeper into the trenches to see who else she might be able to offer her services to for a blast.

“YO, YOU twisted that faggot, son!” Danny squealed. “That boy head exploded like boom! Yo, I think a piece of his brain was stuck on the window.”

“Danny, anybody ever tell you that you talk too much?” Gutter asked, lighting the blunt that was hanging from his mouth.

“It’s blue, cuz. I was just trying to give you your props. You pushed son’s wig back. That shit was dope!”

“Let me tell you something.” Gutter turned on him. “Ain’t nothing glorious about murder. Blood don’t wash off, lil nigga. You ever shot somebody?”

“Nah, but I would,” Danny quickly shot back.

“But the point is, you haven’t. You ain’t never seen death up close and personal. Baby boy, you don’t know what kind of demons haunt me everyday of my life. You’re a good soldier, Danny, but don’t be so quick to sell your soul for stripes.” Gutter leaned back in his seat and busied himself looking out the window.

Danny felt kind of foolish being chastised by his mentor. All he was trying to do was give it up to Gutter on his flawless execution of Supreme, but he ended up getting flipped on. Everyone doubted him because he was young, but Danny was eager to prove just how ’bout it he was. When his time came, he would surely step to the plate. Danny dropped Gutter off in front of his building and drove off into the night.

When Gutter got into the duplex, he noticed that the light was still on in the study. He had hoped to come in and wash the gun smoke from his body, then ease into the bed with his lady. Unfortunately, Sharell was still up. He walked into the makeshift office and greeted his lady.

“Sup, boo,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Hey, Ken”-she patted him on the leg-“I left dinner in the oven for you.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, turning to leave the room.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is blue. How’s Satin?”

“Still the same.” She shrugged. “The nurse said she’s up and down, but no major changes. She’s putting on some weight though. Probably all that medication they’re giving her. My heart really goes out to her. Lord knows I’d probably lose it if something were to ever happen to you.”

“You ain’t gotta worry about that. I ain’t going nowhere,” he assured her.

“That’s easy to say, Ken, but no one can foresee God’s plan.”

“I don’t know about God’s plan, but I know about my plan. I’m gonna be here to be a father to my child and a husband to my lady.”

“Not if you keep running like you do, Ken.”

“Don’t start this shit again, Sharell.” He massaged his temples.

“The truth is the light,” she said, turning her chair around to face him. “You can say what you want, but ain’t no good gonna come from the way you’re living. The devil is always busy, Kenyatta. More often than not he uses troubled souls like you to do his will. The Lord says-”

“Man, miss me with that ‘the Lord says’ shit,” Gutter snapped. “The Lord ain’t said a muthafucking thing when my partner got blasted. His ass was silent as the grave.”

“Kenyatta Soladine, don’t you be in here blaspheming,” she warned. “It was a terrible thing that happened to Lou-Loc. I loved him like family and didn’t nobody cry harder than I did at the funeral. That still doesn’t change the fact that it was the Lord that brought you back to me. I prayed by your bedside everyday and he let you come out of your coma. You should be thankful for that.”

“Oh, I’m thankful, but not to the Lord. He ain’t have shit to do with me getting up out that bed,” Gutter said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He sighed. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’m going to bed,” Gutter turned and walked out of the room.

Sharell felt like crying, but she promised herself she wouldn’t. She and Gutter had the same argument more times than she cared to recount. With each passing day, he seemed to become more and more obsessed with his mission. Sharell knew Gutter was a good man at heart, but she was hardly a fool. Every time she read about a gang-related shooting, she knew just who was behind it.

Gutter had the homeys putting in overtime on the streets of New York. No matter how much blood was spilled, his thirst never seemed to be sated. It had gotten to the point where her friends from church refused to be seen publicly with her. They feared that her man’s reputation would land them in a cross fire. Regardless of his wrongs, she loved him and would stick by him no matter the outcome.

HAWK LEANED against his car, watching while Ruby punished a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Even before he had gotten her phone call, he knew about Supreme’s murder. In the streets, news traveled fast. No one really understood why Ruby was taking his death so hard, but Hawk understood. He was one of the few people that knew about their secret love affair.

“I want him dead!” Ruby said in between sobs. “Gutter has finally crossed the line!”

“Ruby, calm down,” Hawk said in an even tone. “We’re all upset about what happened to Supreme, but drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to bring him back. I need your head to be clear so you can command your troops. Get it together.”

“Fuck that,” she slurred. “This shit is war. Y’all can keep playing with these crab niggaz, but I’m taking it to ’em. He’s going down.”

“What’re you gonna do, march into Harlem and single-handedly take the whole set?” he questioned.

“If I have to. That nigga should’ve been put down a long time ago. Y’all kept playing with it and look what happened. We lost three set leaders and God knows how many soldiers. We gotta do something, Hawk.”

“Something has already been done, Ruby. This problem with Gutter is officially out of our hands. We’ll be getting some outside help from the West.”

“Just what we need, some Cali clowns coming out here trying to tell us what to do.” She guzzled her bottle.

“This clown comes highly recommended,” Hawk said, taking the bottle away from her.

“I don’t even give a fuck no more.” She slumped against the car. “I just want him dead.”

“Soon, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”

IT SEEMED like Gutter had just gone to sleep when he heard his cell ringing on the nightstand. He grumbled something in Arabic under his breath as he reached for the phone. It was four o’clock in the morning and he wondered who the hell could be calling him from a 310 area code.

“Hello?” he rasped.

“Kenyatta?” the caller asked.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Ken, it’s Rahshida,” the woman replied. Rahshida was his aunt who lived in Watts.

“Auntie, it’s one in the morning out there. Everything okay?” he asked, sitting up.

“Ken, oh God, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

“Rahshida, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Gunn. He’s been shot!”

Gutter almost dropped the phone. As if things couldn’t get any worse. Big Gunn was like the surrogate father for all of the lil homeys on the set back home. It was because of him and his tutelage Gutter and Lou-Loc were able to come up through the ranks. He taught them what banging was really all about. In their eyes Gunn was invincible, now his aunt was on the phone telling him he’d been wounded.

“Kenyatta, are you still there?” Rahshida cried.

“Yeah, I’m here. How is he?”

“Not good. They’re saying he might not make it. Oh, Ken, he was just going to the store and some Swans rolled up on him. They just started-”

“Don’t even say no more over the phone,” he cut her off. “I’m catching the next flight out.” With that, he ended the call.

“EVERYTHING OKAY?” Sharell asked in a sleep-laden voice.

“Yeah, go back to sleep,” he replied, sliding out of bed.

Sharell was about to call out to him, but didn’t. Whatever had stirred her man at this hour had to be of the utmost importance, but he would tell her when he was ready. Sharell tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. The early-morning phone call rattled her, but it was her visit with Satin that was nagging at her.

She was used to the wordless visits, but there was something different about Satin physically that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She had some sick days she needed to use anyhow so she decided to make another trip to see Satin the following day.

AFTER MAKING himself a drink, Gutter stepped out onto his balcony and lit a blunt. The news of his uncle’s shooting was unexpected and ill-timed. There was a full-scale war raging in New York so he couldn’t really afford to dip out, but his family came first. Taking a deep drag off the blunt, he looked out at the water.

It had been more than two years since Gutter had last walked in the California sunshine. He always knew he’d return, but not under these circumstances. Nearly his entire family was Crip’d out, but Big Gunn banged the hardest. Now that he was out of commission, the weight of restoring order would fall on Gutter.

He thought about Sharell and how the situation would affect her. She didn’t really know his family, but she had love for them off the strength of him. When he broke the news of Gunn’s shooting and his trip back home, she was sure to insist on going. It would be a tooth-and-nail fight when he told her no, but it was for the best. Gang life in New York was harsh, but nothing compared to the escalating feud in California. Los Angeles was truly the land of the heartless.

Gunn was an O.G. Touching him was a blatant sign of disrespect and justice would have to be dispatched swiftly to save face. There was no doubt that the homeys were going to loc up and he would be smack-dab in the middle. He had already put Sharell through enough and wouldn’t subject her to that. As the weed numbed his physical, his mind began to make preparations for the events to come.

THE PRIVATE room at the facility was completely dark and quiet. The only sound that could be heard on the floor was the small television that played in the nurse’s station. The duty nurse and one of the orderlies watched a sitcom and drank beer, waiting for the end of their boring shift.

Satin tossed and turned fitfully, but she did not awaken. The unannounced visitor crept silently into her room as he always did. A chain hung from his belt, but made no sound as he moved across the tiled floor. The visitor looked down at the girl’s sleeping form and wondered what she saw when she slept. The visitor reached out to touch her, but withdrew when she stirred. On more than one occasion he thought about intervening, but Satin’s injury wasn’t a physical one. For all of his gifts, there was nothing he could do about a broken heart.

“If only he’d taken the bargain,” the visitor whispered.

The floor nurse thought she heard voices coming from Satin’s room so she went to investigate. Cautiously, she entered Satin’s room sweeping her flashlight back and forth. The room was empty save for the young girl who occupied it.

chapter 5

“WE’VE BEEN waiting here for forty-five minutes,” Eddie complained.

“Shut up, man.” Tito waved him off.

“Eddie’s right,” Miguel added from the backseat. “The flight landed twenty minutes ago, and the guy still hasn’t shown. We don’t even know who we’re looking for.”

“Please believe we’ll know Major when we see him,” Tito assured him. “Y’all just chill.” Tito leaned back and lit a cigarette. He too shared their impatience, but that didn’t change the fact that he had been ordered to pick up their guest. A council had been called to deal with the recent Crip insurgents and the murder of El Diablo, who had been a respected East Coast general. This suited Tito just fine. He wanted everyone who could connect him with the double cross to disappear anyhow.

Cisco had recruited Tito to double-cross El Diablo. He was to make it so the old L.C. leader was found with dirty guns in his car and get sent off to jail. During the set up, things went wrong. El Diablo ended up getting smoked by his crazy-ass sister before the police could get to him. The bonus was that one of their greatest adversaries ended up getting clipped in the process. It seemed like a fair exchange. The only problem was, Cisco got whacked right after and the L.C. was thrown into disarray before he could make good on any of his promises. Instead of the promotion Cisco had assured him of, Tito found himself starving with the rest of the set.

A knock on the rear window startled the trio. They turned as one and saw a man standing beside the car. He was a stocky yellow cat who wore his hair parted into quarters, with four thick braids crowning his face. Dressed in a red leather varsity jacket and construction-colored Timberlands he didn’t look like much, but a smart man knew that you never judge a book by its cover.

“Holy shit!” Miguel gasped.

“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asked, being new to the click.

“Major Blood,” Tito said with a slight edge to his voice.

“Right on the money.” The stranger smirked. “The real Major Blood, homey. Tito”-he glared at the young Latino-“I hear you been out here embarrassing my name?”

Drayton, or Major Blood as he was called, was one of the meanest cats you could ever have the misfortune of going against. He was born and raised in California, in a one-story stucco home off Piru Street. His father was a wayward Mexican, whom he had only met once, and his mother was a home girl, claiming the 900 block Bloods.

Just about everyone in the hood was either a Blood, or a supporter. It was usually what block you lived on that determined which side you chose, if any. Maria had always been attracted to the hard-ass street thugs, so when she and her parents moved to a Blood hood, it seemed only natural that she threw her lot in with them.

Her parents were always warning her against the gangs and the violence that came with their lifestyle, but it was hard to monitor the comings and goings of a wild young girl, and work three jobs between them. Maria’s older sister Essie was reserved and obedient, but Maria was wild. Even when they forbade her to hang with the local gangsters, she would just sneak off every chance she could. This eventually led to her period standing her up, six months after her fifteenth birthday.

Her parents were irate. Her father would’ve beaten her to death had it not been for her mother’s interference. They were disappointed with her, but they didn’t cast her to the streets. Six and a half months later, she gave birth to Drayton.

A girl so young could never fully understand the burdens of parenthood, which is what happened with Maria. She eventually grew tired and frustrated with having her wings clipped at sixteen. She began going off and staying out later and later, putting the baby off on her parents. Her mother eventually had to quit her jobs to stay home with the child.

Drayton grew up watching his mother’s antics as well as the violence and absorbed it. A child’s mind is so very like a sponge in those early years, taking in whatever it comes into contact with. Drayton had the full “red” print on how to bang accordingly, but it wasn’t until he was about five that his life would be defined.

On a rare night, Drayton had accompanied his mother and a group of her friends to a local fair. The only reason she had him along was because her parents had flat-out refused to babysit. Reluctantly, she took her son to the fair, and as it turned out had a pretty nice time. The home boys adored him and were very generous in showering him with popcorn and candy till his stomach hurt. He got on the makeshift rides, while they smoked pot and drank Old English.

As the day wound down the group made to leave the park. On the way out, one of Maria’s people got into it with a group of Hoover Crips over an incident that was at least six months old. The beef was broken up when the sheriffs and their dogs started to bully their way toward the altercation. The two groups parted with violent glares and threats. One young man in particular radiated an especially menacing vibe.

His hazy green eyes looked down on young Drayton and studied him for what felt like an eternity then broke off. A cold chill ran down the child’s back, even as the big man stormed away.

The new excitement, mixed with the weed and drinks, sent everyone into a fit of laughter. The Bloods poked their chests out and traded stories about what they would’ve done if the sheriff hadn’t come. They weren’t worried, because they had “straps” in the car, which was parked right outside the fairgrounds. The group of Crips walked in the other direction, deeper into the fair. Maria held the seat up, and Drayton hopped into the back of the Chevy.

The next few seconds would be embedded in his mind until the end of his days. He could remember his mother, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, laughing at a joke someone told. Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion. Those same eyes he had seen at the fair were approaching from the rear. His bulky form was hunched over and moving swiftly. It was just like the army movies he had watched with his grandfather, he recalled. Everyone in the group was smiling, but the man wore a mask of pure hatred.

The tipsy group noticed him just as he was pulling a long revolver from beneath his blue sweatshirt. Bottles fell from hands and joints were abandoned as everyone tried to find cover. Drayton saw the man’s lips moving, but he couldn’t make out all the words. The two he did catch would be his newfound purpose in life. “Hoover, nigga!” the man shouted. Then came the blood.

The revolver barked over and over, trying to touch everyone assembled. Some made it under cover, while others weren’t so lucky. Maria fell in the latter. Her face had gone from a smile to a mask of terror. She was halfway in the car when the bullet exited her heart, and struck the seat right next to Drayton. Blood stained his face and clothes, but he didn’t seem to notice. All he saw was his mother’s cold, dead eyes.

The police rushed to the scene, but as usual, the shooter had already vanished. There were several injuries throughout the group, but only one fatality. At the funeral, his father showed up to pay his respects, but if he had knowledge that he had sired Drayton, he didn’t show it. The lean mirror double of him looked the boy over once and disappeared. That was the last time they ever saw each other. Drayton would spend more than enough time in and out of foster care, while his grandparents fought the system for him. When they finally did get him home permanently, the seeds had already been planted.

Drayton began his career early and quickly excelled at it. He had been around gang-banging since infancy, so it was a part of who he was. He tried his hands at drugs and a few other hustles, but found that his real strength was in murder. Drayton didn’t have the patience to stand around and sling stones. He wanted his money long and fast, and that didn’t seem quick enough for him. Drayton capitalized on the one thing he had carried with him since early. Hate.

Murder came easy to him. It was a gift of sorts. Drayton would find new and innovative ways to kill his victims. Whatever his methods, they were always very bloody. As his calling card, he would leave the bloody clothes of his victims on the doorsteps of their families or crews. This is what got him the nickname Major Blood.

The thirty-something-year-old had been putting in work since he was old enough to get “quoted,” a real live career banger. He was an iron-willed killer with a pack of wild young dawgz that wanted to be just like him, the most promising student being Young Reckless, his aunt Essie’s only child. Just as Major had been poisoned, he passed it off to his little cousin. After a while he got his kicks from just kicking back and watching Reckless smash shit. It was around that time that Tito had adopted the nickname Lil Major Blood. It was a name that until recently he had held down with valor.

“One of you niggaz get my shit,” Major said, walking around to the passenger’s side. He stood on the curb waiting for Eddie to get out, but Eddie just stared defiantly. “You gonna move or what?”

“What for? There’s room in the back,” Eddie pointed out.

“See, I can already tell you New York niggaz got the game twisted.” Major Blood smirked. “Where’s the respect for seniority?”

“Blood, I don’t even know you. These niggaz say you supposed to be official, but what kinda credentials you come with?”

“Okay, tell you what”-Major’s arm shot out in midsentence. He snapped his elbow and caught Eddie in the nose with the back of his hand. Eddie’s head bounced off the headrest and his hands covered his face.

Major snatched the door open, and pulled Eddie out. “Get yo ass out.” He shoved him and Eddie slunk out of the car and climbed into the backseat. Without being asked, Miguel got Major Blood’s bag. Major pushed the passenger seat back to where it would be on Eddie’s knees and relaxed. He stuck his hand down into his underwear and pulled out an ounce of sticky green. Without looking, he tossed it into the backseat.

“Roll that,” he ordered. “Tito, drive this muthafucka before I catch a case.”

INOP ON Seventh Avenue was as crowded as usual. It was only eleven thirty, but people filled the booths as well as stood in line trying to fill their bellies and seeing who was out. The wait time was twenty minutes, but Gutter and his crew were seated as soon as they entered. Hollywood was fucking the hostess. The men climbed into the booth and placed their orders. When the waitress had gone, they got down to business.

“That’s some heavy shit, cuz,” Hollywood said from the corner. “How bad is he hit up?”

“I don’t know yet.” Gutter tugged at his beard. He had run a comb through it before hitting the streets, but it still made him look like a wild-ass mountaineer. “My aunt just told me that some Brims dumped on him. Shit!”

“Man, Gunn is a stand-up dude. That was some bold shit them busters pulled, but they gonna catch it. I’m rolling wit you, cuz,” Pop Top declared.

“Nah.” Gutter shut him down. “I ain’t going to war; I’m going to see my fam. When I get the story, this shit is gonna get handled. In the meantime we keep up the effort over here. They call themselves Bloods, so make ’em bleed!”

“You know I got you faded all day, my nigga,” Pop Top assured him.

“True indeed.” Gutter nodded. “Now, y’all know them niggaz is gonna be out for blood behind what happened with Supreme so move smart about it and be on constant alert. No cowboy shit, just tactical hits. If these muthafuckas even look like they wanna frog up, put the love on ’em.” Gutter crumbled his napkin for emphasis.

“You know we gonna keep it funky out here while you’re gone,” Danny assured him.

“You’re coming with me,” Gutter announced to everyone’s surprise, including Danny. “We about to step off into some heavy shit and I don’t know who I can still trust out there other than my family and Snake Eyes.”

“Aw shit, I might even get a chance to put it on one of them West Coast niggaz,” Danny joked.

Gutter looked at him seriously. “Danny, this ain’t no game. We about to step into a war-torn city, where these little niggaz ain’t got a problem caving your fucking melon in just for the stripes.”

Danny sucked his teeth.

“You better listen to what the homey is telling you. Think about it like a trip to the Holy Land, nigga,” Pop Top added.

“If my uncle dies you’re likely to see more gunplay than you’re ready for,” Gutter said seriously.

chapter 6

HAWK STEPPED into the lobby of the W Hotel and gave a casual glance around. He had been to a few of their hotels and compared to the rest, the Lexington Avenue location didn’t measure up. Still, he wasn’t a guest, he was only there to handle business so he wouldn’t have to endure it long. With him were Tito from L.C., and Hawk’s guard dogs, Red and Shotta. The two men looked like day and night, with one being tall and slightly chubby, while the other was almost pitch-black and sported long dreads. For as odd a pair as they appeared to be, they were both very handy with the steel.

Hawk was a man of high standing in most underworld circles so it was rare that he ever had to unleash the two, but when they killed they did it well. That was before Gutter. With the way he had things popping in New York, Shotta and Red found themselves with their hands full. Gutter didn’t discriminate against rank when it came to taking out his enemies, which Hawk had a feeling was part of the reason he was down at the W that afternoon. A very important, and very dangerous, associate of his gang was visiting New York City and that meant trouble for anything blue.

As soon as he got the word that Major Blood would be visiting the city he knew something major was about to go down. His instructions were to act as a liaison while Major Blood was in the city, but he hadn’t been told what the mission was. Adjusting the bulge under his butter-soft, red leather jacket, Hawk led the way into the elevator.

They got off on the sixth floor and filed down the carpeted hallway. Even if they didn’t know what room Major was in, the unmistakable sounds of N.W.A. would’ve led the way. Hawk motioned for Shotta and Red to hang in the hall while he knocked on the door. The music dropped to a respectable level, and he could hear people shuffling around in the room. When the door opened a thick cloud of marijuana smoke floated into the hall.

The girl who opened the door was a shapely Puerto Rican. Her thick thighs pressed against her light blue Lady Encyes. She took her colorful fingers and brushed a strand of feathered blond hair from her face as she looked them over. Without waiting to be invited in, Hawk stepped into the hotel living room. Sitting across the room was Major Blood.

Major was sitting on the floor with his back against the love seat and his head resting on the inner thigh of a big-breasted girl, with heresy skin. She was pulling a comb through his long silky hair, finishing up the last two braids. Major Blood looked up at Hawk with lazy eyes, smoke billowing from his mouth to his nose in two tiny jets. Resting against the crease of his tan Dickies was a chrome 9.

“My nigga, Hawk,” Major greeted him, his face smiling but his tone flat. “I know you ain’t bring ya goons with you to see lil old me? We Blood, homey, I ain’t no threat to you.”

“Nah, it ain’t like that. We got some other business to handle when we leave here, but I ain’t want them in here while we talked,” Hawk lied, hoping Major Blood didn’t see through it. “Welcome to New York, Blood.” Hawk pounded his fist. “Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the airport, but I’m sure you’ve been making out okay.”

“I’ve been keeping myself occupied.” Major patted the chocolate girl’s thigh. “Ladies, go in the back for a sec. I gotta talk to my dawg.” The girls went into the sleeping area, closing the door behind them and turning up the television. “Now, down to business; I hear you niggaz got a crab infestation you can’t handle?”

“That’s not totally accurate,” Hawk said, pulling up a wooden chair. “We’ve just been having some difficulties with a pocket of Crips in Harlem.”

“I don’t call getting most of your team greased, difficulties. Word is, Harlem dusted damn near all of L.C. and is making short work of the rest of you muthafuckas too. That sounds like a problem to me, hommes.”

“With all due respect, Major, you ain’t from out here, so you really don’t know what’s up.”

“Well”-Major sat upright-“with all due respect, Hawk, my O.G.s say y’all losing face out here and they ain’t feeling that.” Major Blood got to his feet and walked over to where Hawk was sitting. “Don’t trip, man.” He draped his arms around Hawk, causing him to tense up. “The old heads know you get down, Hawk, so you’re good money, baby. Now, it’s these little bastards y’all got flagging that’s becoming a problem. No disrespect, but you guys are looking like a bunch of pussies to the niggaz back home, repping this.” He tugged at the red belt that was looped through his Dickies.

Hawk got up out of the chair and positioned himself so that his back was to the wall. “What do you want me to say? Niggaz die every day, all over the world. Sometimes we get one up on them, some times they get one up on us. That’s how this shit has always gone. Gang-banging ain’t gonna change, fam,” Hawk defended.

Major Blood stared at Hawk long enough to make him uncomfortable before responding. “See, that’s the kind of half-ass thinking that’s got your monkey-asses in a sling now. Hawk”-Major took the seat Hawk had just vacated-“you of all people know this shit y’all putting down ain’t what we come from. I mean, we all criminal muthafuckas at the end of the day, but there was a time where the people who lived in our neighborhoods were off-limits. We didn’t prey on our own, we protected them and smashed on the rest. We made long paper and made sure that niggaz knew they couldn’t come through our hoods tripping. Fuck is New York promoting? Purse snatching and cutting civilians for stripes? Them fruits don’t come off no tree that I know of. Show me one muthafucka other than you and maybe Tito that’s banging accordingly.”

Hawk was usually the one giving the homeys lectures on Blood etiquette, so Major flipping the script had him tight, but he held his composure as best he could. “Man, we’re working with what we got in New York City, Blood. This ain’t California so the same rules don’t apply. It ain’t a problem with Crips; it’s a problem with Harlem. Gutter is on some bullshit.”

“And that’s just why I’m here,” Major Blood rocked the wooden chair back on two legs. “My orders are real simple, homey: Harlem Crip is getting shut down. I need any information you got on them fools. Sets… numbers… the works. I’ll take care of the rest, you think you can handle that?”

“I’ll have somebody get it to you,” Hawk assured him.

“I need anything you got on Diablo’s murderer too.”

“His sister killed him, Blood,” Tito spoke up for the first time.

“I don’t give a fuck who killed him. He was one of ours. Fuck is it when our generals can get they shit pushed and nobody do nothing? On everything, I always fill my contracts. As far as I’m concerned she’s a Judas and wasn’t fit to share the same womb as a down-ass damu like Diablo. That bitch is going to sleep, Blood.”

Tito cringed at the ice in Major Blood’s voice. He could understand bringing it to Gutter and his lot, but why bother with Satin? She had lost her sanity as a result of the shooting and surely couldn’t be a threat to anyone but herself. Tito would stand with his people when it came time to ride on Gutter, but he would have no part in Satin’s execution.

SHARELL THUMBED through her outfits trying to pick something comfortable to wear for her trip to see Satin. She could still fit into some of her stuff, but the babyweight limited her choices.

She was still a bit upset at Gutter for planning to fly out without her, but she understood where he was coming from. A respected member of the Hoover Crips had been shot and the shit was definitely going to hit the fan. Gutter had no way to tell exactly what the situation was and he didn’t want Sharell to get caught up if things went sour. Still, she didn’t know how she felt about Gutter running off into God only knew what.

Gutter had always lived his life like two people. This was one of the only similarities that he shared with Lou-Loc, other than both being down for the set. One side was the light, where he was Kenyatta, the loving husband and father. The other side was the darkness, where he murdered and ordered men murdered. He chose to keep her in the light.

Sharell might’ve been a churchgirl, but she wasn’t a twit. She knew that Gutter had bathed in a river of sin, yet she stood by him. She was his woman, and it was only right. For the most part, she knew there was good in him, but he showed it less and less as the need for revenge grew. Still, she prayed for his salvation.

Sharell quietly reflected on how things would be with Gutter being all the way in California, while she was stuck in New York. She knew he had a life before her and wondered if he would pick up where he left off? Maybe there was some old flame awaiting his return with open arms. Would she be the one to console him?

She was thinking nonsense. Even suggesting that Gutter was going off to some secret rendezvous as his uncle lay mortally wounded was selfish on her part. If she spent his time away conjuring scenarios she would surely drive herself crazy. What she needed to do was get herself on the road to go see about Satin.

Her soul was wounded in ways beyond what no woman should endure. To be sentenced to a lifetime of sorrow seemed a fate worse than death. Sharell wondered what Satin now saw in her mind’s eye. Was she aware? Or in some far-off place that existed only in her mind?

When she finally finished dressing and stepped outside her building, the sun blared mercilessly down on her. Throwing on her Chanel shades, she continued on to her car. Mohammad was at his usual post, sitting in his Maxima thumbing through one of the several newspapers that he devoured each morning. He was a youthful-looking man with copper skin and a beard that hung slightly longer than Gutter’s but was far more kept. He smiled politely at her then went back to reading.

Since the conflict, Gutter insisted that she be under constant guard. One of the homeys had occupied the job in the beginning, but that turned out to be a disaster. Mohammad was one of Anwar’s. He was always with her when Gutter wasn’t around and sometimes when he was. Other than the fact that he greeted her in the mornings, she never knew he was there. He didn’t talk to her and he never revealed his exact location. He only made direct contact with her when necessary. Mohammad was the equivalent of having your own personal ghost.

Sharell walked to her car, which was parked a few spaces up, and got behind the wheel. She checked herself over in the mirror and pulled into traffic. Mohammad followed shortly behind her.

SATIN SAT at the foot of a waterfall, looking at her reflection on the surface of the water. Her hair hung down to her shoulders, but had begun to frizz from the light drizzle that was sprinkling her. Her face was as beautiful as it has always been. There were no dark circles around her eyes and her cheeks still held a youthful glow. Running her hand through the water, she waited as she always had.

A figure approached from the direction in which the sun was setting, she couldn’t see his face due to the glare, not that she needed to. She’d know him anywhere. He approached, with his hair neatly braided and his khakis heavily creased. His brown face smiled at her lovingly as he occupied the patch of grass next to her.

“Lou-Loc,” she whispered, to which he gave her his infamous smile. His face was still as smooth as it had been before the shooting.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice being little more than the hum of a mosquito’s wings, but she was able to hear him perfectly. His breath smelled of the sweetest flowers, with a hint of tilled earth. When she laid her hand against his cheek it felt warm, not the cold flesh of a dead man. Every rational part of Satin’s mind told her that he was dead and that the man sitting beside her couldn’t be her forever lover, but when she pressed her body against his it seemed very real.

“God, I miss you,” she sobbed.

“I miss you too, ma,” he replied. “More than you can imagine, Satin.” His form wavered then became solid again. “Satin, you gotta go back, ma.”

With tear-filled eyes she looked up at him. “I know, baby, but I can come back tomorrow, or the day after.”

He looked down at his All Stars before turning back to Satin. “No, baby, I mean you gotta wake up. This ain’t no life for you, and the more you come here the more of yourself you lose. I can’t let you end up like me.” He motioned toward his body, which was starting to take on the clarity of a bootleg movie.

“I won’t leave you, Lou-Loc.” She tried to grab hold of his Dickies shirt, but her fingers passed right through. “Why can’t I stay here with you?”

“Because you gotta water the seed, ma.” He tried to touch her stomach, but his body was rapidly losing substance.

“Water the seed, what are you talking about?” she asked his fading form.

“You can’t sleep anymore, Satin, sleep is for the dead. This place”-he motioned at the fading scenery around him-“it ain’t for you, baby. Life is for you.”

“Baby, a life without you ain’t a life,” she pleaded. “I wanna stay here with you, Lou-Loc. Just about everybody I ever loved is dead, ain’t nothing out there for me. I don’t wanna lose you too.”

“Baby, as long as you water the seed you can never lose me, don’t forget that,” he said before his form faded completely.

SATIN AWOKE with a start. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the mountains and the waterfall, but there were only the dull hospital walls, and the morning sun coming through the picture window. Lou-Loc’s words again rang through her mind and the meaning suddenly became clear. With a trembling hand Satin touched her stomach and felt the faintest hint of a flutter.

chapter 7

AS SOON as Sharell stepped off the elevator she heard the shouts and sounds of furniture being overturned. A burly orderly rushed past her so swiftly that he almost knocked her over. Down the hall she saw a small cluster of people gathered around Satin’s room. An orderly stepped inside, but immediately backpedaled out, followed by a lamp, which shattered against the hallway wall.

“What’s going on here?” Sharell asked as she approached the duty nurse. Her youthful face wore a worried expression.

“Step back please, miss, we’re dealing with a situation,” the nurse told her as she pulled a syringe from her pocket along with a small glass bottle. Her hands were shaking so bad that she almost dropped the bottle when she tried to slip the needle through the corked top.

“I’m Sharell Baker, and that’s my sister in there.” Sharell tried to step around the nurse so that she could see into the room, but one of the orderlies blocked her path. He was a thick-necked cat whose arm and neck were covered in tattoos.

“I can’t let you in there, ma’am,” he said in a bass voice. “It’s too dangerous. Ms. Angelino attacked one of my people a few minutes ago.” He motioned to the splatters of blood on the floor that she hadn’t noticed before.

“Attacked an orderly? The last time I was here she could barely feed herself, let alone be a danger to anyone.” Sharell looked from the orderly to the nurse for an explanation.

“Tell that to the young man who’s downstairs getting his hand examined.” The nurse folded her arms over her small breasts. “Ms. Angelino came out of her stupor some time this morning and when the orderly went in to administer her medication she attacked him with a pencil.”

“Jesus.” Sharell covered her mouth in shock.

“Ms. Baker, I’m just as shocked as you are, but it still doesn’t change the fact that she’s become a danger to herself and my staff. She has to be sedated.” She held up the syringe that was now filled with a greenish fluid.

“Wait, can I try and talk to her first?” Sharell asked.

“Can’t do it, Ms.,” the tattooed orderly spoke up. “If you were to go in there and something happened we’d be held responsible, and I ain’t trying to lose my job.” He folded his arms, letting her know that it was nonnegotiable. It was just then that she spotted the six-pointed star tattooed on his elbow, with two numbers crowning it.

“Can I speak with you for a minute… in private?” Sharell asked politely. The orderly gave her a distrustful look, but agreed to hear her out.

“Make it quick lady,” he said, leading her off to the side. The nurse gave him a look, but he motioned that he had it under control. “What’s up?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

“Where’re you from?” Sharell asked, slipping into the venacular she’d often heard Gutter use.

He gave her a quizzical look. “The Bronx, why?”

“Young man, I’m not here to give you grief or jeopardize your job, but I really don’t have time to play. Now, where’re you from?” She nodded toward the tattoo.

The orderly absently placed his hand over the tattoo. “Seven-Duce gangster, but I’m not in the life anymore,” he said just above a whisper. She could clearly see he was lying, but it wasn’t her place to judge.

“Listen, have you ever heard of Gutter?” she asked.

The orderly lowered his eyes. “Yeah.”

“That’s my husband, and the woman in there is his sister.”

The man snapped his head up and looked at her with fear-filled eyes. “Listen, lady, I don’t want any problems, I’m just trying to do my job.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“I don’t doubt that, but like I said, that’s Gutter’s family, and I’d hate to think how he’d feel if something happened that could’ve potentially been stopped.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Just give me a minute to see if I can calm her down before y’all run up in there. I’d look at it as a personal favor.”

The orderly stood there and pondered it for a minute. Everyone, Crip or Blood, knew just who Gutter was and what he was about. If the patient truly was Gutter’s family and something happened to her there was no doubt in his mind that he was a dead man walking. Though he valued his job, he valued his life more.

“A’ight,” he told her. The orderly looked over at the nurse and motioned that it was okay to let Sharell in. “You got five minutes, and we do what we gotta do if she tweaks again,” he warned.

“Thank you so much.” She took one of his massive hands in hers. Sharell hurried to the doorway only to be stopped by the nurse.

“Terrence, are you crazy?” she shouted at the orderly. “If somebody finds out we let her in there all our asses are gonna be fired! I got kids to feed and I need my job.”

“Trish”-he took her firmly by the arm and moved her out of Sharell’s way-“I got this. Give her a minute.” Trish started to protest, but the warning look Terrence gave her kept her silent. Reluctantly she allowed Sharell to enter the room.

Sharell stepped around them and entered the room. She was totally taken aback when she saw Satin, pacing near the window, with a crazed look in her eyes and a bloody pencil in her hand. “Satin?” Sharell called to her.

“I want to go home!” she shouted. “What am I doing here? Why won’t they let me go home?”

“Satin, calm down baby. I’m here,” Sharell said, stepping closer, but not close enough to taste the end of the pencil.

Satin turned her animal-like glare on Sharell. For a minute it looked like she was going to attack, but her eyes softened when she recognized Gutter’s girlfriend. “Sharell, why are they keeping me here? Why won’t they let me go home?”

“Baby, you’re sick. They’ve been treating you here since the shooting. Don’t you remember?”

Satin rocked on her heels for a minute then continued her pacing. “I want to go home, Sharell, I can’t stay here. Lou-Loc says I have to water the seed.”

If Sharell wasn’t convinced that Satin was insane before, she was then. Lou-Loc had been dead for months so it was impossible for him to have told her anything. “Satin, Lou-Loc is dead. There’s no way he could’ve told you-”

“No, no, no!” Satin threw her breakfast tray against the wall, painting it with processed eggs. “He’s not dead, he’s alive, alive inside me. I gotta water the seed!” she insisted, covering her stomach with her free hand.

“Satin, what seed? What are you talking about?”

Satin’s motion was so swift that Sharell took a step back when she moved in her direction. “The seed, Sharell, our seed.” She pointed to her stomach. “Lou-Loc says I have to water the seed! I have to take care of our child.”

Child?

Sharell thought back on her dreams and the overwhelming urge that she go back and visit with Satin. Could Lou-Loc have been speaking to her from beyond the grave? For as outlandish as it might’ve seemed, Sharell knew that dreams always held a hint of the truth, be it yours or someone else’s. Back when she was a child, her dead aunt used to visit her dreams in an attempt to warn her of some danger to the family. A short time later her little brother, Malik, was murdered.

“Nurse!” Sharell called. The duty nurse came into the room, still holding the syringe and glaring at the violent young woman. “Has Ms. Angelino been given a pregnancy test?”

The nurse’s face held a look somewhere between nervousness and confusion. “Pregnancy test?” she asked as if it was something she didn’t quite understand. “No, we don’t do that here. When we check patients in they get EKGs, blood work, respiratory, all tests that fall under our standard policies, a pregnancy test not being one of them. Furthermore, she’s shown violent tendencies and will be sedated so that she doesn’t harm any more of my staff or herself.”

“No, no more drugs until she’s tested.”

“Look,” Trish said, glancing at Satin’s chart. “Apparently they didn’t feel it necessary to give her a test when she came in, and I wasn’t here for that. Any complaints you have you need to take them up with my supervisor. Now, what I plan to do is-”

“What you will do is hold off on any more medication until Satin is given a pregnancy test, unless you want to explain to my lawyer why you’ve been giving a pregnant woman medication that could be harmful to her fetus. I need her tested, immediately.”

“The lab is closed but first thing in the morning-” Trish began.

“What part of immediately don’t you understand?” Sharell snaked her neck, matching her attitude. Trish made to say something, but Sharell raised her hand for silence. “You know what, never mind.” She stormed past the nurse over to where Terrence was standing. “I hate to ask, but I need one last favor.” Sharell leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

“Oh, hell nah, Gutter’s old lady or not, you’re asking for a little much.” He shook his head.

Sharell palmed a bill into his hand and said, “I really need this done.”

Terrence looked in his palm and nodded at the hundred dollar bill. “A’ight, I’ll be right back.”

“Terrence, where are you going?” Trish called after him.

“Trish, hold it down. I’ll be right back.”

She sucked her teeth and turned her attention to Sharell. “I don’t know what y’all are up to, but I’m going to call my supervisor.” She stormed down the hall.

“Yeah, you do that,” Sharell said, going back into the room to sit with Satin. Sharell held Satin in her arms and stroked her face. Under the watchful eyes of the remaining orderlies, Sharell waited for Terrence to come back from the pharmacy, listening to Satin tell her of waterfalls and tilled earth.

TWO HOURS later Sharell found herself zipping through traffic heading back into the city. She had cried, shouted, and cursed but it didn’t change what she had discovered or do anything to resolve the situation.

As soon as the two strips appeared on the stick Sharell demanded that Satin be released to her custody so that she could receive the proper care, but the nurse wouldn’t budge. She fed Sharell a line about procedures and the girl’s release clearing the proper channels. No matter how you sliced it, Satin was still a murderer. Snake Eyes would fight the good fight in court, but there was no getting around the fact that Satin would have to stand trial and eventually go to jail.

The news of Satin’s pregnancy was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because she was about to bring a child into the world, but a curse because of the circumstances. A million things ran through Sharell’s mind, but the most relevant thought was how to get Satin out of that hospital. Sharell was a churchgoing girl and a law-abiding citizen, but this was a situation that needed to be handled outside the law. Flipping her phone open, she called Gutter. After the third ring he picked up.

“Baby?” she said, trying to calm herself. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Satin.”

NIGHT HAD fallen over the streets, taking with it some of the humidity the day had brought on, but the cool air did nothing to ease the heat building in the pit of Gutter’s stomach. The only time he ever visited that end of Manhattan was to get new tattoos, but even those hadn’t been often since Wiz’s cousin Spider came over from out west. The boy was nasty with the ink.

The news Sharell had dropped on him hit like a ton of bricks. It was bad enough that he had to deal with his uncle’s situation on the West Coast, now he had to deal with Satin. Though he was glad to hear that she was coming back to her old self, the timing was lousy. For as much as he would’ve loved to stick around and deal with the situation personally, the attempted murder of his uncle was top priority.

Lou-Loc would’ve been happy as a sissy in Dick Town to hear that he was about to be a father. He always talked about wanting kids, but he was too deep in the game to really entertain it. The thought of the streets claiming him and leaving his child fatherless was one of the few things that terrified him, and ironically that turned out to be exactly the case. One thing was for sure, Gutter would be damned if he’d allow Lou-Loc’s child to become a ward of the state. He vowed that Lou-Loc’s child would have the same privileges in life as his own seed. The obstacle was that to get Satin out of the hospital he’d have to use unconventional means. This is what brought him dredging through Lower Manhattan in the middle of the night.

Anwar had tracked down the address for him, but even without it Gutter would’ve probably been able to find the run-down West Village bar. Though it appeared to be barely a step above being a shack, the hairs standing up along his arms told Gutter there was more to it. Gutter climbed from behind the wheel of his car and made his way across the street to the hole-in-the-wall. The entire block was empty except for two young men loitering in front of the bar. The first was tall and thin, sporting a thrift store vest over a red T-shirt, while the other was dark and dressed in baggy jeans. Gutter nodded, but they only stared as he entered the bar.

The interior was pitch-black with the exception of the glare from the jukebox and several wall-mounted televisions broadcasting rock videos. There was a light sprinkling of people along the bar or at various tables and all eyes turned to Gutter when he entered.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the place, especially behind the black sunglasses. A faint light emitted from an old-school jukebox that was belting out something Gutter couldn’t even identify, let alone groove to. He could see bodies moving around in different sections of the bar, but there wasn’t enough light to make out numbers, or sex. Ignoring the lingering stares he could feel on him, Gutter made his way over to the bar.

A withered old man stood behind it, wiping a glass with a dingy towel. He took his time letting his milk-colored eyes wash over Gutter. Had it not been for the intensity of his stare one might’ve mistaken him for blind. After completing his inspection, he shuffled over to where Gutter was sitting and rested his knuckles on the bar top.

“Say, man, let me get a shot of yak,” Gutter ordered.

“We don’t serve no yak here,” the old man said in a raspy voice.

“Then how about a beer?”

The old man looked past Gutter as if he could see something going on in the dark corner that no one else could, then turned back to Gutter. “Listen,” he said just above a whisper. “You’re either not from around here or one dumb son of a bitch. Take an old man’s advice and go get yourself a drink at that spot down the block.”

Gutter leaned in and matched the man’s tone. “I fear nothing but Allah. Now, why don’t you go get me that beer, homey, I’m waiting for somebody.”

The bartender made to say something, but the young lady who was now standing beside Gutter silenced him. She was dressed in ripped jeans and a red satin corset. Her platinum hair was slightly cropped on one side, while the top and back were long. Pale blue eyes moved seductively from Gutter to the bartender.

“Moses, it’s no wonder this bar doesn’t get much business, the customer service sucks.” Even though it was an insult, her voice seemed to ooze sex.

“Nadia, don’t you go starting nothing in my bar. You know what Kane said about not needing the heat.” Moses waggled a gnarled finger at her.

“If you don’t watch that finger you might lose it.” She clamped her pearl-white teeth together. When she was done teasing Moses, she turned back to Gutter. “So, what’s a nice young boy like you doing in a dive like this?” She tried to run her finger along the side of his face, but he grabbed her by the wrist.

“First of all”-he removed his sunglasses and looked Nadia in the eyes-“I don’t allow women to touch me uninvited. And second, I ain’t been a boy in a long time, so why don’t you keep it moving, shorty.”

“Mmm, feisty,” she purred before grabbing his crotch. The pressure was so intense that he couldn’t even cry out. “I think I’m turned on.” She leaned in to lick his earlobe, but paused as if she had just smelled something rank. Using her free hand she turned Gutter to face her and looked into his rage-filled eyes. “Somebody is keeping secrets.” She made to taunt him further, but the feeling of cold steel pressed under her chin gave her pause.

“Bitch, either you let go of my sack or I’m gonna paint the fucking ceiling wit yo brains,” Gutter grunted.

Nadia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “A tough little bastard, huh? That’s okay, I like to play rough.” She smiled, flashing jagged white teeth. The situation was about to turn ugly when a voice boomed through the darkness.

“Some people gotta keep sticking their hands in the fire, even after they know it’s hot.” The speaker came to stand beside Gutter, facing Nadia. He was tall and had shaved his black curls, but still wore the leather duster.

“Cross, how ya doing, baby?” Nadia released Gutter, allowing him to catch his breath. With the fluidity of a cat, she slipped off the stool and looped her arm around Cross’s waist. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

“I’m here every night,” he said, totally unmoved by her phony display of affection. “This one is spoken for, you know the rules.”

“I just wanted to play with him, that’s all.” She chuckled, trying to mask the fear beneath the joke.

“I’ll bet,” he said in a humorless tone. “Take a powder.”

“Can’t knock a girl for trying,” she said before vanishing into the darkness of the bar.

When the girl was out of earshot the stranger turned back to Gutter and spoke harshly. “What do you want here, ganglord?”

“I need to speak to you, Cross,” Gutter said.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Cross shot back.

“I need a favor.”

Cross laughed. “You muthafuckas kill me. It’s not enough that I save you from the worms, yet you still come around seeking the devil’s bargain. Gutter, you’re pushing your luck coming in here. Nadia is harmless, but there are others here who might not think my mark is enough to keep you in one piece, and I ain’t about to get my ass tore up trying to rescue you. Take Moses’s advice and get your crack-slinging ass back to Harlem.”

“Check this fly shit, Cross,” Gutter began. “If I had it my way you and me would never see each other again, but I need this solid… It’s about Lou-Loc.”

Cross’s sparkling green eyes flashed anger as he leaned in to Gutter. “Dawg, off the strength of my man, I’m gonna allow you to walk out of this place without tearing your fucking head off, but for as long as your asshole points to the ground you’d better never drop his name trying to sway me. He’s gone and our debt is settled.” Cross turned and headed back the way he came.

Gutter shook his head in frustration. As bad as he wanted to put a slug in the back of Cross’s head, he was Satin’s last hope. “Cross, if you ain’t gonna do it off the strength of his memory, do it for his seed,” Gutter blurted out. This got him Cross’s undivided attention.