Gutter

chapter 8

THE FLIGHT from JFK to Long Beach had been anything but comfortable. Gutter hated to fly, but did so reluctantly when he had to. If they’d driven or took the train, Gunn might’ve been gone. Flying was definitely their only option.

The trouble started from the moment Gutter got to the metal detectors at the terminal. A beefy, red security officer played with a jaw full of tobacco and glared at Gutter. He produced his identification, boarding pass, and emptied his pockets like everyone else. The guard looked down at his driver’s license and read Gutter’s full name: Kenyatta Usif Soladine. Glaring at the young man he asked flatly, “You a Muslim?”

“Yes,” Gutter replied politely.

The guard tossed the wallet on the gray table and motioned for Gutter to walk through. Immediately the machine went off. Gutter stepped back through and took off his wide-buckled belt and jewelry. When he made to step back through, the guard stopped him.

“Step over here, you’ve gotta be specially searched,” he said, motioning toward a small roped-off square.

“Is there a problem?” Gutter asked, still keeping his tone polite.

“I said, you’ve gotta be specially searched.”

“I emptied my pockets, why can’t I just go through like everyone else?”

“’Cause you got your ticket off the Internet. Regulations and all.” The beefy guard smiled wickedly.

Danny was about to open his mouth, but Gutter waved him silent. He didn’t want to risk missing the flight due to an argument with the guard. Casting a glare at the guard, he stepped over to the square.

The guard stood in front of him with a wand, shooting Gutter a hateful look. He slowly ran the wand from his feet to his torso. When he got to Gutter’s chest, the wand beeped faintly.

“It’s lead. I got shot a while back,” Gutter told him.

“Is that right?” the guard said with a raised eyebrow. “Take your shirt off.”

“You can’t be serious,” Gutter said in disbelief. “I told you I got shot!”

“Regulations, sir. For all I know, you could be concealing a bomb. You can either take your shirt off to prove you’re clean, or I can have you detained.”

Gutter could feel all of his blood shooting into his arms. He balled his fist so tight that his knuckles began to crack. A haze of red swept over his vision, as he contemplated putting his fist through the man. He knew if he got into it with the guard, he would surely be jailed. God knew when he would be released, but Gunn might be gone. It took all of his self-control to silence the voice that screamed for death. Ignoring the crowd that had formed, Gutter stripped down to his tank top.

“Lift it,” the guard demanded, giving Gutter a look that made his flesh crawl. Gutter did as he was told, exposing the multiple scars from the shooting. They were all healed, but they had left ugly keloids. “Jesus, you must be one scandalous son of a bitch to make somebody put this many holes in you!”

“Man, are you finished?” Gutter asked, finally having enough.

“Yeah, I’m done, Tin Man,” the guard said with an obnoxious snicker.

Gutter snatched his goods, and moved to find his boarding gate.

The flight didn’t go much better than the boarding. The people in the first-class section looked at the two men as if they didn’t belong. They ignored the rude stares and made their way to the seats. Once everyone was seated, they went through the usual routine. Emergency exits, how to properly buckle your seat belts, the whole nine. After the mechanical speech, the plane was lifting off.

Takeoffs always made Gutter uneasy. He hated the dropping feeling in his stomach when the plane left the ground. Once they were in the air and coasting, he tried to relax a bit. The flight attendant came through and set two glasses of Hennessey in front of the two men and continued with her rounds. Danny’s questions seemed to come without end. Gutter wanted time to think, but the youngster kept at his insistent gibbering. He tried to escape the boy’s questions by dozing off, but that proved to be another dead end.

As soon as he went to sleep, he was assaulted by nightmares of his own attempted murder, as well as Lou-Loc’s horrible fate. He was able to see with clarity the men who gunned his friend down. He felt everything that Lou-Loc must’ve felt when it happened, including Satin stroking his head. Gutter didn’t fear much, but he feared these dreams. At times he wondered if it was because of the bond he now shared with Lou-Loc and Cross.

For the hundredth time he wondered how his friend and the demon called the Cross had become so tight. Cross was rude, arrogant, and downright creepy, but Lou-Loc had a knack for finding friends in the most unlikely places. For as much as a scumbag as Cross might have come across as, Gutter knew if anyone could complete the task he could.

After a few restless hours the plane began its descent into the land of the heartless. Against his better judgment Gutter lifted the blind and peered outside. The clouds looked like the softest cotton as the aircraft cut through them on its way back to earth. The 110 freeway looked like a child’s racetrack from that height. Seeing the California skyline brought a feeling of nostalgia to him. He was home.

AFTER THE long flight, everyone wanted to get off the plane. People were pushing and trying to yank bags from the overhead compartment. Gutter and Danny waited patiently until it was their turn to exit the bird, and hurriedly got off.

It was nearly three o’clock when they landed in Cali, but Long Beach Airport was packed. Danny shoved and cursed people on the way to the baggage carousel, while Gutter quietly brought up the rear. Danny began the task of identifying and retrieving their luggage, while Gutter called home to check on Sharell.

The phone rang four times, then the machine picked up. He dialed it again, with the same results. At first he was nervous, but remembering that Mohammad was with her, his mind was at ease. For as soft-spoken as the bodyguard was, he was also a trained killer. Mohammad had been trained from his earliest days in the art of death, and his skills only increased when he was brought over into the death cult Gehenna. If it came down to it Gutter knew Mohammad would kill or die protecting Sharell, which gave him some solace. Knowing Sharell, she was probably asleep. He left her a brief message, then hung up and waited for Danny. After snatching their bags from the belt, they picked their way to the exit, where someone would be waiting to pick them up.

As soon as Gutter stepped out into the night air he could feel the difference. The weather was humid, with a warm breeze carrying the salty smell of the Pacific Ocean. The strip was filled with taxis and private cars. Drivers stood around, chatting and holding signs with the names of their passengers. None advertised Soladine.

“It’s hot as hell out here,” Danny said, adjusting the collar of his button up. “Where the fuck is our ride?”

“Someone will be here,” Gutter said in nearly a whisper.

As if on cue, an electric-blue Lincoln Navigator rumbled up the strip. The windows were tinted, so the occupants were hidden from view. The sounds of the popular group The East Sidaz blasted from the stereo. Tray Dee and Goldie Loc spit pro-Crip lyrics over heavy riffs and Doctor Dre-like horns. When the truck stopped a few feet away from where Gutter and Danny were standing, the chrome rims kept spinning. Danny reflexively took a step back, but Gutter held his position. One of the customized doors lifted up and out, and the driver stepped around to greet them.

Tears was a year or two Gutter’s junior and hailed from Eighty-eighth Street, stomping grounds of the Eight Treys. His skin was the color of night, and his teeth bone-white. Even though he had been banging since before he was technically old enough, his face was still pleasant and youthful. Though from two different sets, he and Gutter had stood side by side in many firefights.

“Sup, fool?” Gutter smirked.

“So, the dead do walk.” Tears smiled. He hugged Gutter then held him at arm’s length and examined him. “Damn, cuz. The homeys wrote me and said you got hit up something terrible, but you look okay to me.”

“You know I’m made of blue steel. Wounds heal, man,” Gutter replied.

“Shit, in under a year? When I got hit in the gut, it took me six months to get right. I heard you got aired out and left for dead, but I can’t see it.”

“You know how niggaz exaggerate,” Gutter deflected.

“Right, right,” Tears said suspiciously. “I hear you kicking up major dust on the East, kid?”

“You know I’m true to this.” Gutter formed a C with the fingers of his left hand and placed them over his heart. “We’re trying to come up like everybody else.”

“Yeah, getting money and trying to make the funeral director a rich man,” Tears joked. “Dude, what’s with you riding on these slobs so hard?”

“It ain’t about nothing.” Gutter placed a cigarette in his mouth and fished for a light. “Niggaz touched mine, and I ain’t standing for it. We ride on my side.”

“I hear that. Say, I’m sorry about missing Lou-Loc’s funeral. County wouldn’t give a nigga a pass, ya know?”

“Don’t trip. I know you would’ve been there if you could. Say”-Gutter motioned to Danny-“this here is Tears from Eight Trey. Tears, this is Danny from Harlem.” The two men nodded. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my uncle.”

DANN STARED out the window like a starstruck kid. This was his first trip to the West Coast. He had heard stories about what California was like, but it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. They rode down Melrose where there were quiet streets and palm trees. They had rented two suites at the Double Tree Inn, out in Westwood. It was an upscale-looking strip, lined from end to end with different hotel chains. Danny was designated to check them in. Luggage was left in the truck while he got the keys. Danny looked around and thought how overrated Cali was.

After the keys were secured, the trio hit the 405 south, heading to Los Angeles. Danny sat in the passenger seat as Tears gave him a brief overview of L.A. Danny paid close attention to the various monuments, such as the Capital Records building. When they exited the freeway the scenery began to change.

The pleasant suburbs turned into middle-class vinyl houses. From that the landscape turned into liquor stores and shabby stucco houses. Spray paint scarred the walls of supermarkets and other buildings. Even at that late hour, groups posted up on corners and porches, eyeing the truck wearily. Most were young men, drinking or talking among themselves. Danny searched some of their faces and only found the eyes of hardened men on the faces of boys. Some even threw up their hoods trying to gauge a response from the mystery convoy. Danny quickly realized that he had been rash in his assessment of California.

They passed through L.A., and on through Carson, but to Gutter’s surprise they hadn’t stopped. Tears dipped back around and headed toward Torrance, which was notorious for Blood activity at one time. Most of the houses were dark, save for a few porch lights. Deep within the horseshoe of a nondescript street, they pulled up into the driveway of a small lavender house.

“This is it,” Tears said, turning to face Gutter, who was meditating in the backseat.

Gutter looked around at the scenery in disgust. “Man, y’all got my uncle laid up in a slob city? What the fuck was y’all thinking?”

“It’s all good, cuz. Slob activity ain’t like it used to be around here. And the few muthafuckas out there that’s still connected got a truce with us ’cause we hitting ’em with birds. As long as we ain’t trying to move in we got an understanding. Besides, had we kept him at the hospital niggaz might’ve tried to come back and finish the job. We got medical equipment and round-the-clock nurses on call. He’s in good hands.”

Gutter nodded and stepped out of the truck. He looked up and down the block and felt as if he was out of place. He took a few moments and examined the house. It was a two-story house, situated in a still-under-construction housing development. From the average cars in the few driveways, he deduced it was a working-class neighborhood. There were men dressed in blue Dickies and jeans, holding automatic weapons outside the front door. He should’ve known that the homeys would make sure Gunn was well protected. They started forward when they saw him, but resumed their positions when Tears waved them back.

As he stared at the door his heart began to pound. He had no idea what to expect. He decided to let Tears go before him. Tears knocked on the door, while Gutter waited with anticipation. There was a brief wait and finally the sound of footsteps. The peephole jingled then bolts were slid free. When the door finally opened Gutter lost his breath.

chapter 9

ACROSS THE ocean, another scene was unfolding. Though it was well past midnight the warm weather had the park on 145th and Lenox packed. Two local groups were running a full court for unnamed stakes. Hollywood sat behind the wheel of his Chrysler, while the girl from the bus stop occupied the passenger seat. Young Rob occupied the back, blowing haze smoke into the air.

“This is some good shit.” Rob smiled.

“You know Hollywood only smokes the best grass.” He smiled, referring to himself in third person. “Matter of fact, I gotta have the best of everything. Gear”-he popped his collar-“shine”-he touched his chain-“and ladies.” He rested his hand on the girl’s exposed thigh.

“I know that’s right.” Rob looked on hungrily.

“Hollywood, stop being nasty.” Sonia giggled.

“See, Rob. When you get to be a nigga of my stature, you’ll realize what I’m rapping about. These niggaz is always complaining about spending money to have the finer things in life, but that’s only because they’re uneducated. Me, I live by the philosophy of: Take care of life and it’ll take care of you. Dig it?”

“Yeah, man,” Rob said, passing the blunt, “I dig it.”

“Talk that shit, nigga,” Sonia said, leaning over and licking Hollywood’s neck. Without missing a beat, she took her hand and began to massage his crotch.

“Say, Rob,” Hollywood called over his shoulder, “I’ll get up with you later.”

“Sure, Hollywood,” Rob said, catching on. “I’ll see you later, fam.” Rob slid out of the car and headed up the street.

Hollywood gazed at Sonia lazily. She returned his stare with a hungry one of her own. He could tell the potent weed was beginning to loosen her up. Slowly she kissed his cheek and neck, she tried to kiss him on the lips, but he turned his head. Sonia moved her kissing further south to his chest. His jeweled hand guided her steadily down, while she undid his pants. Within a few seconds, he felt her warm mouth on him. She had come across as a schoolgirl when he met her at the bus stop, but Hollywood had a nose for freaks. Sonia was rank to say the least.

ROB STROLLED across the avenue, trying to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of the night. Hollywood had his hands full and China was probably somewhere with B. T. Though he was a down soldier, there weren’t that many members of the set he hung out with on his personal time. Rob decided that he would go cop some weed and maybe get up with C-style. It had been a few days since he’d had a taste of that sweet pussy.

After purchasing a twenty of haze, he headed to the store for a forty and some Dutch Masters. On his way out of the store, a passing group of young ladies caught his attention. They had on tight shorts that exposed a good portion of their asses. Rob was so caught up in trying to be cool, that he never saw the two young men run up on him.

When Rob turned around, the first of the young men smashed a fist into his face. Rob tried to fall, but was held up by a second young man, who punched him in the stomach. They gave him a few more good blows, before dragging him to the curb where a green Ford was waiting. The men tossed him roughly into the backseat then climbed in behind him. Before anyone knew what was going on, the car was gone.

In the backseat of the car, the two thugs took turns slapping Rob across the face. The world began to spin but Rob still managed to stay conscious. The beating had stopped and his vision was finally beginning to clear. He looked up and saw a pie-faced man staring down at him.

“Don’t pass out on me now, nigga.” Major Blood poked him with the barrel of his gun. “We got some things to discuss.”

“YOU KNOW who I am?” Major asked, pacing the parking lot.

“A fucking dead rag!” Rob spat.

“Wrong.” Major Blood punched him in the face. “I’m a fucking headache. Look, lil nigga, I know youz a nobody in the organization, so you get to keep your life… at least for today. I’ve got a special job for you my friend. You get to play the go-between for me and your set.”

“I ain’t doing shit for you, nigga!”

“Wrong again.” Major punched Rob in the stomach, but held him by the jaw so he couldn’t fall. “You’re gonna do just what I tell you for two very simple reasons.” He pulled his gun and placed it to Rob’s head. “For one, you’re a smart kid. For two, you don’t wanna die.”

At the sight of the gun and the cold glare in his captor’s eyes, Rob’s knees began to involuntarily shake. For as hard as he might’ve tried to come across, he was still a child. He felt the water begin to form in the corners of his eyes and prayed the tears would spare him the humiliation.

“You scared?” Major whispered. “Tell me you scared.” He rubbed the gun against Rob’s sweat-covered temple. “Yeah, you scared muthafucka. Fake-ass gangsta. You think wearing that flag makes you a true banger?” He pressed the barrel of his gun deeper into Rob’s temple. “Boy, youz a pussy in wolf’s clothing,” he slapped Rob with his free hand.

Rob’s head snapped back, causing him to lose his balance. He was so hurt and embarrassed that he could no longer keep the tears at bay. If he’d had a gun, he’d have emptied it into his tormentor, but he was unarmed. Moisture ran down his cheeks, but he continued to glare at Major.

“I know that look.” Major leaned in close enough for Rob to feel his breath on his face. “You’re probably thinking how much you’d like to blow my brains out, but you can’t. You got caught without your strap, if you even own one. First rule of thumb in the gang-banging handbook; never get caught without a weapon.” He tapped the barrel against Rob’s skull for emphasis.

“This nigga is a mess,” Tito said, stepping from the shadows. “He’s probably shitted his pants. Faggot-ass crab!” Tito hit him in the ribs.

Rob doubled over in pain. Every time he tried to breathe his ribs throbbed. He knew that he had no wins against the odds, so he didn’t bother to try and scrap back. He did study all the faces and commit them to memory. If he survived the ordeal, they would all answer for what they’d done.

“We should just kill this fool and get it over with.” Miguel cocked the Beretta he was carrying.

“Nah, it’s like I said. He’s gonna be my messenger. Hey”-Major slapped Rob and held him upright-“you listening?” Rob nodded. “Tell your boys that it’s a wrap for Harlem.” Without warning, Major hit him in the face.

Rob collapsed where he stood. The force of his face hitting the ground shook his brain. Spots flashed before his eyes as sweet blackness engulfed him. The last thing he saw was the booted feet of his attackers disappear into the night.

chapter 10

MONIFA WAS a five feet nine brown goddess who oozed sex appeal without even trying. She had long dark hair, with flakes of gold scattered throughout it. The lime sundress she wore hugged her hips and plentiful breasts. Her full lips looked as if they couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry at the arrival of the guests. Caramel eyes swept over the trio, but lingered on Gutter.

“Sup,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Same ol.” She stared down at her airbrushed toes, peeking through her sandals. “Heard you took a few?”

“Shit happens.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“So, you just gonna stand there, or show me some love?” She spread her arms.

Gutter hesitated at first then moved in to accept her embrace. Monifa’s skin was warm against his. When her hair brushed against his face, he could smell the faint traces of jasmine. During the embrace, age-old feelings rushed to the surface.

Monifa and Gutter had been lovers when California was still his state of residence. More accurately, they had been a couple. She lived on 101st and Hoover, not far from Gunn. Though she never officially joined the set, she was a firm supporter of the Crip movement.

During the early days you could always find her at Gutter’s side, rallying the troops and helping him plot on his enemies. Monifa’s little brother, Half, was also a Crip who ran with Harlem. Not long after joining, he was killed in a drive-by shooting. After her brother’s death Monifa began to change. Her love for Gutter was unwavering, but her attitude toward the movement had soured. She was beginning to wonder if the banging was as senseless as her mother always warned her.

The more detached Monifa got from banging, the more entrenched Gutter became. He and Lou-Loc were so intent on coming up through the ranks that gang-banging consumed their every waking thought. If he wasn’t committing murders, he was planning the take over of enemy territory.

The change in personalities put a serious strain on their relationship. Monifa had gotten tired of playing second fiddle to the set, and demanded that he change. Being from California, she understood that he couldn’t just walk away from the gang, but she also knew that he had already proven himself to be a G. It was no longer necessary for him to ride every night. Gutter promised to change, but never really did. The relationship became more and more frayed, but they stayed together. Each knew the other was doing their thing on the side, but publicly they still professed their unity. Then came the murder.

She never really got the full story, but from what she gathered he was being sought for questioning in the murders of two Los Angeles detectives. The whole set was tight lipped about the incident, only telling her that all would be taken care of. One day Gutter and Lou-Loc up and disappeared.

For a while he would send her letters letting her know he was all right. She could never pinpoint his location because the postmarks came from various points on the Midwest and East Coast. Eventually the letters stopped coming and she lost contact with him. About a year ago, she learned from a friend that he had relocated to New York City. She thought about contacting him, but never did. In time she learned not to hate him, but the resentment still lingered. He had left her with a broken heart.

“You look good.” He smiled.

“I’m a’ight,” she said flatly.

“Monifa… I wanted to call you, but-”

“Save it”-she cut him off-“we can discuss our past another time. Right now, your family needs you. Everyone is in the living room.”

He was a little stung by her sharp tone, but he couldn’t blame her. He just nodded and stepped through the doorway.

The living room was packed. Friends and relatives were crammed into the tiny space, talking in hushed tones or praying. Some people lingered near the kitchen area, while others hung out in the back, smoking weed and cigarettes. Though they tried to carry on normal conversations, they couldn’t hide the grim faces they all wore.

“Kenyatta,” his aunt Rahshida called from the corner. She was a short woman with dark skin and their family’s trademark green eyes. She wore street clothes, but kept her head covered by a silk wrap.

“Auntie.” He hugged her. “How’s he doing?”

“Up and down.” She wiped her eyes. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“That’s my fam. You know I’m gonna be here in his time of need.”

“Young Gutter!” a voice called over his shoulder. A short man, who was shaped like a building, came through the crowd. He was clean-shaven, wearing a white mock neck and blue slacks. His blue Stacy Adamses glided across the carpet to where Gutter was talking to his aunt. He gave them his too-big grin and slapped Gutter on the back.

“Blue Bird, what it is, cuz?” Gutter returned the gesture.

Blue Bird was an older homey, claiming 9-4 Hoover; a close ally of Gunn’s set 107. He was about the same age as Gunn, but carried himself like a teenager. Blue Bird enjoyed putting in work almost as much as he enjoyed convincing other people to do it for him. He was loud, ignorant, and disrespectful, but more important he was a straight-up G. Blue Bird was an old head of the old codes, where human life meant nothing.

“Man, we all fucked up about what happened to Gunn,” he said, sipping his can of Budweiser. “Them slobs don’t respect nothing, man. That’s okay though. We gonna ride on them fools for Gunn. That’s on the nine!”

“Why don’t you sit your drunk ass down!” Rahshida snapped. “My brother is back there fighting for his life and you’re still talking that who-ride foolishness. More violence is not what’s needed right now.”

“Rah, ain’t mean no disrespect. I’m just trying to let nephew know the hood is with him.”

“I appreciate that, cousin. Gimme some time with my fam and we’ll rap,” Gutter suggested, trying to defuse the situation.

Blue Bird nodded, and made his way back through the crowd. As he passed the homeys he notified them all of Gutter’s return. Soon Gutter was swamped with old friends and new faces welcoming him back to the set. It seemed as if all at once everyone in the room was either trying to pass Gutter a blunt or inquire about life in New York. The homeys were just trying to show love, but Rahshida was clearly getting frustrated. After shaking a few hands and assuring them that they’d all be addressed promptly, he managed to disperse the crowd.

“Damn fools. Every one of them.” Rahshida folded her arms.

“Don’t trip, Auntie.” He patted her back. “You know they don’t mean no harm.”

“Sup, Rah.” Tears approached, followed by Danny.

“Trying to get these rowdy fools to show some respect. They need to take they asses home.”

“Yeah, it is a gang of muthafuckas up in here,” he said as he observed the crowd. “Any word?”

“Same thing,” she said in a defeated tone. “Blocks from all over been tripping on Bloods, but nobody saying who the shooter was. Bloods blame it on the Mexicans, and vice versa. Hoover been tripping on both sides. I heard they even blasted on some Sixties who were rumored to have something to do with it.”

“Sixties didn’t do this,” Gutter disagreed. “Gunn had homeys from that side. When that shit popped off with them and the Treys, he didn’t get in it.”

“That’s possible,” Tears agreed. “Gunn wasn’t never for that Crip-on-Crip shit.”

“Crips bang on Crips out here?” Danny asked, shocked.

“Please believe it.” Tears faced him. “It started because of this kid getting killed for his jacket years ago. The next thing you know muthafuckas started choosing sides and a civil war jumped off between the sets. Shit got real ugly,” Tears recalled. “Personally, I never got involved with it because I feel like the homey Gunn did. At the end of the day we’re all Crips, so it seemed backward for us to be taking each other out. It ain’t as bad as it used to be, but some of these stupid muthafuckas just can’t let it go.”

“That’s some crazy shit.”

“More like genocide,” Rahshida added. “I don’t know when y’all are gonna learn about playing in them streets.”

“Come on, Auntie, don’t start wit that,” Gutter said.

“Kenyatta, please, don’t tell me what to say out my mouth, I’m your aunt, not one of your little hood rat friends. Besides, I’m only telling you the truth. You see what happened to your uncle and he wasn’t even in the streets anymore. You gotta pay it all forward one day, Kenyatta.”

“Can I see him, Rah?” Gutter asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, come on.” She headed toward the back rooms. Gutter followed, while the rest remained behind.

The hallway was narrow, but had high ceilings. There were pictures on the wall of Gunn and other home boys who had come and gone over the years. This was no doubt one of many safe houses Gunn had access to. The fresh paint and hardly worn carpet suggested that this one was new. At least Gunn hadn’t owned it when Gutter was still living in L.A.

Sitting outside the door at the end of the hall was a man lounging on a wooden chair. He had his long legs stretched and crossed, rotating one of his white Chuck Taylors. A wool skully was pulled over his head and ears, stopping at the beginning of his thick beard. His dark face twisted into a mask of disgust at the intrusion, but softened when he recognized his nephew.

“Oh, shit.” He leapt to his feet. “Little Kenyatta!”

“What up, Uncle Rah.” Gutter hugged him.

Rahkim was Rahshida’s twin. The whole Soladine clan was gangsta, but Rahkim was a triple O.G. Much like Gutter and Gunn, Rahkim rebelled against the responsibility of being a Soladine as well as the teachings of Islam. He fell in with the street gangs, right after Gunn did. Though he was younger, his name had more horror stories attached to it than any of them. Rah had been catching bodies since he was eleven years old, only taking an occasional break to do time in someone’s prison. The majority of his cases had been as a minor, so there was only so much time he could do, but his most recent had proved to be his undoing.

Rah and some of his click had gotten high off PCP, and decided they were going to go ride on some Bloods. After appropriating a car, or stealing depending on who you asked, they drove deep into enemy territory. While sitting outside a bowling alley that was rumored to now be under the sway of the rival gang, Rah and his troop spotted a group of people coming out of the alley. They were all wearing red shirts, and walking in the direction of two more men, who had already been confirmed as the enemy.

Getting out of the car, Rah and four other men crept across the parking lot. The two enemies were sitting on the car with their backs to them, so they never saw the approach. Rah got low, dangling his.45-long at his side. The other three men played leapfrog between shadows and parked cars. When the group dressed in red got close to the two men, Rah raised his pistol and dumped.

The shots sounded like thunder splitting the quiet of the night. The first of the enemies never even saw it coming when the bullet entered through his back and exited his chest. The other enemy tried to raise his own gun, only to have one of Rah’s men cut him down with an Uzi. The group tried to scatter, or plead, but Rahkim had given orders that no prisoners would be taken.

When it was all said and done, there were seven wounded, and five dead. As it turned out there were only two real enemies. The red-clad group was a part of a bowling league that held a tournament that night. The cashier at the bowling alley had identified the car carrying the shooters when the police arrived. Rah and his people were so high off the sherm that they were still sitting in their car, parked across the street and laughing hysterically when the cops found them. For his roll in the caper, the judge handed Rahkim a lengthy sentence.

“Damn, nigga, you trying to get swoll on me.” Rah gave him the once-over.

“You know how it is.” Gutter flexed. “Say, when you come home, man?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“You gonna stay out this time?”

“Nephew, I just did a dime flat. My days of going to the pen are long over,” Rahkim said seriously.

“I know that’s right.” Gutter gave him dap. “Look, I’m ’bout to go in here and see what’s up with your brother.”

“Prepare yourself, cuz. He’s in a bad way. I almost broke down when I seen him.”

“Uncle Rah, I done been to hell and back this year. Can’t nothing I see in there make me feel in no way.” With that being said, Gutter followed his aunt through the door.

When Gutter entered the room, his heart sank. It was a large space with various machines plugged into every outlet. Gunn’s hulking frame was laid out on the bed, with tubes running into just about every hole imaginable. His entire body, including part of his face was covered by blood-caked bandages. Gutter almost faltered as memories of his own assault rushed back to him. There were three nurses in the room. One who monitored his vitals and two more to attend to his daily needs.

Gutter moved timidly across the room and slid a wooden chair to Gunn’s bedside. He hesitated for a long moment, staring. Gunn’s body was as huge as it had ever been, but he didn’t seem the same. The Gunn Gutter remembered was animated and alive. The man before him seemed anything but that. Finally Gutter took the chair.

“Gunn,” he whispered. “It’s Kenyatta, can you hear me?” Gutter placed his hand over Gunn’s.

Gunn opened the eye that wasn’t covered, and blinked. He tried to speak, but winced against the pain of the breathing tube. Gunn nodded at Gutter and drifted off again.

“I see them slobs tried to put you down. They should know they can’t stop the unstoppable.” Gutter paused again, trying to find the right words. He wanted to tell Gunn that it would be okay, but in all honesty he didn’t look good. Gutter counted at least five holes, and only God knew how much lead he still had floating around inside him. He knew firsthand what kind of damage a bullet could do, bouncing around in your organs. “Don’t trip, family. Ya nephew gone ride for you, that’s on the turf.” He patted Gunn’s hand.

At some point, Monifa had entered the room. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was her. The scent was embedded in his brain. She placed a hand on his shoulder and before he could stop it, he placed a hand over hers. There was so much still unsaid between them. That would have to wait for another time. Seeing his uncle laid out like that only made him conscious of one thing: revenge.

“I STILL don’t see why we didn’t kill him. I mean, that’s what you do, right? Murder?” Miguel asked sarcastically.

“Don’t get cute, muthafucka. I know what I’m doing,” Major Blood said coldly. “It like I told him: he’s a messenger. That whole snatch and grab wasn’t about dropping no bodies. They’ll be enough of that soon enough. I wanted to see what kind of niggaz I’m up against, so I’ll know how to move.”

“Yeah, but by not killing shorty, he’s gonna tip Gutter off that someone is after him,” Tito added.

“You think Gutter doesn’t know he has enemies?” Major Blood lit a cigarette. “He’s gonna chalk this shit up to Bloods tripping.”

“I’ve seen that kid hanging around Gutter. He not gonna like the fact that we touched one of his young boys. He’s gonna ride hard on the hood,” Miguel said.

“Well, that’s something we won’t have to worry about any time soon.” Major blew smoke in his face. “Gutter has his hands full at the moment. Now on to the next order of business; what do we know about this Satin bitch?”

“After she whacked her brother, they shipped her off to the nut-house.” Tito shrugged.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Get on that. Next”-Major counted off on his fingers-“divide and conquer. We got anybody posted up on that side of the fence?”

“Yeah, a lil nigga that’s got a hard-on for Gutter,” Miguel recalled.

“Set up a meeting with him. He’s gonna play an important part in all this.”

“And what about Pop Top?” Tito asked. “He’s Gutter’s new general.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories about that kid,” Major recalled. “Supposed to be a real animal.” He faked fear. “Fuck that nigga too. When the time comes, we’ll do him up real special.”

GUTTER STOOD on the front porch taking in the California night air. Though there was a slight chill to it that night he could still smell the faint traces of salt carried from the Pacific Ocean. Seeing his uncle twisted the way he was had hit him harder than he expected. In Gutter’s eyes, as well as all who came in contact with Gunn, his uncle was invincible. He was a nigga that couldn’t be faded, but someone had faded him. Not long ago he had been in the same predicament, but Cross had resurrected him. Unfortunately for Gunn there was no cursed blood to heal his wounds.

“Sup, duke?” Danny-Boy stepped out onto the porch.

“Chilling, man. I’m just trying to get my head together,” Gutter told him.

“How’s ya uncle?”

“He all fucked-up, cuz. Them slobs did him in,” Gutter said, trying not to get too emotional.

Danny placed a hand on Gutter’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “We gonna make this shit right, man. These West Coast cats is gonna see what this East Coast swagger is all about.”

“Spoken like a true protégé of the Soladine family.” Tears came out, sipping a forty ounce. “How you be, my nigga?” Tears asked Gutter.

Gutter shrugged. “I’m a’ight. It just fucked me up seeing him like that.”

“You ain’t the only nigga feeling some type of way about this, G. The hood is demanding blood.”

“I hear niggaz is nut’n up over this?”

“Yeah, these lil muthafuckas is bust’n ass left and right, screaming it’s for the homey. The funny thing is that most of them are too young to even know who the fuck Gunn is. All they know is that an O.G. got touched and that’s a good-enough reason to pop off. C.R.A.S.H been kicking red and blue asses because of all this damn heat these lil ones are bringing down. Then when you got niggaz like Blue Bird instigating it really doesn’t help.”

“I was surprised to see him inside. I thought sure someone would’ve killed his ass by now,” Gutter half joked.

“Nah, bald-headed son of a bitch has got more lives than a fucking alley cat.”

“Fuck the both of you niggaz, out here talking ’bout me like I ain’t got ears.” Blue Bird staggered onto the porch, which was now beginning to get crowded.

“Go ’head wit that shit, Blue. You know you stay starting some shit,” Tears told him.

“Man, I don’t never start the drama, but I can sure as hell finish it,” Blue Bird said, making the shape of a gun with his fingers. “Fuck is y’all standing around looking all sad and shit for?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed we’re in the midst of a tragedy,” Gutter said seriously.

“Aw, I’m just fucking wit you, cuz.” Blue Bird draped his arm around Gutter, causing him to frown at the potent stench of alcohol coming off him. “Look, we all fucked-up about what happened to Gunn, but this shit is gonna get handled. These young boys is out here putting in much work.”

“These fools is dumping on everything moving, but we still ain’t no closer to finding the shooter,” Tears reminded him.

“In due time, my nigga. Say, in the meantime the home boys is having a set over in Twenty-first in the beach. Let’s mash over there and get cracking wit ’em.”

“I ain’t really up for no party,” Gutter said.

“Come on, G, stop acting like that. Sitting around here sulking ain’t gonna change Gunn’s situation. We might as well go on and have a few drinks and shoot the shit.” Seeing Gutter’s reluctance Blue Bird pressed the issue. “Dude, it’s been over two years since you’ve been home and it would really pick the homeys’ spirits up to see the living legend. We’ll stay for an hour then you can go back to your pouting.”

Gutter thought on it for a minute. He really wanted to be with his family, but Blue Bird had a point. Sitting around the house wouldn’t do much to change Gunn’s condition. Besides it had been awhile since he had seen the old crew and Danny would need some downtime to prepare him for the heap of shit that was about to be thrown into his lap.

“Fuck it.” He finally gave in. “One hour and I’m up.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Blue Bird clapped him on the back. “We’re gonna get faded and fuck wit some bitches, just like old times.”

Blue Bird stepped off the porch, followed by Tears and then Danny. Gutter hesitated for a minute before stepping off. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Monifa watching from the living-room window. He gave a half smile to which she responded by closing the curtains.

“Just like old times,” he mumbled to himself before joining the group.

chapter 11

WHEN THEY reached Twenty-first Street there were cars lining both sides of the block. People staggered up and down the sidewalk drinking and carrying on as if it wasn’t a residential block. Tears navigated the big truck through the traffic and parked on someone’s front lawn. No sooner than they got out of the car, their ears registered a series of whistles, the Crip call. Within seconds they could see shapes moving in and out of the shadows. Even in the darkness their weapons could be seen in hand. Danny tensed up, but Gutter got out as if he hadn’t even noticed the armed men.

“Where you from, homey?” one of the men asked Gutter, having never seen him before. Gutter just looked at him as if he was stupid. “Nigga, you hear me talking to you?”

“Put that muthafucking strap away before you get your little ass killed, Dion!” Blue Bird snapped, climbing from the backseat next to Danny.

“Aw, I ain’t know he was with you, Blue,” Dion said, tucking the small revolver back into his pocket. “I ain’t never seen homey so I ain’t know if he was friend or foe, you know how muthafuckas be out here tripping.”

“Cuz, ain’t you up on what’s happening? This is Gutter, Gunn’s nephew,” Blue Bird informed him.

“Gutter?” Another one of the armed men stepped up.

“The same Gutter who put the work in on that pig from narcotics?” Dion asked.

“Don’t go believing everything you hear, cuz. I don’t know nothing about no cop getting killed,” Gutter said, brushing through the crowd.

“Hold on, man. I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Dion said, catching up to Gutter. “It’s just that you’re a legend around these parts.”

“I ain’t nothing but a soldier, just like everybody else,” Gutter said modestly.

“You hear this muthafucka?” Blue Bird joined them on the front lawn. “You sound like you’re accepting a Grammy or some shit.”

“Dude, they said you rallied over two thousand troops in New York,” a nameless cat wearing a blue lumber jacket said.

“More like two hundred,” Gutter informed him.

“Man, you can tell your war stories later. Let’s go on in here; I got someone I want you to meet.” Blue Bird pulled Gutter into the house.

The inside of the house was just as packed as the outside. There must’ve been at least a hundred or so of the homeys from different sets getting their party on. The smell of weed and PCP made the air almost impossible to breathe without catching a contact. The sounds of the old Partna Duce cut, “That’s My Partna,” blasted through the tower speakers that were placed in each corner, causing the china cabinet to rattle.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna though! Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna!” Blue Bird sang along with the chorus, throwing up Hoover, and bumping through the crowd. Gutter followed closely behind, occasionally nodding to the few heads he knew and ignoring the rest. For a few minutes he was able to survey the crowd anonymously until some fool holding a bullhorn shouted, “Big welcome home shout to Gutter from Harlem!” The whole crowd went crazy, throwing up their respective sets and shouting their blocks. It seemed like everyone was trying to bulldoze their way over to him and shake his hand. In a strange way he felt like a celebrity. The only things stopping him from being mauled were the combined efforts of Blue Bird and Tears.

“Damn, these muthafuckas act like you a rapper or something!” Danny shouted over the noise.

Gutter brushed him off, but he couldn’t front like he wasn’t flattered by the reception. His crew in New York always showed him love, but it wasn’t like this. California was his birthplace, the epicenter of all that he was. People feared the men and women gathered that night, but among the wolves, he was home.

“Who’s the dumb muthafucka coming ’round here causing shit at my party?” a raspy voice came from their left. The speaker was a man of about twenty-six or seven, with skin the color of olive leaves. He was wearing a tank top and denim shorts. There was a blue bandanna tied around his neck, just above the short gold necklace he had taken to wearing. His hair was cornrowed on a slant and tied at the ends with blue and white beads.

“Jynx, what it is!” Blue Bird spread his arms.

Though Jynx appeared to be nothing more than a lanky juvenile, he was one of the most feared men in Southern California. Jynx, like Lou-Loc, was a contract killer, and also like Lou-Loc, it was tragedy that brought him into the fold.

Jynx’s brother had been a high roller, seeing major paper off the weed trade in Southern Cali. One night a group of Bounty Hunter Bloods broke into their home searching for drugs and money. When they didn’t find anything in the house they shot his brother and slit young Jynx’s throat, leaving him to die. Jynx lived through the ordeal, but the cut left a nasty scar and caused some damage to his vocal cords. When he was able to get up and around he went on one of the most talked about killing sprees on the West Coast. It was said that more than a half dozen Bounty Hunters died by his hands, and as a result Jynx was placed on their most wanted list, to be killed on sight.

“I should’ve known.” Jynx embraced him. “Blue, why you always gotta break up some shit?”

“Man, I ain’t come here tripping. I brought somebody here to see you, man. I know you know Gutter from Harlem?” He nodded to the man standing behind him.

Jynx squinted at the bearded man standing beside Blue Bird. “Gutter? Blue, you been smoking that shit you selling? That nigga bought the farm in New York.”

“So I keep hearing,” Gutter said.

“On the turf, this is Gutter,” Blue Bird said.

“So you’re Kenyatta Soladine?” Jynx said, continuing his examination. The unwavering green eyes were more than proof enough of his lineage. “Homey, we never met but I owe you.” Jynx shook his hand. Seeing the confused look on Gutter’s face Jynx went on to explain. “A few years ago that cop O’Leary murdered a little boy and left him strung up in the hood. The little boy was my cousin and the last blood relative I had left in the world. You settled that score up for me, cuz. Thanks.”

Gutter just nodded, but he didn’t accept credit for the murder. “It was fucked up the way they did the little homey. O’Leary got what he had coming.”

“Listen, I heard what happened to your uncle and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Crip, Blood, Chicano, whoever did this is going down. You’ve got my word on that. Anything you need, just ask.”

“Thanks,” Gutter said.

“Enough of this sap shit, where the fuck is the drinks?” Blue Bird asked.

“Spoken like the lush that you are.” Jynx laughed, motioning for the men to follow him to the makeshift bar area. To get to where the drinks were being poured they had to pass a small bathroom, just off from the kitchen. When they got within spitting distance of it a pungent odor assaulted all of their nostrils. Each man in the group made a disgusted face, but it was Jynx who vocalized his displeasure.

“Who the fuck is in here trying to kill my plants?!” he barked, banging on the bathroom door.

“Stall me out, cuz. That Carl’s Jr. I had earlier is running through a nigga!” someone shouted from the other side.

“Damn, cuz, put some water on that shit or something.” Blue Bird put his two cents in it.

“Stinking-ass nigga.” Jynx gave the door another kick and proceeded to the kitchen.

Inside the kitchen the air was a little less smoky, due to the back door being propped open. The counters were lined with various brands of liquor and a few half empty bottles of soda and juice. Tears bypassed the liquor and headed to the far corner where there was a tall garbage can filled to the brim with forty ounces. He opened an ice-cold Old English and took a long sip.

“Damn, thirsty, were you?” Blue Bird teased.

“Fuck you, nigga.” Tears wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Them squares be having a nigga dehydrated.”

“That and the fact that they’ll kill you is why you need to quit smoking,” Jynx said, firing up a blunt.

“Look who’s talking,” Tears shot back.

“This here is for my glaucoma, fool,” Jynx joked, exhaling the smoke. “Y’all niggaz go on and get right. The yak over there and we got that Crip-notic on ice.”

“Say, man, where you hiding all the bitches?” Blue Bird asked, pouring himself a healthy shot of Hennessy.

“Shit, take your pick.” Jynx nodded toward a group of young women who were talking to some guys in the doorway. “Wit all these hood rat bitches running ’round here, somebody’ll give your ugly ass some pussy.”

“Fuck you, Jynx. If you wasn’t my boy I’d blast yo ass,” Blue Bird joked.

“Friendship ain’t got nothing to do with it, Blue.” He pulled up his tank top and exposed the butt of a very large.45. “You fools help yaselves to whatever you want.” He grabbed a light-skinned girl that had been walking past and pulled her close. “I’m ’bout to get into some grown shit.” Jynx swaggered toward the bedrooms.

Gutter laughed at Jynx’s antics and went back to observing the party. Blue Bird had slipped off to the backyard with a freak, and Danny was ogling the scantily clad women like he was ready to catch a charge. The music was jumping and everyone was having a good time.

“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing a forty out of the bucket and leading his troops out into the throng of people. Gutter and his team drank the best liquor and smoked the best weed well into the A.M. before deciding to mash back to the pad. The crowd embraced Gutter like he was family, though most of them had never even met him. Everybody wanted to be close to the legend. Two big booty Mexican chicks were trying to get Gutter and Danny to join in on a freak show, but Gutter declined for them. Danny was tight, but he’d get over it. For as much as Gutter wanted to stay and freak off he knew he couldn’t-there was killing to be done.

chapter 12

WHEN GUTTER woke up the next morning it felt like he had just gone to sleep. Tears was supposed to drop them off at the hotel, but Blue Bird’s greedy ass insisted on stopping at Jack in the Box, where they bumped into some more of the homeys and ended up smoking two more blunts. The sun was damn near up when they finally got back to Westwood.

After showering, Gutter dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The bulletproof vest he had gotten from Tears would bulge a bit, but it was better than getting caught slipping. When he removed the contents of the black box resting on his bed he couldn’t help but laugh. Inside the box was a Glock and two clips, but not just any Glock, the very same Glock he used to keep at Monifa’s. He wondered if it was his ex’s idea of a joke, or some ironic reminder of the past he had left behind.

The hotel phone caused Gutter to jump. The front desk informed him that there was someone waiting for him in the lobby. He had no idea who it might be because he didn’t tolerate unannounced guests. After ringing Danny, Gutter tucked his strap in his pants and headed for the hotel lobby.

“AIN’T THIS a bitch?” Gutter beamed as he stepped off the elevator and greeted the mystery visitor. He had been ready to come through the lobby shooting until he saw the smiling face of his old friend.

There stood Snake Eyes in all his glory. He was decked out in a blue, striped, Nautica polo. His jeans were starched and creased, cuffed over his white Nikes. His hair was faded almost perfectly into his smooth brown skin. Standing there in a pair of wire-framed glasses Snake Eyes looked every bit of the egghead lawyer that he was. He had become such a square peg over the years that you almost forgot that he was once a killer and dope peddler. The little boy from 102nd and Hoover had done okay for himself.

“My brother,” Gutter said, embracing him.

It had been years since he had last embraced his crime partner. The last time they had been in each other’s company Gutter had been lying in a pool of his own blood, fighting for his life. Snake Eyes had come to his rescue, laying down the would-be executioners. Back when Snake Eyes was still putting in work he, Gutter, and Lou-Loc had been as thick as thieves, but their lives had gone in different directions. Snake Eyes now did his fighting through the judicial system and Gutter was still putting in work for the turf.

“What that be like, my nigga?” Snake Eyes struck a mock-thug pose.

“You know it’s Harlem-Hoover all day and then some.” Gutter threw up one set then the other.

“You mean Hoover-Harlem.” Snake Eyes threw them up in reverse. An elderly couple that was checking into the hotel gave them a disgusted look, but kept about their business. “Man, I ain’t seen your monkey-ass ever since, baby boy!”

“Shit, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here now. Dawg, I never got to really thank you about-”

“Man, knock that shit off.” Snake Eyes waved off his thanks. “Family does for family; you know how we do it. What it is, home boy?” Snake Eyes addressed Danny, who was staring at him curiously.

“Harlem,” Danny said proudly.

“Danny”-Gutter draped his arm around the young man-“this is my homey, Snake Eyes.”

“Yeah, I heard of you.” Danny smiled. “You ’bout ya shit, huh?”

“That was a long time ago,” Snake said evenly. “I have a law practice in Miami now, dealing with a select few clients. I do a lot of wills and trusts for the homeys out here too.”

“Bet that’s profitable,” Danny joked.

“Unfortunately.”

“So, what the hell you doing here?” Gutter interjected.

“I heard you flew into town last night, so I came to check you.” Snake Eyes informed him.

“You should’ve come by the spot. It was enough niggaz in there.”

“Nah.” Snake shifted his weight on the cane. “You know I don’t rock with just anybody. Besides, I ain’t really wanna let niggaz know I was in the town just yet.”

“You see something that I don’t?” asked Gutter.

“We’ll talk about it on the way,” Snake said, heading for the door.

“Where we going?” Gutter questioned.

“Carson. I got some things I want to bounce off you. Besides, I got somebody who I think you’ll wanna talk to.”

“And who the fuck might that be?”

“Just come on,” Snake Eyes urged.

“SO, WHAT’S your take on this, Snake?” Gutter asked from the backseat.

“Honestly, I ain’t come up with much more than y’all did,” Snake Eyes admitted. “I made some phone calls and probed into a few people, but don’t have much to go on. There’s a bunch of rumors, but nothing solid.”

“I heard that some Mad Swans rode down on him, but I ain’t confirmed nothing yet.” Gutter stroked his thick beard.

“Interesting.” Snake rubbed his chin. “I did some legal work for B-Boy. You know Blood, he was claiming the Gardens before them niggaz chased him up out and he started sucking Swan dick. He ain’t denying that slobs did the shooting, but he put it on the hood that his people were clean of the killing.”

“Somebody’s ass is lying and I’m tired of chasing my fucking tail about it. What are the big homeys talking about in the way of payback?” Gutter asked.

“Nothing yet,” Snake Eyes replied. “Nobody wants an all-out war over some knuckleheads tripping, you know how it is.”

“The fuck I do. I know that somebody gonna taste steel over popping my uncle. I don’t give a fuck if I gotta mash on every nigga in every hood to flush that wormy muthafucka out. It’s on a cracking!” Gutter declared.

“I see getting dropped off on heaven’s door hasn’t quenched that thirst of yours.” Snake Eyes commented.

“Don’t start that shit, man. I get enough of it from Anwar.”

“Wise young dude.”

“Fuck you, nigga. This ain’t about me and my business in New York. This is about some slobs touching my uncle, and these old muthafuckas who govern us playing United Nations out this bitch.”

“This shit with Gunn has ruffled quite a few feathers, but all the right moves need to be made to fix it. The old heads is having a hard enough time containing the fighting that’s kicked off since the shit happened. Man, these lil niggaz is out here breaking fool, making the hood all hot and shit. The G’s are just trying to keep the peace.” Snake Eyes said.

“I hear you, Snake, but I’m a warlord. I don’t know nothing ’bout that peace shit. My uncle is a shell of the man I knew, and even if he does live through the injuries, he’ll never be the same. Someone has got to answer for this. A debt is a debt.”

Snake Eyes could’ve argued the point with Gutter until the following summer, but the result would be the same. Trying to change the subject he asked, “How’s Sharell?”

“Man, she’s getting big as hell. I don’t know if she’s having a baby or a damn elephant.” Gutter smiled, thinking about his boo, but the smile quickly faded when his mind went back to Satin.

“Everything all right with the baby?” Snake Eyes asked with concern in his voice.

“Oh, everything is cool with Sharell, but it’s Satin I’m worried about.” Gutter gave him the short version of what he’d learned from Sharell.

“Muthafucka.” Snake Eyes shook his head. “Pregnant? Gutter, why didn’t one of you call me? Dawg, I gotta get the ball rolling to get her out.” Snake Eyes said, pulling out his two-way and scrolling through the numbers.

“Man, you know the laws don’t work in favor of the blacks. They’d have you tied up in red tape for God only knows how long, not to mention the fact that the girl has got that murder beef still hanging over her head. Nah, we need to get her out ASAP, but ain’t no need to trip because I got somebody on the job already.”

“Who?” Snake Eyes asked.

Gutter’s cell going off drew his attention. He glanced at the caller ID screen and smiled when he saw the 347 area code. Before flipping his phone open, he looked to his friend and said, “You don’t even wanna know.”

CARSON WAS a small city situated on the border between L.A. and Compton. It was composed mostly of Samoans and Filipinos, but also hosted a Latino and black population. Though a seemingly quiet town its location and the large mall in its center made it a rest haven for gangs. Since its construction it had been contested territory between the Crips and Bloods. Over the last few years the East Coast Crips had been the controlling faction.

Snake Eyes piloted the Regal down Carson Avenue and banked a left onto Dominguez. About a half mile down they turned into the mall parking lot. The large IKEA sign loomed overhead like an open invitation. The morning sun was still beaming in full effect, so the lot was filled almost to capacity. Snake Eyes parked the car near the edge of the lot and killed the engine.

“Nigga, we got planning to do and you wanna shop?” Danny asked.

“Danny, shut up, please.” Gutter eased out, and joined Snake Eyes. “What’s this all about, Snake?”

“I’ll explain it to you as we walk,” Snake said, cutting across the grass leading to a small walkway. They followed a long wall, which served as the divider between the mall parking lot and a grungy-looking suburb. Below the level on which they stood was a basketball court, which had a crowd of young men gathered in the center. Apparently, two of them were squaring off over a dispute.

“Snake, where are we going, man?” Gutter asked, following him down the stairs.

“Like I told you before we left, there’s someone here who I think you might like to see,” Snake Eyes continued. “It’s a cousin of yours flew in to be with the big homey in his time of need.”

“Snake, I got a lot of cousins in town. What’s so special about this one?”

“Just watch,” Snake Eyes said, leading them toward the crowd.

When they had almost reached the crowd of spectators, one of them branched off and moved to join the trio. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, sporting a blue Dickies suit and short cornrows.

“Sup, cuz,” Marv greeted them.

Snake Eyes shook the young man’s hand. “What’s going on over here?”

“Shit, De Shawn is going head up with the lil homey from Suicide. He tried to punk the lil nigga, but shorty is getting ’em up like a true G.”

Gutter and Snake Eyes followed Marv to the circle, where onlookers watched the fight and took bets. In the center were two combatants. Both were breathing hard, but neither was ready to give. The dark-skinned combatant had a busted lip and a bruise was beginning to form under his eye. The light-skinned combatant also sported a bruised face, and his nose didn’t seem to wanna quit bleeding.

The light-skinned one shot out a right, which the dark-skinned one feinted and then launched a powerful left. The blow connected, but didn’t drop him. The two men circled each other like angry dogs, every so often throwing a punch. The light-skinned boy outweighed the dark-skinned one, but couldn’t intimidate him.

Growing impatient, the light-skinned one shot out of his corner throwing combinations. The dark-skinned one deflected most of the blows, but still took shots to his chest and head. He staggered back, seemingly ready to drop. The light-skinned one decided to take advantage of the opportunity and move in for the kill.

“Who’s the lil nigga there, Snake?” Gutter asked curiously.

“You mean, you really don’t know?” Snake asked, surprised.

“Nah, cuz. Should I?”

“I would think so. Y’all share the same genes.”

De Shawn came at the dark-skinned boy with an overhand right, trying to knock his head off. The dark-skinned boy waited until the last moment and moved out of the way. The momentum of the swing took De Shawn off balance. When he tried to right himself, the dark-skinned one came in raining blows to the back of his head. De Shawn swayed but didn’t fall. He feebly tried to mount a defense, but a well-placed haymaker ended the fight. He was out cold.

“Suicide, bitch!” The dark-skinned boy bellowed, planting his foot on his opponent’s chest.

The crowd erupted into cheers and patted him on the back as he was steered through the mob. Outside the ring, he was greeted by the man whom he knew to be Snake Eyes and two others he didn’t know. He stared at the bearded man and tried to place his face. Seeing this familiar face staring at him made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the way the man was looking at him, but the way he looked. The young boy had smooth dark skin and their eyes were almost the same shade of green, but he couldn’t think where he knew him from.

“Sup, Snake,” the dark-skinned boy addressed Snake Eyes, but never took his eyes off Gutter.

“Sup, lil nigga. I see y’all fools out here banging on each other.” Snake Eyes gave him dap.

“Fuck this nigga.” The dark-skinned boy spat blood on the floor. “Bitch nigga trying to put shit on Suicide, so I had to school ’em out.” The young man paused for a minute and then turned to Gutter. “Sup, cuz, we know each other or something? Where you from?”

“Say what?” Gutter asked, surprised.

“Watch yo mouth, Lil Gunn,” Snake cut in. “That ain’t no way to talk to your family.”

“Gunn?” Gutter said with recognition finally setting in. The reason the young man looked so familiar was because Gutter had been there the day his mother had given birth to him.

Tariq “Lil Gunn” Soladine was the child of Big Gunn and a woman named Stacia, who originally hailed from Watts. Back when Big Gunn was on a come-up, Stacia had been his ride-or-die bitch. She loaded the guns and he dropped Brims with them. She knew Gunn was on his way to being a ghetto superstar, and wanted her piece of the pie. Everything was gravy until she got pregnant with Tariq. Stacia felt that since she was now Gunn’s baby mama that she had papers on him. She began trying to press Gunn to marry her and square up in a big house. Gunn, being married to the streets, wasn’t trying to hear it. Eventually, she absconded with the child and moved to San Francisco. She claimed it was to keep them safe from the violence Gunn was bringing to their doorstep, but most people felt it was done to spite Gunn for not marrying her. He saw the child from time to time, but other than the checks he sent once a month, they really had no contact.

“I’ll be damned. Lil ass Tariq!” Gutter said in disbelief.

“Snake, who is this nigga?” Lil Gunn asked, not really making the connection.

Snake Eyes smiled. “This is your cousin, Gutter.”

Lil Gunn looked Gutter up and down, and his face began to soften. “No shit?”

“Come here, lil muthafucka.” Gutter embraced him. “Man, I ain’t seen you since you was about eight or nine years old.”

“Cuz, I heard you got smoked out in New York!” Lil Gunn said excitedly.

“Don’t believe rumors, fam. I took a shitload of lead from some stunting ass Brims, but can’t no bullet kill a Soladine,” Gutter joked.

“I’m glad to see a real Crip among us.” Lil Gunn shot a glance over his shoulder. “My old man is taking his last breaths and these niggaz ain’t trying to do shit but get faded and talk about shooting muthafuckas. If you ask me, the only thing these busters is shooting is their mouths.”

“Not everybody is built like us, little cousin.” Gutter stroked his beard.

“I know that’s right, man. But I ain’t tripping. My big cousin Gutter is home and these faggot-ass oh-las better run for cover. Man, your name is ringing all over the Coast. Yo shit is the stuff of legends. With you and me together, we gonna ride on every Brim hood in retaliation for my dad.” Lil Gunn tried to hide the pain in his voice, but Gutter caught it.

“All in due time, cousin.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “For now, let’s get you cleaned up and us reacquainted.”

chapter 13

“YOU GOT that info I asked you for, poppy?” Major Blood asked Tito as he entered the hotel suite.

Tito reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Major Blood a folded piece of paper. Tito narrated as his superior read the printout. “My home girl tracked that down for me. The top is a job address for Gutter’s girl, Sharell.”

Major nodded as he looked over the sheet. “Bet I got a lil nigga I can put on Sharell’s case and see what pops off. I’m just gonna have him watch her for now, but when I lower the curtain, I’m gonna do it real ugly on Gutter’s bitch. What about that turncoat ho, Satin?”

“The address on the bottom is the hospital where she’s locked up,” Tito told him. “I still don’t see what you want with her though. The girl can’t even wipe her own ass.”

Major nodded. “Ain’t your job to wonder, T. You just handle your end of this; I got the Satin situation from here. In the meantime rally the troops and let’s get ready to mash out, Blood. It’s time we made our presences felt.”

POP TOP sat in the emergency room of Harlem Hospital flanked by China, B. T., and Hollywood. The staff shot funny glances at the ragtag bunch, to which they responded by throwing up their sets or middle fingers. Though several people had complained to security about the noise they were making, no one dared ask them to leave. As much business as they brought the hospital, they were given ambassadors’ status.

C-style came from the back where Rob was being treated for his injuries wearing a grim look. She was dressed in sweatpants and a white V neck. Her hair was wrapped and pinned under the powder-blue scarf she wore. When they had called her she was already in bed, so she just jumped in her sweats without bothering to primp. Her eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, but she didn’t seem too broken up.

“What they say?” Pop Top asked.

“He took a hell of a beating.” She sighed. “They blackened his eye, and he’ll look like Jimmie Walker for a while, but he’ll live.”

“Did he get into a fight or something after I left him?” Hollywood asked.

“That’s the thing, he said he got snatched up,” she explained. “Supposedly, some of them niggaz from the other side rolled up and tossed him into a car.”

“If he was kidnapped, why didn’t they ask for a ransom?” China questioned.

“I was getting to that,” C-style said. “He said they wanted him to take a message back to Gutter. ‘It’s a wrap for Harlem.’”

“These niggaz got nerve,” Hollywood said, picking his tooth with a manicured pinky nail. “Trying to tell my dude how to do what he do. You’d think that after we laid down damn near an entire set that they’d finally realize that we ain’t to be fucked with.”

“Them niggaz knew he was with us, and they fucked him up anyway. They outta pocket.” B. T. shook his head.

“Yo, they fucked him up real bad, fellas. What’re we gonna do?” C-style asked.

“Okay, okay.” Pop Top stood up. “The last time I checked, I was running Harlem. We gonna handle these niggaz who touched our brother. They’re gonna learn the hard way how we play.”

“Maybe we should call Gutter?” China asked.

“Nah, we ain’t gonna do that,” Top said quickly. “I can handle this shit. Was Rob able to ID anybody?”

“Yeah, Tito from L.C. and some other dudes. He said he’d never seen them around before so maybe it was a joint effort,” C-style told him.

“Fuck ’em all then,” Pop Top declared. “Snake-ass muthafucka, we should’ve killed his ass years ago. But you know what; I got a trick for that bean-eating muthafucka. They wanna touch our fam, we gonna touch their pockets.” Everyone looked at him curiously, but he didn’t elaborate. Pop Top was always secretive when it came to murder, as everyone should be.

Rob was the hardheaded son of a square mother, but he was like a little brother to most of the members assembled. The group filed out of the emergency room, each lost in his or her own thoughts about what would come of Rob’s beating and the seemingly endless war with their sworn enemies. B. T.’s cell going off caused him to slow up. When he looked at the caller ID he hung back a bit from the group. Only when he was sure the crew was out of earshot did he pick up the phone.

“Yo?” he answered.

“Sup, son?” the voice on the other end taunted.

“Man, I can’t talk right now I got something on the ball.” B. T. tried to rush the caller.

“Well, yo shit is gonna have to wait cause I need to get up with you, now,” the caller insisted.

“Loc, I told you I’m in the middle of something. I can’t just dip off to come meet you.”

“Nigga, you can either come meet me or I can come to you. Imagine how it’s gonna look to your homeys to see me and you chopping it up like old friends. You know the deal, son,” the caller shot back.

B. T. was so angered by the threat that he could’ve roared. He had been doing side business with the caller for the last few months without anyone finding out, and now that was threatened because his partner wanted to flex his power. He made a mental note to address the issue once he was in a better position. Before he could utter a response, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Nigga, what you doing?” China approached.

“Ah, nothing,” B. T. stuttered. “Just taking care of something. Look,” he said into the phone, “I’ll be there.” He ended the call.

“Man, why you look all irritated?” China questioned.

“These hoes getting on my last nerve.” B. T. gave a fake chuckle.

“You need to be more like Hollywood. He’s got his hoes in check,” China pointed out. “Now, let’s hit the block so we can get to the bottom of this Rob shit.”

“I can’t,” B. T. blurted out. “I mean, I got some shit I gotta handle.”

“What’s more important than handling business for the crew?” China raised his eyebrow.

“Stop being so nosey, slant-eyed muthafucka. Man, I’ll hook up with you later.”

B. T. strode from the emergency room exit, while China looked on. There was something about B. T.’s behavior that didn’t sit right with him. B. T. was always a shifty-acting cat, but something was different this time. China decided he would keep an eye on his comrade and see what he could discover before taking his suspicions to the crew.

B. T. STOOD in the parking lot of Western Beef, chain-smoking. Every time he heard a car, or saw a group of people, his body tensed up. The last thing he needed was for someone to spot him and report it back to the homeys. He had been a Crip for a long time, since even before Lou-Loc and Gutter came to New York. In those days, he was a respected member, and even had his own territory. The Cali native had changed that.

Lou-Loc had not only whipped his ass in front of his friends, but he had also stripped him of all rank and title. B. T. was reduced to nothing more than a soldier, trying to keep his head above water. When the opposing team had come to him, he was skeptical about the whole idea. He was a Crip, but what had it gotten him so far? He gave them loyalty, and was rewarded with disrespect. His plan was to work with the Bloods until he got what he wanted, then set out a piece of the pie for his comrades. He never planned for anyone to get hurt in the process, but he reasoned that you had to break a few eggs to make an omelet. What he was doing was beyond fucked-up, but the fact that no one from his gang respected him was his motive.

B. T. spotted the car he was waiting for, and tried to pull himself together. The red Taurus pulled into the lot and parked a few cars from where he was standing. There weren’t many cars in the lot at that hour, but they found two to hide between. Tito came walking in his direction, followed by Miguel, Eddie, and a man he didn’t know. His antennas screamed danger, but he brushed it off and stepped out to meet his partners.

“Sup, Big Time.” Tito extended his hand.

“Cut that small talk, Tito. What you want, man?” B. T. looked around.

“Damn, you niggaz is antisocial ’round this bitch,” Major commented.

“Fuck is this nigga?” B. T. looked him up and down.

“This is the cat I called you out here to meet,” Tito explained. “Major”-Tito turned to him-“this is our inside man. B. T.”

Major Blood studied B. T. momentarily before speaking again. “So, you the turncoat muthafucka that’s willing to sell his crew down the river?”

“Fuck you. Dead rag-ass nigga,” B. T. spat. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you, and don’t wanna know you. These niggaz said you could help further our cause, and that’s the only reason I’m here. Don’t flatter yourself, young’n.”

“Yo, Tito,” B. T. addressed his contact, “I ain’t come all the way out this bitch to be insulted by this chump. If you got some business, let’s talk about it. If not, I’m out.”

“Everybody be cool,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “We’re all on the same side. Major Blood is from the West Coast, so his style is a little different. He ain’t mean nothing by it.”

“Whatever. So, what y’all need?”

“What we need is information,” Major cut in. “They say you know the ins and outs of Gutter’s operation, so spill. I need names and addresses, starting with that Bible-toting bitch of his.”

“Sharell? I really can’t say. I know he moved her out of Harlem. Brooklyn, I think,” B. T. replied.

“Where in Brooklyn?”

“Didn’t I just say I don’t know?”

“Okay. What about a mistress?”

“Gutter fucks with bitches here and there, but nobody he really gives a fuck about.”

“What about his routines.” Major tried a different angle. “Where does he hang out? What restaurants does he take his broads to?”

“He ain’t got no set patterns. Mostly he just bounces in and out of the hood. Beyond that, I don’t know.” B. T. shrugged.

“Tito, I thought you said this nigga was useful?” Major Blood asked over his shoulder.

“Yo, you got a lot of sideways shit with you, fam,” B. T. said angrily.

“B. T.,” Tito cut in, “Major Blood is here to help us knock Gutter off his high horse. Now, if I remember correctly, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean I gotta listen to this faggot pop shit. Besides, I don’t think Gutter is gonna take too kindly to you niggaz doing his young boy like that. You might wanna watch ya back,” B. T. said smugly.

Major Blood laughed at that. “You let me worry about Gutter, homey. I’ll deal with King Crip when the time comes, but right now he ain’t an issue. Dismantling your fag-ass set is the order of business, so play your fucking position, crab.”

B. T.’s eyes flashed rage, and he thought about taking a swing at the stranger, but the coward in him stayed his hand. “Check this shit out, cuz, I’ve been helping y’all niggaz take out key players, and I think that counts for something, so you might wanna stop talking all crazy to me. When I get some more info, I’ll float it to you.”

“Fair enough.” Tito nodded. “If Blood ain’t got no more questions for you, we out.”

“Actually, I do have a question,” Major spoke up. “Why?”

“Why what?” B. T. asked, confused.

“Why cross yo peoples like this? I know they’ve done some greasy shit, but you’re still a Crip. How can you set your own up to be slaughtered?”

“Gutter ain’t mine. Him and his faggot-ass man came out here acting like they running shit. It’s about time somebody checked his ass. Besides, this shit ain’t personal. It’s strictly business.”

“Strictly business.” Major laughed. “I’ll be sure they put that on your tombstone.” Out of nowhere, Major Blood hit B. T. with a left. He staggered from the blow, but it was the right hook that put him on his ass. He lay on the ground, dazed and leaking from his nose.

“I never could stand a rat.” Major Blood shook his head while kneeling over B. T. The turncoat suddenly found it very difficult to focus his eyes, but he caught flashes of Major Blood taking something out of his pocket. B. T. tried to say something, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound as Major Blood cut his throat.

chapter 14

“GOTDAMN, MAJOR, we could’ve used that nigga!” Tito fumed.

“For what? Man, I wouldn’t use that snake-bitch to wipe the shit off my shoes,” Major Blood spat. “I came here to put in work, not play muthafucking I Spy, nigga! Fuck B. T. and fuck Harlem. What you need to do is spin Harlem so I can get a line on this monkey muthafucka, Pop Top. As far as everything else, I got this nigga.”

“I hope so, Blood,” Miguel mumbled.

“Y’all niggaz stop acting like faggots and show some nuts,” Major barked. “Now pay attention while I put that little info you gave me to some good use, Tito.” Major Blood pulled out his cell and punched in a few numbers. After a brief pause someone picked up on the other line, but didn’t say anything, not that Major needed him to. “Sup, Blood?” Major greeted his watchdog.

THE MAN known as B-High was a piece of shit even by a piece of shit’s standards. Born in Compton and raised on different Blood sets throughout the surrounding area, all he knew was gang-banging and his love for his hood ran deeper than the love he had for his own mother. To him there was nothing outside of the set.

Major Blood had originally come across the wild young man barely into his fifteenth year and had no problem turning him out. The seeds had already been planted in B-High so all Major Blood had to do was add a little water. Of all the young Bs he had under him, B-High was the most down to ride, which is why he was now on the East Coast living like a fugitive.

When Major had finally reached O.G. status he decided it was time to deal with his mother’s murderer. It was public knowledge that Big Gunn from Hoover had killed his mother, so he found himself stumped that when he’d approached the governing body about laying Gunn they had denied him justice. Some of the old heads felt him on wanting to ride for his old bird, but there were two in particular who fought him tooth and nail on the matter, Swoop from the Jungle, and Bad Ass who represented the 900s. They spit a bunch of political shit about letting old beefs die and Gunn’s status, but Major didn’t even listen. In his mind, if you weren’t for him then you were against him and you had to go, Blood or not. It was that night after the meeting that he plotted Swoop’s and Bad Ass’s deaths.

Major knew he would be under the magnifying glass, because of the ruling and his reputation of having a hot temper, so he had to seek help elsewhere and this is where B-High came in. He loved Major Blood as if he had been the one to push him from the womb. All it took was the spiel of crabs killing Major’s parents and Bad Ass and Swoop trying to protect them. B-High was a powder keg and Major Blood lit the fuse.

Three nights after Major Blood and B-High’s meeting Swoop was found shot to death in the parking lot of his apartment complex. Bad Ass got roasted the next evening. He was found at an hourly motel in Hollywood sporting a bullet hole in his left cheek. The whore he had been with took one in the back, but unfortunately she lived. Five minutes after scrolling through the LAPD’s gang file, she had fingered B-High and made him not only a fugitive from justice, but with his name crossed out on every wall in the hood. The set had marked him for death.

Major Blood knew that he would have to get rid of anything that could’ve tied him to the murders, but he had a soft spot for B-High. Instead of murking him he put B-High on the first thing smoking to Florida. B-High was supposed to lay low until things had cooled off, but of course he couldn’t. He went from selling coke on South Beach to sniffing and taking contract hits for short paper in Miami, and finally a fugitive from both ports. Now he made his home in New York, living off the occasional bone Major Blood threw him and his wits.

He was thoroughly surprised when he’d heard from his old mentor, Major Blood. Every so often Major would throw him a piece of business, but that was always done by phone or coded letters. They hadn’t actually seen each other in almost a year, so he wondered what his intentions really were for coming to New York? His first thought was that Major had finally confessed and bartered B-High’s life for his, but when he mentioned Gutter his fears were put to rest.

Gutter had been notorious in California, but he was becoming a street legend in New York. He had brought to the Big Apple what hadn’t been seen in L.A. for almost ten years, banging… full frontal murder over turf. His gangsta wasn’t to be tested, but it was his ability to unify the sets that made him dangerous. Could you imagine a man like Gutter with ten thousand troops? No, it made perfect sense for Major Blood to be put on his ass. Use a sociopath to kill a sociopath, how ironic was that?

The nation must’ve been pissed with Gutter, considering Major’s rep and the fact that he hated every Soladine. But the logic behind it, nor Gutter, were B-High’s concerns at the moment. What his mind was focused on was the fact that Major had promised him thirty grand for this assignment. Fifteen up front and fifteen when the job was done. B-High took the money, went and bought a quarter-piece of white, and had been getting blasted and sitting on Sharell ever since.

His cell phone vibrated, tearing his eyes off the entrance of Sharell’s building. He started to let it ring until he saw that it was Major. His mentor told him that it was time to go to phase two, which brought a smile to B-High’s face. He needed the cash, but he was lazy as hell, preferring to sit in his tiny apartment, playing Madden or sniffing with one of the hood rats off his block. Laziness aside, B-High enjoyed putting in work and the heavy paper Major was gonna drop only got him more excited.

WHEN SHARELL felt the faint throbbing in her temples, she knew a headache would be coming soon after. It was bad enough that the baby was sucking all the calcium out of her, causing god-awful toothaches, but the strongest thing she could take was Tylenol… regular strength at that.

Between the kung fu master in her stomach, who felt the need to kick her every time she tried to doze off, Satin being pregnant, and her man on a suicide mission, Sharell found that her nerves were quite frayed. “French onion dip,” she said aloud. The draining sound that emitted from her stomach said that the baby agreed. Rolling off the couch, which she had been lounging on all morning, Sharell decided to take a walk to the store.

She didn’t bother with any sort of primping, opting to just jump in her sweatpants and slip on an overcoat. She could only imagine how she looked with her frayed ponytail and no makeup, but she didn’t really give a damn. She was fat, her feet hurt, and she felt like she would need chiropractic therapy for months by the time she gave birth. How someone felt about the way she looked going to the store was the furthest thing from her mind.

The weather was decent, but the wind was in full effect, whipping at her overcoat. She was able to button the coat at the neck and chest, but after that it was a wrap. When she had bought the form-fitting coat she was a size nine or ten, but the baby had her pushing a fourteen. She knew she truly loved that man when she allowed him to move her up four dress sizes.

Across the street she saw the dome light go on in Mohammad’s car. With a practiced hand gesture she motioned for him to stay put. She was only going to the store and doubted that some wayward assassin would be waiting for her among the throng of upper-class whites that lived in her neighborhood, especially in broad daylight.

Sharell trekked the short distance to the grocery store on Remsen, which was the only one for blocks. Something else she hated about living in Brooklyn. Granted, it was a beautiful neighborhood, but it lacked the convenience of her beloved Harlem. Uptown you had a store on damn near every corner, and most of them were open twenty-four hours. Still, it was a relatively safe neighborhood and that’s what mattered most in light of everything that was going on in her life.

She was going through the freezer of the store, trying to find a pint of Ben & Jerry’s banana nut ice cream to go with her chips and dip, when the bell over the store’s entrance jingled. The young man who strode into the store looked totally out of place in the neighborhood. He was wearing oversized jeans and a red sweatshirt that looked a little stretched at the collar under a bulky leather jacket. The Korean couple behind the counter glared at him suspiciously, while the few white shoppers in the market did their best to move out of his way. Sharell sucked her teeth at the way the people reacted to the young man when he came in the store. She wondered if they looked at her the same way when her back was turned. Trying not to tell them about themselves, Sharell decided to grab her stuff and get out of the store. She told herself that she would have to track down another market somewhere in the neighborhood because she didn’t know how she felt about giving them her money anymore.

She happened to be coming out of an aisle when the young man was coming in. He gave her a smile as she passed, showing off his badly stained teeth. Sharell gave him a weak smile of her own and kept on to the counter.

Sharell stood in line behind a woman who had decided to pay for her purchase with change, rubbing a coin across a Scratch-Off, when she felt a presence behind her. The young man was looking at her strangely, holding a forty ounce in his wiry mitt. It wasn’t a threatening look, but something about it still made Sharell uneasy. Slowly, he unscrewed the top of his beer and took a long swig, never taking his eyes off Sharell. When she got to the counter she was in such a rush to get out of the store that she almost forgot her change. Only when she was outside did her heartbeat start to slow down.

“Excuse me!” a voice called from behind her.

Sharell turned around and saw it was the young man from the store. He was slowly bopping toward her, with his free hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jacket. Sharell’s had dipped into her bag and landed on the small.22 Gutter insisted she carry at all times. She’d been against it at first, but it seemed like it would come in handy. By the time he was within spitting distance of her, Sharell’s hand was on its way out of the purse with the pistol.

“Could you tell me where I could find the circuit court?” he asked, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

Sharell stopped the ascent of her hand. “Oh, it’s two blocks over,” Sharell said, nodding in the direction of Court Street. She hoped she didn’t sound as embarrassed as she was.

“Thanks, ma’am.” The young man nodded, heading up the block. He gave a brief glance around and took another swig of his beer.

Sharell stood there for a minute trying to compose herself. She had almost shot a man for nothing because of her paranoia, which seemed to be getting more out of control throughout the course of her relationship with Gutter.

God and the church aside, Sharell was a straight hood chick and never forgot where she came from, but she wasn’t used to this. Gutter was a marked man, not only by rival gangs, but the police as well. From narcotics to homicide, they all knew Gutter from Harlem, but had yet to come up with a way to pin him down. Outside of his street name and his gang affiliation, the NYPD had no idea who he was. Even when he was in the hospital it was under a fake name. He was one of their greatest unsolved mysteries, and an embarrassment to the department, which is why he had to be removed from the equation. They had already made it clear that be it by prison or death, Gutter was going down.

Every day of Sharell’s life was spent with the fear that she would be gunned down or snatched over one of Gutter’s beefs. Her friends all thought that she should leave him alone, but love was a muthafucka. She knew he was a bad seed, but she also knew that there was good in him just waiting to be brought out, and that’s where she came in. Though it was going to take some doing, she would peel away the hard layers and expose the jewel beneath.

B-HIGH CHUCKLED to himself as he took another swig of the beer before tossing it into the trash can. For as protected as Gutter thought his wife was he had just proven that anyone could be gotten to if you were patient. He could’ve blasted Sharell right there if he so chose, but Major hadn’t given him the green light. No matter, he would bide his time and appreciate the reward when it came. Thinking back to the sexy pregnant woman, B-High envisioned himself violating her before she died.

AS SOON as Top confirmed the whereabouts of his marks, he contacted his partner in crime, High Side. All of the homeys loved High Side because he was just as vicious as he was loyal. He and Pop Top had come up together and joined the set together. Their bond went beyond just being a part of the same gang.

Next they recruited China. Though China was still fairly new to their gang, he was eager to prove himself. Everyone from the crew dug the little mutt, but steered clear of him because of his ties to B. T. Until then, he had participated in a few petty capers, but nothing heavy. Now it was time to see if he was ready for the next level.

The two men he and his cronies were currently stalking were from the Grant projects, and rumored to be two up-and-coming ghetto stars. They made tons of money for Tito slinging crack up and down Amsterdam Avenue. Top had heard of their exploits, and respected their gangsta. They were young, but would never live to see old age because of the side of the color line they had chosen.

“Yeah, we gonna twist these muthafucking slobs shit,” High Side said anxiously, placing the last bullet into his Uzi clip and sliding it into the machine gun.

“True story,” Pop Top agreed. “These fools act like they don’t know what that C like, but we gonna show they asses who run shit uptown. Say, lil nigga”-he turned to China, who was seated in the back-“you ready to get yo stripes?”

“All day.” China tried to sound confident. The truth of the matter was, he was terrified. As a minority among minorities China had been fighting his whole life, but he wasn’t sure if he had the heart to murder in cold blood.

All three of the men tensed as their marks came out of the barbershop, laughing together. The first was a tall kid with a chipped tooth, who called himself Vlad. The other was of medium build, with a wide flat head. His mother named him Jonathan, but his gang called him Pook. Both men were known for their triggers and their tempers, but when you went against a nut like Pop Top, neither counted for shit.

Pop Top was the first one to step from the vehicle and head across the street. He didn’t crouch, or try to mask his approach, he just walked. High Side walked a little farther north, before crossing Eighth Avenue. His stride was as calm as Pop Top’s, but his eyes made continuous sweeps of the two-way traffic. China brought up the rear, cuffing a shotgun under his Pelle leather.

“Son, I heard they having a locked door up on Webster tonight.” Pook tapped Vlad.

“Yeah, I heard about that shit. That light-skinned porno bitch is supposed to be taking on twenty niggaz in one shot.” Vlad rubbed his hands greedily.

The two men continued to walk and talk, never noticing the trio closing in from all sides. High Side approached from the north, Pop Top from the east, and China closed in from the south. Pop Top drew his weapon and held it at his side, still advancing on the unsuspecting victims. Those who noticed him, moved for cover. It was clear by the look of hatred in his eyes that he meant to do something wicked and no one wanted to be a part of it. Raising his black Glock 19, Pop Top fired on his rivals.

As soon as the first shot was let off, people began to scream and break in all directions, trying to avoid catching a stray. Vlad ducked for cover, while Pook was frozen. High Side didn’t mind this a bit, as it made his job easier. Firing his Uzi from the hip, he tore into Pook’s chest and face.

“Fuck you, nigga!” Vlad wailed, producing a.45 automatic from his belt. He began backing toward the shop, alternating return fire between Pop Top and High Side. High Side managed to duck behind a Volvo, narrowly escaping a bullet. Pop Top wasn’t that quick. He took a slug to the shoulder and went down. Vlad turned and boated in China’s direction.

China watched the whole thing unfold as if in slow motion. Pop Top had collapsed into the street, but he was still moving and there was no sign of High Side. He was alone to face off against Vlad who was charging right at him with a smoking gun. China fumbled with the shotgun and was finally able to establish some type of aim. He leveled the shotgun and pulled the trigger with all his might.

The shotgun seemed to silence every other sound in the world. The screams, traffic, it was all muted under the roar of the gauge. The force of the thing sent vibrations through China’s hands and wrist. The shot came up awkward, but dealt a crippling blow. China looked on in horror as Vlad’s thigh exploded. Chunks of meat flew in the air and smeared whatever they encountered. Vlad was down to one knee, but was still able to get China in his sights.

China saw his whole life flash before his eyes, as he stared down the barrel of the gun, which was pointed right at his chest. When he joined the gang, he never imagined it coming down to this. All he ever wanted was to belong, but he never considered the price. Now he was faced with a mortal decision. It was his life or the life of his enemy. China closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

The gun rocked his small hands once again as he staggered back. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, expecting to feel the hot lead piercing his body. Several seconds passed, and still there was nothing. China opened his eyes and dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as he took in the measure of what he had done. It wasn’t the sight of Vlad missing his entire right arm, and part of his chest. It was the sight of the little girl who had been coming out of the bodega lying in a pool of her own blood. The buckshot had passed through Vlad’s arm and hit her square in the chest. She still clutched the bag of nachos she had been eating as her lifeless eyes stared up at China.

“Bitch-ass nigga!” Pop Top shouted, as he limped to the curb. There was blood leaking from his wound, but it didn’t hinder his shooting arm. He leveled his pistol and fired two shots into Vlad’s face.

“We out!” High Side shouted, jogging back to the car.

“Let’s go, lil nigga.” Pop Top limped past China. Seeing that China was rooted to the spot, Pop Top tried a different method. He grabbed China by the collar and slapped him across the face. “Nigga, unless you plan on spending the rest of your life in the fucking joint, you better get on your fucking feet and move!”

China looked at Pop Top as if he were seeing him for the first time. He looked from the smoking rifle to the two dead bodies, before he was able to stagger to his feet. He still felt like he was trapped in a dream, but he understood the prison time that came with what he had done.

SHARELL WAS just about to find out who the baby’s father was on Maury, when the news came on unexpectedly. A tanned gentleman with mouse-brown hair and almost perfect teeth was covering a gruesome homicide in Harlem. She could tell from the barbershop in the background that he was on 132nd and Eighth.

The newscaster went on to tell the story of a shoot-out that had taken place there not long ago, leaving three people dead, one of which was a little girl. Tears ran down Sharell’s face as a family member tried to console the grieving mother of the little girl. Touching her stomach, she knew she would surely die if something were to happen to her little one. The police suspected that it was over drugs, as usual, but something in the pit of Sharell’s gut told her that it wasn’t. She recognized one of the boys’ names and knew that the shooting was gang-related.

Even on the other side of the country Gutter was still managing to keep the chaos going in New York. She flipped her cell phone open to call him to deliver the news of what he had caused.

chapter 15

WHEN THE two-car entourage arrived back at the house there were people scattered in front of it. Some were standing around laughing, while others were getting in their cars and preparing to leave. Snake Eyes, Danny, and Gutter looked on to see what was going down. Tears stood out front, puffing a cigarette and looking highly irritated. Gutter stepped from the Regal and addressed his home boy.

“What it is, cousin?” Gutter rolled up to the front of the house.

“Man, I’m glad you’re here, G. Yo peoples is in there loc’n.” Tears sighed.

As Gutter listened, he could hear shouting from the partially cracked front door. More and more people began to file out of the house, all wearing looks of frustration or disgust. When Gutter spotted Monifa among them, he grabbed her arm.

“Man, who in there making all that noise?” he asked.

“Who you think?” She sucked her teeth.

In answer to the question, a woman came stumbling out of the house. She was tall and thin, with bleached blond hair. Her eyes were lined in black mascara and partially covered by a pair of dimestore glasses. She had yellow skin that had begun to splotch in certain areas from lack of care. Gutter looked on in shock, while Lil Gunn just turned his head.

“Ol thug-ass niggaz,” Stacia slurred, as she staggered out onto the front line. “Posted up in this muthafucka like it’s some kinda damn clubhouse.”

People laughed or stared at her like she didn’t have any sense, but Gutter just shook his head. It had been quite some time since he had seen Big Gunn’s baby mama, but from the looks of things she was still as wild as hell. Stacia had always been a pretty girl, and still was to that day, but those who knew her back in the day could tell she was slipping. Her clothes and hair were crisp as always, but she looked worn.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, noticing Gutter for the first time. “Nigga, I heard you was dead and gone. ’Course I’m not surprised to see you here, being that none of you evil green-eyed muthafuckas know how to lay down and die.”

“Nice to see you again too, Stacia,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ll bet. So, what you doing back out here? Them New York niggaz showed you what a real thug was about?”

Gutter started to bark on her, but remembering Lil Gunn was with him he kept it cordial. “Nah, baby girl, business is business like always. I’m the man on whatever coast I stomp through. You ain’t that drunk to where you don’t recognize this Crip’n.” He flashed Harlem, then Hoover.

“Whatever, nigga. Tariq”-she turned to Lil Gunn-“what the hell happened to your face?”

“Nothing, Ma, I fell riding a bike,” he lied.

“Young nigga, who you think you fooling? I ain’t flew here, I grew here. You probably got your lil ass whipped trying to play gangsta. You better quit while you’re ahead, unless you wanna end up like yo daddy. You see that nigga in there knocking on heaven’s door.” She took a sip of her drink.

Gutter immediately checked her. “Hold that shit down, Stacia. Don’t disrespect my uncle like that, especially in front of his seed.”

“Y’all niggaz just can’t handle it. See, I’m a real bitch. I call it like I see it. Big Gunn is always gonna be my boo, but the truth is the light. This gangster shit got him living between two worlds right now. That’s the reason why I moved Tariq away from this shit. I call myself saving him from the streets.” She looked Lil Gunn up and down. “As you can see, that didn’t pan out too well.”

“You need to go somewhere and sober up,” Gutter said, getting frustrated.

“Sober up? Muthafucka, I ain’t even nice yet. Don’t get me started, lil Kenny,” she taunted him. Stacia sat her drink on the floor and scowled at everyone assembled.

Gutter could feel the fire in his gut expand to his face. Reflexively his hands curled into fists, and he shot daggers at Stacia. Monifa must’ve felt it, because she moved to his side and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Just like that the anger drained away. She could still work that magic on him.

“I ain’t even trying to hear this shit.” Lil Gunn stormed past her and into the house.

“I’m going for a walk.” Gutter turned and headed down the block.

“Hold on, I’ll go with you,” Monifa called after him.

Snake Eyes already knew what time it was, so he took Danny into the house, leaving Tears alone with Stacia. Tears knew her from back in the days, when she used to kick it around Hoover with Gunn and his lot. She was always a little outspoken, but now she was just plain rude. He didn’t really fuck with her back then, but he absolutely couldn’t stand her now.

“Fuck you looking at, Scarface?” she spat.

Tears sucked his teeth and walked toward the house. As he passed Stacia, he swept his foot out and “accidentally” kicked her drink over. “Bitch,” he mumbled, before disappearing behind the screen door.

AFTER CHANGING into a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt, Lil Gunn came lumbering down the stairs. There were still a few people lounging around the living room and in the backyard. Stacia sat near the kitchen entrance, sipping yet another drink. He scowled at her and went in the opposite direction toward the backyard.

Blue Bird stood off to the side with several other young men and women. The ladies were working the grill and playing cards, while the homeys were gathered around Blue Bird. Though he was a loudmouth, and more often than not a troublemaker, he had his stripes in the hood. Lil Gunn slipped into the crowd, and grabbed a forty ounce from the cooler.

“Look at this lil nigga.” Blue Bird nodded toward the youngster. “Out here trying to drink with the grown folks. Put that forty down, young’n.”

“I got this, cuz,” Lil Gunn said, turning the bottle up and taking a deep swig of the beer.

“You see that boy do that there?” Charlie beamed proudly. He was from Grape Street.

“That boy got it honest.” Blue Bird patted him on the back. “Man, we all rooting for yo daddy. Them Swans disrespected the G, and we got to C them behind that shit.”

“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.” Lil Gunn took another swig. “I’m ready to ride on these fools!”

“Shut yo lil ass up. You ain’t ’bout no one-eight-seven,” Charlie teased.

“Fuck you. I’ll dump on any Blood or Crip on any set!” Lil Gunn said heatedly. Gaining the respect of the older heads was crucial to him, so he put an extra production on it.

“Quit talking crazy, killing ain’t for children.” Blue Bird nudged him.

“I ain’t been a kid since I joined up. I’m ready,” Lil Gunn declared.

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Blue Bird studied the young man for a moment. He looked into his eyes and saw no fear. The man-child was ready to make his bones.

“A’ight.” Blue Bird nodded. “We ’gon C.”

GUTTER WALKED down the block with his hands tucked firmly in the pockets of his jeans. He was mad, but all of his anger wasn’t directed at Stacia. He knew what kind of woman she was, so he expected her to come out of her face. What really had him uptight was the situation.

His uncle danced on the brink of death, and everything was in total chaos. There were dozens of people visiting him at the house off and on, but they weren’t really helping the situation. Some of them were sincere, while others just talked for the sake of hearing themselves. No one was actually doing anything to make the situation right.

Gunn had love from many sets in California as well as the Midwest, but so far no one had stepped up with a solid plan for retaliation. Even if they had, who would they retaliate against? The word was out that it was the Mad Swans who did the shooting, but no one knew if it was true or exactly who did the shooting. They could ride on the whole set, but that would make things worse. Though Mad Swans and Hoover were from opposite sides there was a mutual respect between their O.G.s and the old-school Hoovers from the seven and the nine. They didn’t have an official truce but had been known to exchange passes. If they went at the whole set without having their facts together it was sure to get real ugly real soon.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Monifa crept up on him. With so many things flooding his mind at one time, he had almost forgotten that she was with him.

“Just thinking how much I miss this place.” He stared up at a palm tree.

“Yeah.” She stood next to him. “There’s something about the West Coast that makes you fall in love with it.”

“True, if you can overlook all the dumb shit that goes on out here. This is the land of the heartless.”

“It ain’t the land, it’s the people that make it this way,” she said, watching a group of young men ride by in a Chevy. “Kenyatta, I’ve been blessed to have seen many different places in my short life, and they all fall short to Cali. This place is both the most beautiful of states, yet the ugliest.”

“Girl, you tripping.” He waved her off.

“I ain’t the one tripping. These niggaz that’s out here terrorizing decent folks and killing off all our young men are the ones that are tripping. Makes you wonder when all this will end.”

“Man, gang-banging ain’t gonna never end.” He stroked his beard. “This shit has been going on since before we were born, and it’s only gonna get bigger. Muthafuckas kill me talking that stop the violence shit. This ain’t gonna end until we wipe them out, or they wipe us out, period.”

“You don’t know how fucking stupid you sound.” She laughed. “Kenyatta, you don’t even believe what you’re trying to feed me. That’s just you trying to be difficult, as usual.”

“Go ahead with that. I’m just stating my case.”

“Well, if that’s your case, then that ass is guilty. Don’t try and front for me, cause I know you, Gutter. When you know someone is telling you right, you throw up this ignorant ass gang-banger persona. Nigga, please.”

“What you talking ’bout, woman? I’m a Crip to the heart. Don’t never forget that.”

“Oh, I would never doubt your love for your hood, but I also know that you’ve never been a dummy. If you were, I would’ve never given you any play.”

“Gave me no play?” He raised his eyebrow. “Monifa, don’t try that. If I recall correctly, you pursued me.”

“That chronic got you all twisted. I wasn’t the one at Universal Studios talking about, ‘Aye, sis. Let me rap to you for a minute,’” she imitated him. “You followed me and my girls around that whole lot, trying to get at me. You were so cute, with your starter kit braids.”

“Fuck you, Mo,” he joked.

“Fuck you right back.”

They both slapped at each other and burst into laughter. He instinctively reached out and touched her hand. It was warm, and smooth as silk. For a second, it was as if they were still teenagers, dating at Jack in the Box. Each one’s eyes shone with lost passion, creating an uncomfortable silence. Monifa’s eyes flashed indifference, and she quickly snatched her hand back.

“Mo…”

“Don’t.” She turned her back to him. “Kenyatta, leave it alone.”

“Monifa… we need to talk about it. There was so much left unsaid.”

“I think you said it all when you left me wondering what happened,” she said, a bit more scornfully than she meant to.

“Mo… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “Shit got a lil crazy. Things happened that I won’t go into, but I had to jet. You know how it get in the hood.”

“Fuck the hood!” she said heatedly. “You’re always putting the hood before me.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” She spun around. “Gutter, please don’t try and feed me some shit that you had two years to mull over. I was supposed to be your girl, Ken. Your heart! ‘Be my forever lady,’ remember that?”

He turned his eyes away.

“Well, I do. You took me to up to Sacramento to celebrate my twenty-first birthday,” she recalled. “We had a beautiful dinner, and you fed me ice cream. Everyone at the restaurant kept saying how cute we were. We went for a walk on the strip and talked about a life together and how you wanted to do right by me. ‘Be my forever lady,’ that’s what you whispered to me… right before you pushed me to the ground and shot that boy, because he was an enemy as you called him. On a night when we should’ve been making love until the sun came up, we ended up fugitives.” She gave a weak chuckle.

Gutter was so overcome with shame that his head felt like a lead weight when he raised it. Tears danced in the corner of her eyes, and he could tell that she was doing all she could not to cry. All she had ever tried to do was love him and he’d shitted on her. He couldn’t help but feel like a real asshole. With some effort, he managed to swallow the grapefruit-sized lump that had worked its way into his throat.

“Monifa,” he began, “I never misled you, or told you anything I didn’t mean. You deserved way better than what I gave you. Believe me, I’ve thought about you and what happened to us ever since I left.”

“Did you think about me when you made that New York bitch your wife?” she spat.

He should’ve seen that one coming.

“Don’t get all quiet on me now,” she continued. “What, you think I didn’t know about her? People talk, Kenyatta. I might be naïve, but I have ears.”

“Monifa, let’s just go somewhere and talk,” he pleaded, while reaching for her hand.

“I think we’ve both said enough.” She stepped back. “I ain’t mad no more, baby. But I’m a lot wiser for the experience. See you at the house, Gutter.” Monifa strutted away.

Gutter was about to go after her and tell her how much he’d loved her and how the old feelings still lingered when his cell went off and the name on the screen brought him back to his senses.

“SHE WAS only seven,” Sharell sobbed into the phone.

“Baby, calm down,” Gutter said, not really being in the mood for hormones. “I know you’re upset about what you saw, but that’s why I don’t watch the news, it’s too damn depressing. Look, it’s a damn sad thing when a child is killed, but there ain’t a whole lot we can do about it. All we can do is say a prayer for the little girl and watch over our own family.”

“We can do something to stop it, Ken, but we don’t want to,” she shot back.

“You talking real reckless on the horn, Sharell,” he warned.

“Kenyatta, I’m upset not stupid. These kids are getting cut down left and right over this street shit, and everybody turns a blind eye as long as it’s not somebody they knew. It’s bullshit and you know it. I don’t want this for my family, Gutter, no white sheets.”

He sighed. “It’s not gonna be like that for us.”

“I can’t keep doing this.” She sounded exhausted.

“So what you trying to say?” he asked defensively.

“Calm down, Kenyatta, I’m not trying to say anything… Baby, we got a good life together. Kenyatta, you move my spirit in a way that a man hasn’t been able to do since my daddy was alive, but something has got to give.”

“Sharell, it’s going to get better,” he said as if the line had been rehearsed.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but in order for it to get better we’ve got to change the formula. In a hot minute, we’re going to be somebody’s mommy and daddy, and this child is gonna need us… both of us. I really ain’t trying to have the ‘your daddy was a good man’ talk with my baby, Ken.”

Gutter tugged at his beard in frustration. “Sharell, you know what it is, so don’t come at me with this. I know what you want, and I know what I gotta do to get it, but I gotta be who I am.”

“Ken, I know who you are and I’d never try and change that, but I’m asking you to look at the bigger picture. I’m tired of not being able to shop at the mall or go out to dinner without having a bodyguard. I want a life, Ken, a life and a family. I deserve as much.”

“I know,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Then act like it.”

“A’ight, Sharell, we’ll talk about it when I get back. I gotta get back to the house, fam is waiting for me.”

“Umm-hmm.” There was doubt in her tone. “I know you’re in the middle of something right now, Kenyatta, but best believe when you get back from California we’ve got some talking to do.”

“You got that, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ken, and keep that in mind while you’re out there with them big braid-wearing West Coast broads,” she remarked. Gutter laughed, but she didn’t. “I’m serious, Ken. I’d hate to have to come out there and clown, you don’t wanna see my ghetto side.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna see that. Don’t even trip, ma, you know this bone belongs to you.” He grabbed his crotch as if she could see him through the phone.

“You better know it. Now go ahead and handle your business, I’ll talk to you later.” She ended the call.

Sharell’s ass is a trip, he thought to himself. She was the only person he knew who would use something she saw on the news to prompt a lecture on life issues. She had to know that the set flowed through his veins, and was a part of him. Still, hearing about that child getting caught up in his turf war struck him like a physical blow. Though he wasn’t the shooter, he still felt in some way responsible for her death. He had passed the death sentence on the other side, so whether he had been there or not, the blood was on his hands.

“Dawg, you tripping,” he said to himself. He was at war, and sometimes in war there were casualties, but that still didn’t justify that mother having to bury her child. “Fuck it, just one more I owe them hoes,” he reasoned as he headed back to the house.

chapter 16

“BACK ON the streets, straight blue and gray, cuz I rep-re-sent like every day,” Charlie sang along with the track. He loved to bump the Murder Was the Case soundtrack just before they went on a mission, and “Who Got Some Gangsta Shit,” had become his and Blue Bird’s theme song.

Lil Gunn sat as low as he could get in the backseat of a borrowed Grand Cherokee. His wool skully was pulled down on his head, nearly covering his eyes. He took long drags of his Newport, which had been dipped, and felt the fluttering of little wings in his gut. He normally didn’t smoke PCP, but the circumstances were anything but normal. He had shot at enemies in his lifetime, but that was always from a distance. He knew Blue Bird was an old-school killer and would want to make this up close and personal.

“Yo a’ight back there?” Blue Bird called from the driver’s seat.

“I’m good,” Lil Gunn said flatly.

“Little nigga, take you another hit of this stick.” Charlie tried to pass him another dipped cigarette, but Gunn waved it off. “Man, let me find out yo ass is claiming blue when you really yellow?”

“Fuck you,” Lil Gunn spat at Charlie.

“Don’t go bitching up on me, lil cuz,” Blue Bird added, taking the sherm stick from Charlie.

“He gonna bitch up.” Charlie snickered.

Lil Gunn continued to stare out the window.

After cruising for a while longer, Charlie suggested that they make a beer run. Blue Bird pulled into the parking lot of a local package store. There were several cars parked with people posted up and killing time. The Grand Cherokee bent the corner to park at the rear of the store. As they passed the last row of cars, Blue Bird recognized one of the loiterers. His name was Shorty and he was a respected member of Mad Swans.

“Say, there go some of them ho-ass niggaz right there,” Blue Bird nodded toward where Shorty was standing with two other men.

“Aye, pull ’round back and let’s creep on these niggaz,” Charlie said excitedly.

Blue Bird nodded and backed the car into a parking spot. He retrieved a Colt revolver from under the seat and got out, leaving the engine running. Charlie handed Lil Gunn the 9 from the glove box while he went with the bulldog. The three men skirted along the edge of the store, back toward the front. Shorty and his crew were sipping beers and trying to holla at some of the females in the lot. A five feet five light-skinned dude with caramel eyes, Shorty considered himself a pretty boy. One of the young ladies was in the process of writing down her phone number when she spotted the killers creeping. When Shorty turned to see what she was looking at, a bullet hit him in the left bicep.

“What’s up now, niggaz!” Blue Bird screamed, firing his Colt.

People began running for cover, trying not to end up on anyone’s wall. Shorty ducked behind a car, leaving his comrades stunned and on their own. One of the red-clad men tried to get Blue Bird in his sights, but Charlie laid cover fire and forced him back.

The sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke made Lil Gunn dizzy. The youngster fired his gun one-handed, feeling the rush of the hunt. Seeing the fear in his enemy’s faces was like a high for him, and in the name of his father, he planned to overdose that night.

A soldier, whom no one had noticed in the backseat, leaned out the window, spitting from his pistol. Lil Gunn dashed forward, military-style, and leapt behind a metal garbage can. Crawling on his belly he slipped up under the car the shooter was held up in and slithered out from under the other side. When the shooter looked down, Lil Gunn blew the top of his head off, raining brain matter all over his face. The goop was sticky and uncomfortable but Lil Gunn was so high that he didn’t even seem to notice. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was the kill.

A man wearing an Atlanta Hawks jersey let off with his.32. The low-caliber bullets sparked off brick and metal as he tried to take Blue Bird out of the game. The seasoned warrior returned fire, hitting the shooter in the jaw. The man clutched uselessly at his jaw and spilled to the ground.

A second man managed to get to the driver’s side of the car and came up holding a Mac-11. He swept the lot, hitting glass and bystanders. Blue Bird got low just as he was making a second sweep, but Charlie got caught out there. Bullets danced up his chest, spinning him. Charlie was dead before he hit the ground.

The two men were exchanging fire with Blue Bird, so they never saw Lil Gunn creeping from the rear bumper of their car. He leveled his hammer and blew the back of the machine gunner’s head off. His partner spun on Lil Gunn and popped off. Lil Gunn would’ve probably been dead had Blue Bird not grabbed the shooter in a headlock just as he pulled the trigger. The heavier man grunted once and broke the man’s neck. To add insult he blasted him twice in the face with the Colt.

Lil Gunn took a moment to observe the scene, and found himself pleased. The lot was in total chaos. Bodies of the dead or dying were strewn all over, and the survivors were terrified. He noticed Charlie stretched out, and rushed to his side.

“Charlie, man!” Lil Gunn shouted.

“That nigga dead.” Blue Bird lifted Lil Gunn to his feet. “Come on, Shorty trying to lose us!” Blue Bird jogged back toward the car.

Shorty half ran, half hobbled down a dark backstreet. He would’ve stuck to the main road, but he didn’t want to chance being chased down. His lungs burned, and his whole left side was numb, but he wanted to live more than anything. It seemed like the harder he tried to run, the more his arm bled. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he collapsed from the loss of blood. He had almost made it to the end of the block when he heard tires screeching behind him.

“There that nigga go!” Lil Gunn pointed his gun excitedly, while bouncing up and down on the passenger seat like an unruly child. The sherm was now working in overdrive, making the whole ordeal seem like a video game. “Lay that pussy for my pa, Blue. Run that muthafucka over, cuz!”

The closer Shorty got to the corner, the weaker he became. By the time he reached the streetlight, he was seeing spots. Coughing up globs of blood, Shorty turned around just in time to see the headlights of the Jeep coming right for him.

AFTER SPENDING almost five hours in the emergency room, Pop Top was finally patched up and ready to be discharged. As per procedure, the police were brought in to question him about how he had gotten shot. The story he fed them was that he was walking out of a grocery store on 155th and got caught in a cross fire between two crews. Being that the bullet that struck him went in and out, the police had nothing to match against the shoot-out at the bodega.

He knew the police would want to question him about the shooting, so he had the homeys stay away so as not to arouse suspicion. When he came out of the examining room, Maxine was waiting for him. She was a high yellow chick who hailed from Flatbush. She was thick in the right places and didn’t talk much, which suited him fine.

“All done?” she asked, looking up from the copy of Hood Rat she was reading.

“Yeah, we can boogie now,” he replied.

The couple stepped out into the night air, and headed up the street in an attempt at catching a cab. Maxine stepped off the curb and tried to flag one, while Pop Top stood off to the side. A car slowed to a stop in front of them, but when Pop Top peered inside, he knew it wasn’t a cab. With limited mobility, he was slow on the draw. The occupant that aimed his shotgun out the back window wasn’t.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Major Blood said, getting out the passenger’s side. “You reach for that piece, and I’m gonna let my man air this pretty bitch out.” He nodded toward Maxine, who stood there shocked. “I came here to talk, but if you wanna make it a gangsta party, then reach for it.”

Maxine stood frozen in place. She got with Pop Top, hoping to get some action, but this was more than she bargained for. Her life flashed before her eyes as she stared down the barrel of a shotgun.

Pop Top looked from the car to the man standing in front of him, and weighed his options. He could take his chances and try to gun the man down, but even if he did, the shotgun would surely be fired. He really didn’t give a fuck if Maxine took it, but he was worried that he might not make it out of the line of fire. Reluctantly, he relaxed, but he still kept both the man and the car in front of him.

“You’re Pop Top, right?” Major asked, in an all-too-easy tone.

“Who the fuck are you?” Top shot back.

“Me? The name’s Blood. Major Blood. And I’m asking the fucking questions.”

Pop Top scanned through his mental rolodex and tried to remember where he had heard the name. There were several rivals who used Blood in their name, but there was something unique about this man. He remembered that Tito from L.C. went by that moniker, but he knew Tito when he saw him, and this was definitely not Tito. As he looked deeper into the man’s cold eyes, it dawned on him. He had heard tales about the notorious killer from Cali when he was still trying to come up. If this was the same Major Blood, he knew he was in a world of shit.

“I can tell by that stupid-ass look on your face that you’ve heard of me,” Major said, “but we ain’t here to discuss my résumé, crab.”

“You a long way from home to be talking all crazy, my dude. What the fuck do you want in my city?” Pop Top glared at him.

Major chuckled. “Your city? Knock it off, home boy. Everybody knows Gutter is holding sway ’round here. You just a crazy muthafucka who’s looking for a purpose. Now, let’s get back to business. There’re some people that’re hella pissed by this little war you lowlife muthafuckas got going on out here. Y’all killed one of ours and we took one of yours, but you couldn’t leave it at that, could you? Nah, y’all wanna press your luck, and act like this don’t mean nothing.” He raised his right arm, exposing the red five-pointed star tattooed on his forearm.

“Nigga, get to the point,” Pop Top insisted.

In a motion that was almost too fast for Pop Top to catch, Major Blood produced a pistol and put it to his enemy’s head. “You’re doing a lot of talking for a nigga that could be a memory in a matter of seconds.”

“I ain’t scared to die. If it’s my time, be done with it,” Pop Top said defiantly. Had this been anyone else Major Blood would’ve taken it as just a tough guy act, but he knew what time it was with Pop Top. He was a straight rider and really didn’t give a fuck if he lived or died as long as it was in service to the set.

Major lowered his gun and eyed Pop Top curiously. “You really are crazy, ain’t you? Look here, man. I’m gonna make this shit short and sweet. It’s over. You understand? You know who I am, so you can guess what the fuck I was sent here to do. But see, I ain’t a complete asshole, so I’m gonna give you a sporting chance. Shut it down, or I shut y’all down.”

“So, you think you’re just gonna walk in and make us close up shop?” Pop Top asked with a grin.

“You must not be hearing me?” Major Blood leaned in to whisper. “I ain’t Cisco, nigga. I’ll kill you and everything you love. I don’t give a fuck about you, me, or anything else, that’s why I’m the best at what I do. This is your first and only warning. And just in case you think I’m fucking around.” He motioned toward the men in the car.

Miguel got out, followed by Tito and Eddie. Tito trained the shotgun on Pop Top, while his two cohorts went to the trunk. They popped it open and struggled to remove a large rolled-up carpet. They carried it to the sidewalk and dropped it between the two men. Eddie leaned in and cut the rope that held it in a roll.

“I think this belonged to y’all.” Major kicked the carpet open, exposing B. T.’s corpse. His face was bruised, and his neck was splayed open like a gutted fish. “Don’t feel bad though. He was a fucking snake. Your comrade has been feeding us information for the last couple of months. Seems that my associates made him a deal, but I can’t stand a fucking rat, so I changed the agreement. Food for thought, Blood.” Major strode casually back to the car, followed by his henchmen.

When the car was well away from the block, Pop Top began breathing again. He had come within a hair of losing his life, and escaped through the grace of God. He looked from B. T.’s body to the receding taillights of the car and wondered what he was going to tell Gutter.

“WHAT’S THE matter, honey?” Rahshida asked as Monifa stormed across the kitchen.

“Nothing, Rah, I’m good.” She grabbed a Corona from the fridge and plopped down on the wooden chair, across the table from where Rahshida was sitting.

“Monifa, you hardly drink and I’ve never seen you do it before sundown so I know something is bothering you, what’s up?” Monifa didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes told the story. “It’s Kenyatta, isn’t it?”

Monifa sucked her teeth. “Fuck Gutter.”

Rahshida shook her head. “Monifa, why do you keep doing it to yourself? I watched you go through the motions when he left, and just when the wounds finally start to heal you wanna pick at the scab.”

“I don’t know why I keep doing it to myself, Rah. I tried to tell myself that I could handle him being here and that the old feelings are gone, but no sooner than he gets me alone I go to pieces.” She took a light sip of the beer and made a face. “Am I stupid or what?”

“You’re not stupid, Mo, just a young girl in love,” Rahshida told her. “Baby, I know how you feel about my nephew, but you gotta let it go. He’s a different man than you knew, with a different life.”

“Yeah, a life with his New York bitch.”

Rahshida narrowed her eyes. “Monifa, that isn’t called for. You know you’re bigger than that.”

“Rah, I feel like I fell and bumped my head for the way I’m allowing myself to feel about Gutter, especially after the way he dissed me. There’s something about him that I just can’t seem to let go.”

Rahshida propped her elbows on the table. “For as much of a good man that I know my nephew is, or wants to be, he isn’t ready to let go of his mistress… the set. I pray that he’s grown up enough to do right by that girl, but at the end of the day he’s gonna do what he wants. Monifa, that’s my nephew and I love him no matter what, but he’s still a Soladine man, and the only woman he’ll ever give his heart to totally is the street.” Rahshida nodded outside, to where Gutter was congregating with the homeys. “Let that train go, baby.”

There was so much truth in Rahshida’s words that Monifa only felt stupider for the way she was carrying on. She knew Gutter had a new life and a new woman, but what about old promises? It was clear that that chapter of their life was at an end, but it wasn’t yet closed.

chapter 17

GUTTER’S NIGHT was spent very fitfully trying to sleep. After the heated word exchange, he had retired to one of the upstairs bedrooms. After firing up blunt after blunt of chronic, he fell asleep. During his rest he was plagued with terrible nightmares. It was the same death scene that had played out for his comrade, except he was the one being fired on. It seemed so real, that he thought he even felt the bullets tearing through his skin.

It seemed as if he had only been asleep for a little while when he was awakened by a commotion downstairs. He was irritated about the noise breaking his rest, but grateful for it awakening him from the nightmare. He made his way down the stairs and found a group of spectators crowded around the back door. After elbowing his way through the crowd, he was surprised by what he saw.

Tears, Danny, and Snake Eyes stood among some of the other homeys in a semicircle. In the center of the circle Rahkim and Blue Bird were going head up. Blue Bird was a skilled boxer, but Rahkim was a straight animal. For every blow Blue Bird landed, Rahkim hit him with two. Seeing that exchanging punches was getting him nowhere, Blue Bird changed his strategy.

He rushed Rahkim, trying to scoop him up from the waist, which proved to be his undoing. He was heavier and stronger than Rahkim, so he had no problem getting him off the ground. The only problem was, every time he tried to lift him, Rahkim rained punches on his exposed face. Several vicious blows brought him to one knee. Rahkim hauled his leg back and kicked Blue Bird in the jaw. It was a clean knockout.

“Tears, gimme ya strap!” Rahkim demanded.

“Hold on, cuz,” Tears protested.

“Fuck that shit, I’m ’bout to smoke this dumb muthafucka!”

“Rahkim, what the hell are you doing?” Rahshida cut through the crowd, and stood between her brother and Blue Bird.

“Rah, mind your business. This ain’t got nothing to do with you,” he warned.

“The hell it doesn’t. Our brother is up in there fighting for his life, and you’re out here about to murder a man in his yard. Hasn’t there been enough violence?”

“Rah, this greaseball muthafucka took our nephew, Gunn’s baby boy, on a fucking hit. The shit is all over the hood and the goddamn news!” he explained.

“Oh, my… Tariq, bring your ass here. Now!” she shouted.

“Sup.” He stepped from the crowd with his head down.

“Are you crazy!” She slapped him across his face, shocking everyone especially him. “Why would you let someone talk you into such foolishness? Haven’t you learned anything from what has brought us here?” She shook his arm.

“Yeah.” He jerked away. “I learned a lot of niggaz talk about gangsta shit and codes, but most of ’em is bitches. Some Brims fired on my daddy, and I fired on some Brims. Fuck them niggaz!”

“Watch your mouth, Gunn,” Gutter interjected. “Rah is telling you right. Blue Bird had no right to take you roll’n. Who y’all dump on?”

“Some busters.” Lil Gunn shrugged. “Blue said they was Swans, so we blasted them niggaz. I think one of them was named Shorty.”

“Shorty?” Snake Eyes rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I know that cat. A real loudmouth that’s always itching for a beef. If they didn’t ride on them, somebody would’ve.”

“That don’t change the fact that this nigga was wrong.” Rahkim nodded toward Blue Bird, who was finally beginning to stir.

“Fucking dummies, both of you,” Gutter said. “Who else was down with this lil G ride?”

“It was just me, Blue, and Charlie. We lost him in the battle,” Lil Gunn said sadly.

“Police are supposed to have found the body and linked him to the Crips.” Rahkim added.

“There’s gonna be a shit storm behind this,” Snake Eyes shook his head.

“Who the fuck you telling? This is the reason why this had to be handled with finesse,” Gutter reminded them. “The last thing we need is the LAPD laying their pressure game down on us. It’ll make setting this shit right that much harder.”

Danny added, “Man, y’all got so many sets and gangs out this muthafucka, you really think the police is gonna be looking at y’all in particular?”

“I’m sure of it,” Snake Eyes said. “Like I told you before, this shit is politics. Even though they wear badges, the LAPD is a gang, same as ours. They know what’s going down in the streets, and who it’s going down with. The Bloods are rumored to have shot Big Gunn, and they found Charlie’s body at the scene. Even though he’s with Grape Street, he’s connected to us. It’s only a matter of time before they start snatching Grapes and Hoovers, ’cause we allies for the moment. They’ll be poking around here soon enough and that could be bad business for some of us.” He glanced at Gutter, remembering the murder they had both played a part in.

Before they could ponder it further, one of the nurses attending Big Gunn appeared in the doorway. She was a motherly looking Mexican woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Her face was sullen and blood spatter stained the front of her uniform. Tears twinkled in her eyes, as she motioned for the Soladines to come with her. Once she had led them into the living room, she began speaking.

“It’s Mr. Gunn,” she sobbed with a heavy accent.

“What’s wrong?” Rah asked frantically.

“We thought we had stabilized him, but he started hemorrhaging internally.”

“Move!” Gutter barked, rushing past her.

“Wait!” she called after him, but Gutter kept going.

When he got to the bedroom where Gunn was being kept, he heard orders being barked and metal scraping. Ignoring the nurse and his aunt who were both following closely behind him, Gutter barged into the room. When he stepped through the threshold, a lump formed in his throat.

Doc Holliday was a homey, who had pulled his way through the sludge of the ghetto and had graduated from medical school. He worked at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Pasadena, as a resident. Big Gunn had schooled him to the game back in the day, so he was more than willing to take some time off to tend his former mentor in his time of need.

Doc Holliday stood over Gunn’s bed in a bloody lab coat, working expertly trying to stop the bleeding. Sweat ran from his forehead into his eye, which one of the attending nurses wiped. He tried a variation of clamps and stitches, but the bleeding just seemed to continue. It wasn’t looking good for Gunn.

“Doc, what the fuck is going on?” Gutter approached.

“Gutter, not now,” he said, applying pressure to one of the wounds. “I’m trying to save your uncle. Get these people out of here and let me work!”

Reluctantly, Gutter led the entourage from the room and back into the hallway. Everyone looked nervous, but none more so than Lil Gunn. You could see tears in the corner of his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow them to fall. Gutter placed an arm around him and led the youngster into the living room. He tried to convince him that his father would be okay, but he didn’t know if it was more to set the youngster’s mind at ease or his own.

Blue Bird had been helped outside, and held ice wrapped in a cloth against his face. Stacia had appeared from where ever she was and taken up a seat in the living room. In her hand, she held a glass of wine, which she kept swirling between sips. Monifa stood in the corner, dressed in jeans and a tank top. She looked sorrowfully at Gutter, but didn’t approach. The rest of the homeys stood around, trying not to look terrified.

After what seemed like an eternity, Doc appeared in the living room. His scrubs looked as if they had been painted red. Removing his glasses, he looked out over the inquiring faces. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. When he couldn’t hold it any longer, the tears came.

“Nooooo!” Stacia screamed before collapsing to the ground.

DOC FOUGHT as hard as he could for his mentor, but in the end his injuries proved to be too severe. He might not have been able to prevent his death, but he pumped him so full of drugs that it was painless. It was the least he could do for the man who had literally kept him alive during his stint with the Hoover Crips. When his contact from the mortuary arrived to take the body away, he slipped him a wad of hundred dollar bills, and thanked him for the role he played.

Everyone took the loss of Big Gunn hard, but his son appeared to be hurt the worst. He overturned furniture, and cursed the rival set, while his family looked on. Rahkim made to stop him, but Gutter held his uncle back. The boy needed to let it out, and if this was his way, then so be it. Stacia cried and carried on, between freshening her drinks. For all the bullshit she talked, she still loved Gunn. Everyone except the immediate family and closest friends were asked to leave the house.

Gutter tried to hold it together, but it was too much. With tear-filled eyes, he threw his cell phone against the wall, shattering it. All of the Soladines were close, but he and Gunn shared a special bond. When his father died, his middle brother stepped up and made sure that his nephew was prepared to deal with the ugly world that awaited him.

Rah and the women sobbed as they lit candles around a makeshift altar supporting a picture of Big Gunn in the yard at San Quentin. The sun was just beginning to rise in the eastern sky, blanketing the yard in an orange glow. Rahkim stepped into the backyard, followed by the men who were left in attendance. Danny, Tears, Snake Eyes, and Doc hung back while Rahkim led his family to the front. Three prayer rugs were placed on the grass, which Gutter, Lil Gunn, and he knelt upon. With tears streaking all their cheeks, they made Saullat and asked that Allah accept Big Gunn into his bosom.

chapter 18

BY THE time Gutter rose from prayer, his knees ached and he had trouble walking from the lack of blood flow for so many hours. He bypassed everyone who was gathered in the living room and made his way upstairs to the bedroom. The women cried and sobbed over Gunn’s loss, while the men cursed and vowed revenge against their sworn enemies. None of this moved Gutter. Though he knew he was supposed to be sad he couldn’t find it inside himself, only the cold darkness that came before the storm.

Somewhere along the way he had managed to grab a bottle of vodka. It wasn’t normally his drink of choice, but it would do. He took a long swig, letting the sting cleanse his insides. It felt like a small fire had started in his chest, but it still didn’t help the coldness in his heart. All he wanted was to be alone and reflect on the man who had meant so much to him over the years. With Gunn’s passing Gutter had lost more than an uncle. He’d lost a father, friend, mentor, and icon.

A soft knocking snapped Gutter out of his daze. Ignoring it, he took another deep swig of the bottle and stared blankly out the window. Instead of the intruder taking the hint and going away, he heard the door creak open. Gutter was about to flip over the invasion of his privacy, but the words stuck in his throat when he saw Monifa standing there.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she said sheepishly.

“It’s all good,” he told her, taking another drink. From the way her eyes were puffy and red he could tell she had been crying. Monifa and Gunn were very close when he was alive.

“I was just trying to get some space to clear my head. I can go somewhere else.” She started back the way she’d come.

“Nah, you ain’t gotta bounce, Mo,” he told her. “Come on in,” he beckoned, patting the space on the bed next to him. She gave him a weak smile and sat down. For a minute there was an awkward silence, neither really knowing what to say to the other, but it was Monifa who broke it.

“So, how ya doing?” she asked, looking at the worn carpet.

“Shit, I’m fucked-up. We just lost the most stand-up nigga ever to claim a set,” he said emotionally.

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss the shit outta Big Gunn, that was my folk. Remember when he let us hold his Bonneville to drive out to Disneyland?” she recalled.

“Do I? Man, that muthafucka broke smooth down halfway there. I thought I was gonna catch a heatstroke waiting for Rahshida to come pick us up off the side of the highway.”

“I remember. You was mad as hell because you got motor oil on your Magic Johnson jersey trying to be Mr. Mechanic.” She giggled.

“Damn right. I paid a grip for that joint.” He smiled and shoved her playfully. A small static current passed between them, causing Monifa to flinch.

“Guess that old spark ain’t totally dead, huh?” She rubbed her arm.

“Guess not,” he replied. “Mo, about the other day-”

“Gutter, there ain’t no more to be said about it. You’ve got your life in New York and I’ve got mine out here,” she told him, getting off the bed to go stand by the window. Monifa only called him Gutter when she was angry or trying to put distance between them.

Gutter sucked his teeth. “I love how you try to make shit all black-and-white.”

She glared at him. “Gutter, you left me without a word and started a life with your new bitch in New York. It don’t get no more black-and-white than that.”

“Ain’t no need for name-calling,” he said. He sat the bottle on the ground and became a bit more serious. “Watch ya mouth, hear?”

Monifa laughed. “What, you getting sensitive because I’m talking about ya bitch?”

“I ain’t gonna tell your ass no more.” He slid off the bed and stood nose to nose with her, his green eyes flashing anger. A few years ago, Monifa would’ve shrunk under his gaze, but this was a whole new day and a whole new Monifa.

“Gutter, you can miss me with that mean-mug shit, because I’m hardly impressed. Save that for them buster-ass niggaz y’all be tripping on. I ain’t scared of you, Kenyatta.”

“Monifa, don’t push me,” he warned.

“Push you? Push you? Kenyatta Soladine, you’ve got hella nerve after the way you pushed me right out of your life. You’re lucky I didn’t try to kill your ass when you showed back up on the West.” She went to mush him, but he grabbed her wrist, causing her to wince.

The moment Monifa felt the pain shoot up her arm she knew she’d gone too far. There was a look in Gutter’s eyes that she’d only seen before he was going out to “put in work.” Though they had once been lovers, she didn’t know the man who stood before her. She expected him to strike her, or at the least toss her across the room, but to her surprise he kissed her.

Gutter’s lips pressed against hers so hard that she thought her teeth would pierce her upper lip. The kiss was not a soft passionate kiss of a lover, more like that of a rapist conquering his victim. Never one to be outdone Monifa nicked his bottom lip, almost drawing blood.

Monifa’s body suddenly felt weightless. The room became a swirl of colors, devoid of sound save for the beating of two lovers’ hearts. She raked her nails along Gutter’s neck, to match the iron-like fingers that were digging into her back. A cool wind caressed her cheek and she thought sure that she was falling down a bottomless pit, until the softness of the bed’s mattress touched her back.

Looking up into his eyes, those same eyes that often made her feel loved or terrified, Monifa found that it was hard for her to concentrate. She promised herself that she wouldn’t let him back in, that she would carry the hate with her forever, but she couldn’t. Though Gutter had done her wrong, she still wanted him… no, she needed him.

With a tug, Gutter had torn off her tank top fumbling with her bra strap. Tiring of his clumsy fingers she popped the latch, exposing ripe cinnamon breasts and brown, silver-dollar nipples. Gutter suckled her breasts like a starved child, while she moaned in ecstasy. Grabbing a fistful of his braids, she yanked his head back and bit into his neck, drawing a yelp from him. The bite wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but it was hardly friendly. Strangely enough this seemed to turn him on more.

Grabbing her by the waist he flipped her over onto her stomach. Monifa’s back arched as he ran his tongue down her spine. Gutter proceeded to pull her jeans off and plant kisses on her ass cheeks. She thought she saw spots when he pulled her thong to the side and started lapping at her kitten from behind. His tongue moved in and out of her pussy like a hot spear, hitting spots that he was clueless to when they were an item. He had obviously been practicing. She shook him off and flipped over, wrapping her legs around his neck and pulling his head further into her love cave, and he happily gorged on her. At that moment he was one of Jesus’ apostles and she was the last supper. As waves of pleasure rode her like a jockey she wondered how the hell she could’ve ever let him get away from her in the first place.

Slowly, he slid up her body, tickling her with his beard. His catlike eyes twinkled as he whispered, “I missed this so much.”

“Not as much as I did,” she panted. Monifa raised her head as much as she could under his weight and kissed him. Her juices tasted like sweet nectar on his lips. “I need you inside me, baby,” she pleaded. “Please, let me feel you.”

Aiming with his thumb, Gutter slipped inside the warmth that was Monifa. Her walls felt like warm silk, gently tightening on his muscle as he dipped a bit deeper into her. Monifa hissed like she was in pain, but that didn’t stop her from pulling him in deeper. She raked her nails across the picture of Lou-Loc that he had on his back, begging him to go deeper still. Even when Gutter reached the furthest and deepest parts of her she begged for more.

Monifa’s eyes rolled back in her head as Gutter slipped in and out of her in a steady rhythm. She let her tongue roam his neck then his chest, but stopped when she saw the tattoo above his heart. Sharell is what it said in Gothic letters. It was just another reminder of what Monifa had lost, which pissed her off. It was at that moment that the intense pleasure mixed with the mounting rage took over. Digging her nails into the back of his neck she began slamming herself against him like she was trying to break his penis off inside her.

Gutter saw the change come over Monifa, but he was too lost in the warmth to care. He didn’t know what had gotten into her but if she wanted to be fucked then he would gladly oblige. Gutter slapped her hands away and moved his upper body out of the girl’s reach. Using his arms he locked her legs around his waist and started plowing into her. Monifa tried to scream, but he leaned in and silenced her with his mouth. They half kissed, have devoured each other while still slamming their bodies together.

Not bothering to remove himself from her, he flipped Monifa on her side, with one leg resting on his shoulder and the other pinned between his legs. Gutter cursed, snarled, and damn near foamed at the mouth as he could feel all the energy in his body concentrating itself in his privates. Monifa felt so good that he wasn’t ready to come, but when she bounced her heart-shaped ass against him it stole the choice from him. Gutter exploded inside Monifa like a small geyser before falling on the bed next to her, still inside her cave.

Monifa snuggled against Gutter’s body and wrapped his arm around her. She could feel his heart beating erratically against her back. Monifa felt like all the tension she had carried around for the past two years was finally released. Though she didn’t fool herself about what had just happened it was still nice to be touched by someone she loved. She knew that as soon as Gunn’s business was concluded he would be back on a plane to New York where his girl was waiting, but didn’t ruin the moment by dwelling on it. Sharell had obviously won his heart, but at that moment his body belonged to her.

chapter 19

“HE’S STILL not picking up his phone,” C-style said, flipping her cell closed. “First B. T. and now China has gone missing, what the fuck is happening to our troops?”

“We need to get a line on China,” Pop Top said, thinking of how funny he started acting after the murder. China was one of their click, but if Pop Top even thought he might snitch he was going to kill him. “C, I want you to swing by his mama house and see what’s up with the boy. If he ain’t there we gotta assume he’s flipped.”

“Nah, not China, he’s one of us,” C-style defended him.

“So was B. T.,” Hollywood reminded her. “I always knew that nigga was shady, but wasn’t nobody trying to hear me.”

“I can’t believe that nigga was working for the other side,” C-style said in disbelief.

“Fucking rat.” Pop Top slammed the glass of Hennessey he’d been sipping. “He’s probably been sucking that L.C. dick since Lou-Loc whooped his fucking ass, so ain’t no telling how much they know about us.”

“Damn, you think he gave up addresses or anything like that?” C-style asked nervously.

“Shit, it wouldn’t surprise me,” High Side spoke up for the first time. “You can’t put nothing past a cocksucker, ma, no offense.” He smiled.

“Fuck you, Side.” She punched him in the arm.

“I’m glad you muthafuckas see this as some kinda playtime when we got the fucking devil on our heels. If Major Blood is here that means we managed to piss off somebody real important.”

“What’s the skinny on this cat?” Hollywood asked.

“Before today I had never met him personally, but he’s supposed to be official wit his murder game, since a shorty. Him and Lou-Loc had an ongoing beef; that’s how he got the scar behind his ear.”

Hollywood whistled. “If he was able to get at Lou, he must be one bad muthafucka.”

“So, what are we supposed to do?” Rob asked, sporting two fresh black eyes.

“We war,” a voice to their rear answered. Bruticus was a hulk of a man, who wore a clean-shaven head and a thick gold chain bearing a transformer emblem. Bruticus was one of the founding members of the Decepticons back in the late eighties. He was notorious for his violence, so it was a brilliant strategic move when Lou-Loc suggested they recruit him for the cause. Bruticus and his team from Brownsville had been instrumental in the fall of L.C. Blood, with him having murdered at least four of their members personally.

“I can agree with you on that one.” High Side nodded. “But how do we find this nigga, Major Blood?”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. We ride on enough of his punk-ass boys; he’ll poke his head out again. Then we bust it open.” Bruticus chuckled. “Matter of fact, I got the perfect mark in mind. He’s a pussy, but he brings in a lot of money for them cats uptown. The best way to hurt a nigga is to cave his pocket in.”

“Bet. Arm up and make it happen, my dude,” Pop Top told him. “C”-he turned to her-“hop in a cab and go see what up wit young China. You know where he lives, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” C-style grabbed her purse and prepared to bust her move.

“I’m ready to rock when y’all niggaz are.” Hollywood cocked the hammer of his pearl-handled.357. “How you wanna do this, cuz?”

“We gonna mash on these niggaz, on some guerrilla warfare shit.” Pop Top ground his fist into his palm. “I gotta a little nigga I’ve been hearing about that should make things real uncomfortable on them slobs.”

“You know how Gutter don’t like bringing in no outsiders on family business,” High Side reminded him.

“I hear that, playboy, but Gutter is in Cali and I’m holding the reins. Check, right now ain’t but so many niggaz on the turf that’s ’bout that body count. Niggaz is shooters, but they ain’t killers. Make no mistake about what I’m telling you, cuz. Major Blood is a stone killer and to combat a killer we need killers, smell me?”

“Yeah, I got you, Top,” High Side told him. “So who you gonna call?”

Pop Top grinned wickedly and said, “The Outlaw.”

“C-STYLE” HOPPED out of the cab in front of China’s building and slammed the door with an attitude. While all the men were making plans for the war, she was reduced to playing the roll of errand girl. When she had joined the set, it was in search of adventure and stripes, but so far all she was used for was braiding hair and slinging weed. It wasn’t the most exciting roll, but it was better than getting passed around like some of the other home girls.

There was a group of young men posted up on the stoop, passing a blunt and trying to look hard. To an outsider they’d have been intimidating, but C-style was unmoved by the tough guy antics. They were as much a part of the scenery as the wilted tree planted on the curb.

“Sup, C-style?” one of the young men asked as she approached.

“Shit, everything is blue,” she replied.

“Damn, girl, you getting thick than a muthafucka,” another young man reached out to pinch her thigh, but she slapped his hand away viciously.

“Nigga, you must be trying to lose that,” she snapped.

“Aw, its like that, ma?”

“I ain’t ya mama, nigga, and respect my space.”

“Stall her out, cuz, you know Young Rob got that pussy on smash,” the first young man taunted.

“And smash it he does,” C-style said smugly before going into the building and up to China’s apartment. She rapped heavily on the door and waited.

Lucy Maynard snatched the door open with a scowl on her face and a Newport dangling from her mouth. She was a slightly plump woman with dark skin and full black hair, which she wore in a stylish cut. Her mouth was pursed to spew something hateful, but she relaxed when she recognized C-style.

“Oh, hey, Cory, I thought you was somebody else.” She stepped aside to let C-style into the apartment.

“You got drama, Ms. Lucy?” C-style asked. She and Ms. Lucy had always gotten along famously. She often hinted that she and China should hook up, but C-style never entertained it. China was cute, but she wasn’t trying to get passed around Harlem Crip like some of the other home girls.

“Yeah, but as usual it ain’t my bullshit, it’s China’s. The police came around here looking for China again earlier and I thought you might’ve been them making a return trip. I swear, if it ain’t one thing it’s a fucking nothing. You know why they looking for his ass this time, Cory?”

“No, ma’am,” C-style lied.

Lucy gave her a disbelieving look. “I’ll just bet. You know, y’all seem to forget that I ain’t much older than you so I ain’t completely ignorant to what’s happening in the streets, it’s the same as when I was coming up. In the eighties we thought we knew more than the people coming out of the seventies, same as y’all do today, but what we ended up learning is that it’s the same bullshit. You understand where I’m coming from, C-style?”

“Yes, Ms. Lucy.” C-style nodded, a bit embarrassed at Ms. Lucy’s use of her gang name.

“Good. Come on.” She turned toward the hallway. “I just got back so I don’t know if China is here, but if he is he better not be up to no good in my damn house!” She said the last part loud enough for China to hear through his bedroom door. Ms. Lucy knocked twice before pushing China’s bedroom door open. The first thing she noticed was the rank smell and promised herself that she would make China clean his nasty room. But when she looked over at the bed her mind snapped. The bellow that came from Ms. Lucy was like nothing C-style had ever heard. Chanting, “Not my baby,” over and over again she rushed to her departed son.

China was lying on his bed with his arms tucked peacefully behind his head and his ankles crossed. His face was calm and his eyes glassy, staring up at the ceiling. Had it not been for the fly perched undisturbed on his foam-crusted lips you could’ve mistaken him for sleeping. C-style had seen dead bodies in her lifetime but never someone close to her, never a friend.

There was an empty pill bottle lying near his leg, and a folded piece of paper on his chest, labeled MOMMY. While Ms. Lucy grieved for her son, C-style picked up the slip of paper and read it. In the note China had gone on to explain to his mother how he had done some terrible things in life and was sorry for not being a good son. Apparently the weight of what he and Pop Top had done became too much to bear and he took the coward’s way out. C-style slipped the note into her pocket and went to console Ms. Lucy. There wasn’t much she could say to ease her pain, but the least she could do was hold her for a time. She kept her eyes on the top of Ms. Lucy’s head to keep from looking at China. She would make her report to Pop Top later, but the only thing that mattered at that moment was being there for Ms. Lucy.

chapter 20

BEDSTU, BROOKLYN

NORMALLY, IT was against Gutter’s policies to seek outside help with problems involving the set, but Gutter wasn’t in charge at the moment, Pop Top was. A young man, riding a motorcycle composed of parts from different bikes, cruised up Marcus Garvey Boulevard. He was smiling behind the face mask, but you couldn’t see it because of the skeleton’s face airbrushed onto the visor. Hanging from the handlebars of the bike were two blue bandannas, the calling card of the Crip army, but he wasn’t a banger, he was an outlaw, the last outlaw, let the streets and the obituaries tell it.

Johnny Outlaw was a man barely out of his teens, but had already earned a reputation as being brutal and cold. He was among the elite in his field, which was killing. Pop Top had paid him a handsome fee, but he knew if anyone could get his point across, the Outlaw could.

The young killer coasted to a stop at the corner of Jefferson and Marcus Garvey. There was a cluster of young men in the block between Jefferson and Throop shooting dice. There were about five of them in all, and none had the slightest clue as to what was about to go down. The Outlaw checked his Ingram M-10 9mm to make sure that the silencer was secure and one was in the chamber. It was a different weapon than he was accustomed to using, but Pop Top had promised him a few extra stacks per slob he dropped, and he intended on breaking the bank with the M-10. Satisfied that he was battle-ready, he revved the bike, emitting an eerie wailing sound from the custom exhaust pipes fitted onto it. Startled by the high-pitched sound the young men looked up from their game and the block burst into bright flashes.

“MAN, I got fifty he four or better!” A kid wearing a beat-up Yankee hat called from the sidelines.

“Ain’t nothing, I don’t mind taking ya money and ya man’s,” the man shaking the dice said. He was a portly young cat, just out of his teens and dying to make a rep for himself.

Surrounding them were other thieves and hustlers from the block. Some had money tied up in the game and some were just watching. Almost three thousand dollars lay on the ground, tucked under feet or piled near the center. No one worried about anyone being stupid enough to try and rob the dice game. At that end of Jefferson Avenue, they didn’t play that old bullshit. There were dozens of Blood sets in New York City, but the boys from Jefferson boasted one of the most notorious. Between their little group they had accumulated more than a dozen bodies, and too many robberies to count. Their click was strong and they had the block on smash.

“What the fuck was that?” the kid with the Yankee hat said, scanning the block for the source of the strange noise. It sounded like a cat being dragged over a barbed-wire fence. When the kid shaking the dice popped his head up, the side of his face was caved in by a bullet.

JOHNNY OUTLAW dipped into the block, going against the flow of traffic, spitting with the M-10. It looked like someone was pelting the men with rotten tomatoes as they lost body parts and vital organs. One cat tried to run and had his leg torn clean off by one of the high-powered slugs. Satisfied that he had done enough damage, Johnny prepared to make his escape when something slammed into him, knocking him off the bike and sending the M-10 skidding.

Now, for as vicious as Johnny Outlaw was rumored to be, he couldn’t have weighed more than 160 pounds on a good day, and the man who had dismounted him was almost double that. Johnny rained rights and lefts on the man who was trying to pin him down until his comrades got there, but the brute was too strong. Seeing that his fists were getting him nowhere, Johnny tried a different tactic. Dipping his hand into his boot he came up holding a stiletto, which he shoved up into the man’s gut with all his might. The man coughed blood onto the airbrushed visor and fell to the side.

“See what the fuck you made me do?” Johnny said, getting to his feet. Though his voice was distorted by the small microphone built into the helmet, his intentions were clear as he retrieved the M-10. “Couldn’t lay down like the rest of them, could you? Trying to fuck up a perfectly good killing, huh?”

“P-please, man. Don’t kill me,” the brute pleaded.

Johnny looked at him almost compassionately. “You got heart, man, and that’s a good thing. But you chose the wrong side of the color line to throw in your lot with, which means you’re fucked. My niggaz from Harlem say y’all forgot your places on the food chain, and I gotta remind you. Nothing personal, baby,” Johnny assured him before cutting loose with the M-10 and finishing the young banger.

Even with the sirens in the distance Johnny took a moment to admire his handiwork before heading back to the fallen motorcycle. The smart thing would’ve been to leave the patchwork bike, but it held sentimental value to him. It was the first thing he could ever call his own, since leaving his old life in Mississippi as a young boy. He built it with his own hands and refused to leave it.

People were starting to stir, coming to their windows trying to be nosey, but when Johnny sprayed the front windows with the M-10 they thought better of it. True, it was overkill but Johnny Outlaw had made his bones by overdoing it. Satisfied that he had temporarily deterred any Good Samaritans from aiding the police, Johnny hopped back on the bike and floored it, leaving a trail of bodies and a ghostly howl in his wake.

HARLEM

J. B. BOPPED down Morningside Drive with his right-hand man, Steve. They had just come from the spot copping two twenties of haze and had two prime freaks waiting to help them smoke it up. When they got a dose of the date rape that J. B. had scored to drop in their drinks, the party would really be in full swing.

“You think they’ll go for it?” Steve asked J. B.

J. B. smiled reassuringly. “I don’t see why not. This shit is supposed to be off the chain. My man, Harv, gave a bitch a half of pill and she took cock damn near till the next morning.”

“I can’t wait!” Steve said excitedly. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of one of them hoes.”

“Fuck that, Blood.” J. B. held up the baggie containing several white pills. “Once they get a dose of these, you’re gonna fuck both of them.”

As the two young men continued to walk and talk, a white Chevy Lumina was coming up behind them. There were three men in total occupying the vehicle, all motivated by one thought-murder. When the car was coasting along next to them, the driver’s side window rolled down.

“CRIIIP!” THE driver sang in a high squeal. When J. B. and Steve turned to identify the source, Bruticus stuck his arm out the window, letting the sun wink off the barrel of his.45. At first there was only silence and then came the thunder.

Two slugs entered Steve’s chest, cracking his breast plate, decorating the bench behind him with bits of heart and lungs. When Bruticus turned his hammer to J. B., J. B. was already sprinting in the other direction. The Lumina screeched and reversed after him, while another shooter leaned over the top of the car and tried to lay J. B. Trees splintered and glass shattered, but the shooter never hit his target.

J. B. DUCKED and zigzagged like a hunted animal. He recognized one of the shooters in the car as a member of a rival gang. Even though he had gone on a few outings with his new family, he had never done anything directly to any of the men in the car. He found himself running for his natural life, because he represented a different color. When he joined the gang, he thought it would be fun, but he would soon realize that banging was not a game; it was a way of life.

“FUCK IS wrong with your aim?” Bruticus barked at the shooter. “Lay that nigga down!” He steered the Lumina with one hand, watching the fleeing man over his shoulder. A taxi came around the bend on 116th, causing him to swerve and slamming the car into a parked Explorer. “Shit,” Bruticus spat, sliding from the car. “Take the wheel.”

THE EFFECTS of all the cigarettes had begun to catch up with J. B. as his chest started to burn. He knew that the only way for him to escape would be to cut through the park. That was easier said than done, because the next entrance was more than four blocks away. The loud crash to his rear caused him to spare a glance over his shoulder. The nose of the Lumina was jutting out into the street, while its rear was hooked on the bumper of an Explorer. He thought that luck might finally be swinging in his favor, but knew it to be a lie when he saw the driver climb out of the car and begin pursuing him on foot.

The fear of being gunned down in the middle of the street made J. B.’s mind race. He knew he only had one chance of escaping, but he didn’t like it. He looked over the wall of the park, at the grass that was easily twenty feet below street level. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leapt over the stone wall.

BRUTICUS WAS a large man, but he was by no means slow. J. B. had a head start on him, but he was closing the distance in good enough time. He watched the young boy veer from the street, and head for the wall. He knew that there was a long drop and figured he had him cornered. He slowed to a jog and made to dispatch his victim, until his mark suddenly jerked and leapt over the wall.

Bruticus ran to the wall and looked over in time to see J. B. picking himself up from the ground, and preparing to continue his sprint. Bruticus knew that if the boy got away, it would upset Pop Top’s plan. Leveling the.45, he got J. B. in his sights and squeezed the trigger once. J. B.’s calf exploded, knocking him to the ground. Bruticus pulled himself over the wall and dropped down to finish him.

The force of the impact sent shock waves from Bruticus’s ankles to his lower back. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t feel like anything was broken. After gathering himself, he walked casually over to J. B. who was trying to crawl away. The bullet had totally destroyed his calf muscle, but the fear of death wouldn’t let him give in to the pain.

Bruticus kicked him square in the ass. “Turn the fuck over, nigga!”

“Chill, man,” J. B. cried.

“Fuck that chill, shit. You knew the rules when you joined up, kid. You wanted to be a soldier, so now yo bitch-ass is a casualty of war.”

“I don’t want no beef with y’all. You got it!”

Bruticus chuckled wickedly. “Nah, I don’t want it, you take it.” Bruticus squeezed the trigger. Bullets tore through J. B.’s body and struck the ground below. A dust storm rose up around J. B., coating his face and body. The boy lay in the dirt with plum-sized holes in his chest and legs. Bruticus took a moment to spit on his corpse, before limping across the park to his waiting getaway car.

IT TOOK more than an hour, but Sharell had finally managed to fight through the traffic and make it to Harlem. Though she was officially off, she still found herself at her place of employment, St. Luke’s Hospital. She could’ve waited until she came back to pick up her check, but it allowed her time out of the house, which is what she needed since Gutter had her feeling like a sardine trapped in the house.

Instead of going directly to her station she decided to cut through the emergency room so she could holler at her girl, Rhonda, who worked as a triage nurse. When she passed through the automatic doors her senses were overwhelmed with the bullshit that was the emergency room.

As usual it was overcrowded with people in need of medical attention. In the far corner, an addict rocked back and forth, sweating like a runaway slave, waiting to see if there was an available bed in their detox wing. Another man was hunched over near the pay phone, nursing his hand, which was wrapped in bandages that were splotched with blood. A girl who didn’t appear to be more than seventeen or so cradled a newborn in her arms, while two more kids who couldn’t have been more than a year apart tore through the emergency room as if it was their own personal backyard.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Sharell mumbled, as she stepped over a bum who was either passed out or sleeping, and made her way to the triage window. A woman, whose profile was familiar to her, sat at the window exchanging words with Rhonda. Though it had been a while, she’d know Tameeka anywhere.

“Look, I’ve been sitting here for two hours and my son still hasn’t been seen, this is unacceptable,” Tameeka was saying.

“And like I’ve been telling you for the last ten minutes, we’re overcrowded and understaffed today. We’re seeing the priority patients first,” Rhonda replied.

“And my child ain’t a priority? My boy has been throwing up all morning, and he’s running a fever!”

“Look, we’ve got people in here suffering from everything from gunshots to the shakes, your son’s flu symptoms aren’t a priority right now.” Rhonda was still being polite, but Sharell could tell she was losing her patience with Tameeka so she decided to step in.

“What’s up, Tameeka?” Sharell said, moving to stand over her. Tameeka’s eyes flashed surprise then embarrassment before she uttered a weak, “Hey.”

Until about a year or so ago, she, Lauren, and Sharell had been like the three amigos, but when she got serious with Gutter all that changed. Lauren, though she never really cared for Gutter and still didn’t, held her down when people tried to crucify her for her choice of a life mate, but Tameeka fell in line with the Joneses. The few times they had spoken on the phone Tameeka always had an excuse about how busy she was, but Sharell knew it was just so she didn’t have to state the obvious-she was afraid. Everybody knew who her man was and what he represented, but they also knew that her love for him was unwavering.

“Sup, mommy.” Sharell tapped on the window Rhonda was sitting behind, and gave her a warm smile.

“Chilling, preg-o,” Rhonda teased. “I’m just trying to get through the day without having to get fired.” She cut her eyes at Tameeka when she said this.

“Take it light, Rhonda, you only got a few hours left until your shift is over. Breathe, girl,” Sharell told Rhonda, but placed a hand on Tameeka’s chair.

“No doubt.” Rhonda nodded in understanding. Reluctantly she turned back to Tameeka and said, “Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can get somebody to see your son.”

“Well, I just came to pick up my check and skate, call me later though,” Sharell said to Rhonda before heading deeper into the hospital. She was about to go through the double doors in the back when Tameeka stopped her.

“Hold on, Sharell,” she said, catching up. “Thanks for looking out.”

“It was nothing, you know how I do it,” Sharell reminded her. “So what’s up, how’s everything with you?”

Tameeka shrugged. “I’m just trying to make it like everybody else. But listen, can I talk to you for a minute, in private?”

“Sure.” Sharell took her by the hand and led her outside the emergency room. “What’s up, Meeka?”

Tameeka took a minute to examine her shoes. “Listen, I know I haven’t been the best friend over the last few months, but you know that hasn’t changed how I feel about you, right?”

“That’s what I like to think,” Sharell said. There was another short silence.

“You know, for a long time I didn’t see what it was about Gutter that made you stay with him. I mean, he’s thugged out and you’re sweet. If anything I always figured you’d end up with a doctor or some square dude.”

“We ain’t got a whole lot of control over our hearts, Tameeka,” Sharell told her.

“Don’t I know it.” Her eyes said something. “I didn’t understand it until life threw me a curveball and I ended up in a similar situation.” Tameeka paused as if she wasn’t sure of how much she wanted to share with Sharell.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sharell asked, sensing her uneasiness.

“Not much to tell, really. My heart belongs to a nigga who refuses to do right. If it ain’t the beef, it’s the bitches and I’m starting to feel like I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

“That’s a hard pill to swallow, baby girl.”

“Yet I do,” she said in a shameful tone. “Don’t get me wrong, my man takes care of me and my son. We ain’t rich, but we don’t want for nothing. But this lifestyle”-she paused-“it’s just hard to deal with. I call myself doing him a favor and went and picked up some work from uptown and end up getting stopped in the cab. I had to call my mother to pick my son up from school, because my ass was down at the precinct.”

“Jesus, girl, is everything all right?” Sharell asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m still going back and forth to court over this shit though. Sharell, in my whole life I’ve never been one to be twisted up with the police, but it seems like lately they’re always over my shoulder.” She looked around as if they were being watched. “How do you cope with this shit?”

Sharell thought for a minute before answering. “Honestly, if Jesus wasn’t my backbone I’d have probably snapped a long time ago. I can’t speak on your situation because it’s not my situation, but Gutter draws a very clear line between his street antics and the life we’re trying to build. It ain’t no secret that Gutter is a criminal, anybody who watches the news knows that, but the streets have no place in our home. I’m not gonna go as far as to say that it’s impossible for me to get caught up, but Gutter goes the extra mile to try and ensure that I never find myself in that position.”

“I feel you, but do you ever feel like it’d be easier for you to just cut your losses?” Tameeka asked.

“All the time,” Sharell confessed. “But you know what, I knew what he was into before I committed to him, and I still fell in love with his ol thug ass.” She rubbed her hand over her belly. “My guy goes the extra mile for me, so it’s only right that I hold him down through thick and thin. The question you need to ask yourself is, how far is your man willing to go for you? Once you know the answer to that then you’ll know where you stand.”

“That’s deep.” Tameeka nodded.

“That’s real. Meeka, I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, but always make sure you put you and your son first.”

Before the conversation could go any further there was a loud popping in the distance. It sounded like a firecracker at first, but when several more pops followed everybody knew them to be gunshots. Sharell hurried back inside the emergency room with Tameeka on her heels, and almost got knocked over as security came rushing out.

chapter 21

“WHAT UP, y’all?” Jesus said as he approached the bench where

Tito and Miguel were ping-ponging a blunt. He had put on a little weight, but was still on the slim side.

“Sup, Blood,” Miguel replied. He noticed that Jesus had winced a bit at the term. Though he was still officially a part of the set, he didn’t hang around so much. After Lou-Loc had waxed him with a lead pipe the prior summer, gang-banging no longer seemed to appeal to him. The young man still sported a thin scar along his jaw from where the doctors had to wire it.

“I can’t call it.” Jesus invited himself to a seat. “Let me hit that, yo.” He reached for the blunt only to have Miguel snatch it away.

“Surgeon general says that smoking can be detrimental to your health,” Miguel teased as he took another drag.

“Let the lil nigga hit it, hype.” Tito nudged him. Miguel grudgingly complied, handing the blunt to Jesus. “Ain’t seen you around in a while, J. Everything good?” Tito continued.

“Yeah, man. I just been busy taking care of my aunt. She ain’t been so good since Satin went away,” Jesus informed him. At the mention of Satin, Tito turned away.

“So what’s up, when you gonna stop acting like a girl and get back down for yours?” Miguel capped.

“I’m always gonna be down for mine, dawg, don’t get it fucked-up,” Jesus told him. Though he tried to make his voice firm there was no conviction in his statement. “It’s just that… I don’t know, a nigga been trying to finish school and all that, Blood. You know I love my hood, but I gotta think about what I’m gonna do when all this shit is over.”

“Over?” Miguel sat up with a questioning glare in his eyes. “T, you hear this nigga?” Miguel nudged his partner. “Check this shit, shorty,” he addressed Jesus. “This shit ain’t never gonna be over. For as long as its crab-ass muthafuckas trying to stop our shine, we’re gonna be out here banging the fuck out. You better stop fooling ya self and get out here and get this paper.”

Tito glared at his best friend, realizing at that moment just how ignorant Miguel really was. “Jesus, don’t listen to this warped muthafucka. Son, you gonna always be a Blood and ain’t nothing that none of us other than God or a bullet can do about it, but always think outside the box. You ain’t gotta be no killer or play the corners to support your hood. Be down for yours by blowing the fuckup one day. You can make more paper owning your own business than you can out here pitching stones.”

“You sound like Satin.” Jesus laughed. “She was always telling me the same shit, but I never listened to her.”

“You should’ve. Satin has always had a good head on her shoulders.” Tito nodded.

“Yeah, she did.” Jesus got silent for a minute. “Blood, that shit fucks me up every time I go see her. I look at the chick up in that place and think that this can’t be my fucking sister,” he said emotionally.

“Don’t trip, man. She’ll come around sooner or later,” Tito lied. “You just keep doing what you gotta do and take care of that aunt,” Tito said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knot of money. “Go buy her some flowers or some shit.” He handed him some folded-up bills.

“Thanks, man.” Jesus accepted the money. “Tito, you should come up with us and see her one of these days. You know we’re all we got left.”

Tito fidgeted. “I know, my nigga, I just be crazy busy. I’ll tell you what, how ’bout we drive up there next week?”

“That’s a bet.” Jesus smiled. “Yo, I gotta burn it, but I’ll hit you later on.” He gave Miguel dap then Tito.

“A’ight, Blood,” Tito said. As he sat there watching a young man who had been like a little brother to him make his way out of the projects he couldn’t help but feel like shit. He knew damn well that he wouldn’t be going to see Satin next week, nor would anyone else. By that time the next day Satin Angelino would be dead.

THERE’S A place in our minds somewhere between sleep and awake where reality and dreams overlap and your senses are slow to recognize which is which. This is where Satin found herself at that moment. She had come out of her stupor, but things were still jumbled in her mind. It was as if a whole year had been wiped away and she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

“Life,” she heard the word whispered somewhere in the back of her mind. It was the last word her lover had spoken to her in the dream, but it was not his voice.

“Life,” she mouthed in her dream, but there was no sound. She recognized the word, but it no longer held any meaning for her. A life without him was a cheap imitation.

For the millionth time she tried to shut out the world around her and escape to the sleeping place, but it had rejected her. Within the recesses of her mind she had been able to escape the world around her, but thanks to Lou-Loc’s last visitation she had been barred and forced to face the world around her. She had a life growing inside her, a life she and Lou-Loc had created. If she hadn’t believed in miracles before, she did then. For as thrilled as she was about becoming a mother, and getting back a part of what she lost, the fact remained that she was the property of the state of New York. If she didn’t escape the hospital, chances were that she would never get to know her child.

“Life,” the voice said again. This time there was something more to the word, as if a hand had slapped her across the face, without actually touching her. “Remember his warning child. You must be here to water the seed, sleep isn’t for you. Life, Satin.”

Lou-Loc, Michael, her parents. The faces of everyone she had lost flashed through her head like a cheap movie reel. They were all dead, but the sleeping place allowed her to be with them. Did this mean she wanted to die too? No! There would be no more sleeping, her seed needed her. Feeling a presence in the room Satin’s eyes snapped open. She was about to roll over to see who was there when she was suddenly lifted violently off the bed.

THERE WAS hardly anyone on the floor save for the nurse, who sat at her usual post in front of the portable television. She was so engrossed in her show that she barely gave the young doctor’s badge a second look as he strode past whistling a tune. Had she been on her job she’d have noticed that the picture on the ID card looked nothing like the man who had it clipped to his white lab coat.

Major Blood had taken out his braids and brushed his mane back into a neat ponytail, bringing out his handsome features. Once inside the hospital he had swiped a pair of scrubs and the lab coat from a laundry cart that had been abandoned in the hallway. No one gave him so much as a second look when he helped himself to one of the computers to find out which room Satin Angelino was being kept in.

Glancing up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching Major Blood slipped into Satin’s room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before pulling out his silenced.22. Satin had her back to him, sleeping peacefully. Moving stealthily, he made his way to the bed and leveled the gun.

In all truth he knew that killing the girl was totally unnecessary, but the money had already been dropped. “Nothing personal, shorty, but I always fill my contracts,” he whispered before squeezing the trigger.

SHARELL HAD been in her duplex crying and praying all evening. The word had come down about Big Gunn passing and she took it pretty bad. Though she’d never met him personally, they enjoyed a few phone conversations and she knew that he and Gutter were close. She expected Gutter to be just as broken up over his uncle’s death, but he was surprisingly calm. So much so that it made her nervous. She knew that he had been a warrior all his life and death was the norm for the children of Los Angeles, but there was an edge to him that chilled her. Without having to be told she knew a shit storm was about to rain over L.A. and she just hoped her man would make it back to her in one piece.

After receiving her condolences, Gutter dropped the bomb on her. She couldn’t say that she was too surprised though. When Gutter got motivated enough about something he wasted no time in putting a plan in motion. He wouldn’t go into detail about how he had managed to pull it off, but she knew that there would be consequences because of it. Still, he had called on her to do her part and she would answer without question.

There was a nasty chill to the wind, but it was to be expected for the hour of the night it was. A shadow in her peripheral vision made her jump. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was just a cat slithering between the trash cans. She gave a cautious glance to her left and saw nothing, but she knew he was there. Mohammad had been against the idea and he expressed this to Gutter, but Sharell insisted. For something as important as this, she was the only one who could be trusted with the task.

Sharell could see headlights in the distance making their way toward her building. Mohammad stepped out of the shadows and moved to stand in front of her with his gun dangling at his side. His muscles tensed beneath his long-sleeved shirt ready to attack or defend. A pea-green cargo van pulled to an easy stop at the cub and killed its lights. The driver, who was a balding man with a double chin, stared straight ahead, not even casting a curious glance at Sharell or her armed bodyguard.

A slender man dressed in a tight black T-shirt came around from the passenger side and regarded Sharell and Mohammad. He looked at her curiously, but there was something about the way his emerald-green eyes lingered on Mohammad. Mohammad didn’t move, but Sharell noticed that he’d tightened his grip on the pistol. Whatever passed between them she was completely oblivious to it. Fearing there was about to be violence Sharell opened her mouth to say something, but her breath caught in her throat when the man in black slid open the side door to reveal his cargo.

SATIN WAS huddled on the moldy seat in the back of the van, wrapped in a leather duster. It provided her with more protection from the night chill, but her bones still felt cold. She squinted against the glare of the streetlights as if they were a dozen tiny suns. When she stepped from the van she found that her legs weren’t quite ready to support her weight. With an exaggerated sigh, Cross scooped the frail young woman into his arms and started toward Sharell.

“Stay where you are, assassin.” Mohammad leveled his gun at Cross. There was a tension to his movements that Sharell wasn’t familiar with, which could’ve almost been mistaken for nervousness, but Mohammad wasn’t the nervous type. Something about the taller man had him on edge.

Cross looked at Mohammad comically. “For as much as Gutter claims to detest the children of Gehenna I’m surprised that he has entrusted one of its initiates with the well-being of his wife. Tell me, what is your name, little one?” Cross took a step forward, causing Mohammad to take two steps back.

“I am Mohammad Al Haj, firstborn of Sharif Al Haj, and right arm of the Al Mukallah Prince and guardian of the Soladines. On my oath, I will die or kill in service of my prince!” Mohammad said defiantly.

Cross just shook his head. “And to what end? Have they promised you the devil’s bargain, or assured you safe passage into Mecca upon your death?” Cross taunted him. “Had murder been my purpose here, you’d have never heard me coming. Don’t test me, Mohammad, or I’ll surely see that you receive your reward earlier than you’d like.”

As Cross spoke the sound of his voice echoed in Mohammad’s ears like someone was beating a drum right next to him. The small voice in his head that we call reason begged for him to step aside, but he held his ground. Mohammad was a killer, but Cross was something else all together. He had been warned of the assassin since his earliest days studying the path of death and knew full well what Cross could do to him, but he had taken an oath and not even impending death could make him dishonor his prince, or risk what Sharif had promised him.

“It’s okay, Mohammad,” Sharell said, stepping between them. For this man to put fear into Mohammad’s heart she knew that he was dangerous, but she also knew that Gutter would not have trusted him with the mission had he posed a threat to her or Satin.

“Tell Kenyatta that our business is done,” Cross said, handing Satin over to Mohammad, who was still holding his gun, but speaking to Sharell.

“Thank you so much,” Sharell said with tears of joy in her eyes. “God bless you.”

Cross gave a faint chuckle. “I think we’re too late for that, but I’ll take it.” Cross climbed back into the passenger side of the van and motioned for the driver to pull off.

For a long moment the trio just stood there in silence. Satin was a little dusty, but appeared to be fine. There was still a glaze to her eyes, but there was also an awareness that Sharell hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Satin, are you okay, baby?” Sharell touched her cheek.

Satin looked at her and gave a faint smile. “I’m ready to wake up now.”

chapter 22

GUTTER SAT on the front porch, looking up at the California sun. The weather was a warm eighty-three, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The sky looked like the clearest blue ocean, with a red-orange jewel resting in the middle. The trees were thick and green with the smell of fresh grass floating on the air. This place would never know the icy touch of snow, or the frigid winds that swept through New York every year. California would be forever green and warm, if not scorching. It was hard to believe that a place so beautiful could breed such ugliness.

The Soladines had prayed through the dawn, well into the day. Lil Gunn had finally stopped crying and gone off to bed. Gutter felt for his cousin, because he was no stranger to the pain of loss. Like his brother Rahmil, Gunn had died prematurely. The difference was Gutter’s father was an active participant in that war, and had been ready to lay down his life for that cause. Gunn was done fighting, but it didn’t stop the conflict from claiming him.

It had been a horrible year for him. He had been shot up, lost his best friend and his uncle, all in succession. And let’s not forget the murders, dozens of murders. When Gutter had awakened from his coma and discovered the events that had transpired, something inside him clicked. The darkest side of him had been unleashed, and it demanded compensation. Be it by his order, or by his hand, blood flowed in rivers. How many would die before it was all said and done? The snubbing of human life had become the norm. Not just in the hood, but all over the world. Ironically, death and the practice of it dictated how the world was run. From Pakistan to Inglewood, the touch of the reaper had no bounds.

He touched his hand to his neck and felt the scratches Monifa had left the night before. He hoped that they would heal by the time he went home to Sharell. Just thinking of her and how he had violated their relationship made him feel low. He was wrong for sleeping with Monifa, but it felt so right. Sharell had always tried her best to know his heart, but Monifa knew it a little more intimately. They had come up through the good times and the bad, before New York had even been a thought on his mind. In that moment of weakness he craved her familiarity and like men tend to do he let his little head do the thinking for his big one. He wondered to himself how that would change the already complex dynamics of what was going on in his life.

He ran his hands through his wild mane. It would be even more of a mess if he didn’t get it done before the sun began its merciless noon onslaught. His clothes and sneakers were soiled from the grass in the backyard and there would be nothing he could do about it before Danny and Tears came back from the hotel with the rest of their stuff. It had already been decided that they would stay at the house for the remainder of their trip. His family needed him and he needed them.

Gutter picked up the forty of Old English that was sitting by his foot, and swigged thirstily. “So much death,” he whispered.

The creaking of floorboards caused him to turn around. Monifa was standing behind him, with her arms folded across her breasts. Her hair hung loosely, fanning out over her shoulder. Her lips were lightly coated in a peach shade, like remnants of something she drank. Monifa’s eyes stared down at him, but there was no malice, only hurt and need. She motioned toward the step one level above him and he nodded. Giving a slight tug to her denim shorts, she took the seat.

She was silent for a minute, just staring at him. He looked like a warrior prince with his wild hair and sharp ebony features. Monifa had always found Gutter beautiful, even when he tried to come off as hard and insensitive. She knew both sides of the man and had long ago come to terms with who he was and what he was about. This was one of the reasons she found herself so hopelessly in love.

“Hey,” she said weakly.

“Sup,” he replied. “I thought you got up outta here?”

“I did. I went home to change clothes, but came right back to see if Rahshida needed anything.”

“You’re a sweet kid.” He chuckled.

“Oh, so now I’m a kid, huh? I don’t know, Gutter, I seemed old enough this morning.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Mo, about that-”

“Save it.” She held her hand up. “It was a onetime thing, Gutter. It wasn’t that serious,” she lied. On the outside Monifa tried to carry it like the night was just nothing but a nut, but they both knew it was more than that. Her soul craved him, but she knew that Gutter would never again be hers.

“Your hair looks a hot mess,” she joked, changing the subject.

Gutter managed to muster up a smile. “I didn’t do this on my own,” he said sarcastically. “Besides, I ain’t really had a whole lot of time for grooming.”

Monifa pulled a comb from her back pocket and patted her inner thigh with it. “Sit back and let me tighten you up, smart-ass.” She took the step just above the one he was sitting on. Gutter slid back and rested his head against her leg. Slowly, Monifa began the task of untangling his hair and rebraiding it. “So, where’s Danny this morning?”

“I sent him and Tears back to the hotel, then they gotta stop over at the mall to get me a new cell phone. With everything going on… I kinda smashed my old one.”

“You and that temper.” She popped him on the head playfully with the comb.

“You know, this reminds me of back in the days, us sitting out and you braiding my hair,” he recalled.

“Yeah, seems like so long ago.” Monifa paused. “Ken, what happened to us? What happened to you?”

“The hood,” he said honestly. “I got so caught up in this shit that I couldn’t think of anything else. Not my family, my loved ones. Nothing was more important to me than the set.”

“Even me?”

Gutter paused momentarily, gathering his thoughts. He thought about feeding her another line of bullshit, but he owed her more. He owed her the truth. “Mo, you gotta understand the circumstances surrounding my leaving Cali. A cop and his partner died and their blood was on my hands.” He proceeded to tell her the whole story about what had happened that night in the O’Leary house. Monifa was shocked, and had a thousand questions, but she let him finish his story. When it was done, she was crying and his eyes were moist.

“My God, I never knew,” she sobbed.

“Not many people did.” He took another drink. “The LAPD rode down on the hood, pressing niggaz for a killer. It was only a matter of time before one of these fools started running their fucking traps. The big homeys decided that it was best for me and Lou to get low for a while. Lou-Loc had had enough of Cali anyhow, so it was cool for him to relocate to New York. Me, shit I couldn’t wait to get back to the hood. The thing is, we started getting money on the East Coast. We blew up real fast, baby. The next thing I knew, years had passed and neither of us was in a rush to get home.”

“You could’ve called or written me, Kenyatta,” she insisted.

“And said what? ‘Hey Monifa, I moved away from Cali to become an even worse criminal on the East Coast.’ Nah, baby, I had already done enough damage to your life and didn’t want to cause more. I figured in time, you’d forget about me and move on. Maybe find yourself a good working dude. I ain’t the kind of nigga you need in your life.”

“Kenyatta, that is the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard,” she said seriously. “How do you know what kind of man I need in my life? Jesus, I can’t tell you how many nights I laid awake thinking about you. I’ve been with other guys since you, but none measured up. You were my first and only love.”

Gutter craned his neck to face her. “Monifa, I-” his words were swallowed when she placed her mouth over his. Monifa kissed him deep and passionately, and he returned it. They stroked each other’s faces, and for just a few seconds everything was as it had been. The moment was shortlived as they heard a series of whistles coming from the house, followed by Tears appearing in the doorway.

“What the fuck is going on, cuz?” Gutter asked, ready to answer the war call.

“The sentries bagged a slob creeping through,” Tears said, lumbering down the stairs, tossing Gutter a pistol as he passed. The homeys were hot on his heels.

“Is he still alive?” Gutter asked no one in particular.

Rahkim pulled the slide on the sawed-off pump, “For the moment.”

Gutter looked from the jogging forms of Rahkim and Criminal to Monifa. Her eyes pleaded with him not to follow, but she knew better. Gutter was a soldier, and thus had to be in the trenches. When she nodded in understanding he took off after his comrades.

BY THE time the trio had made it to the end of the block, Mad Man and Lil Blue Bird were coming their way. Both the youngsters were dressed in dark sweatshirts and jeans. The young men were wearing the confident smiles of game hunters that had just bagged a prize. Walking between them was a soldier that Gutter recognized from the other side.

Pudgy was a portly young man, with a round face and thick neck. He was a highly respected member of the Mad Swans, who had spilled his fair share of blood over the years. Usually when a set was planning a raid they used cannon fodder as scouts. They would never send a soldier of Pudgy’s value for fear of losing him. Gutter wondered why they had chosen him, but his curiosity would soon be satisfied.

“We caught this nigga creeping, cuz,” Mad Man lisped. A few years prior he had had his two front teeth knocked out by some cops, so he whistled a little when he spoke.

“Yeah, old boy was riding in a mean Benz,” Lil Blue added.

“Punk-ass slob.” Rahkim raised the sawed-off. “My brother ain’t even cold yet and you got the nerve to show your stinking face round here. Y’all little niggaz move so I can peel this bitch!”

“Easy, Unc.” Gutter stepped between Rahkim and Pudgy. “Pudge, I know you ain’t got a death wish, so I assume you got a good reason for being here? Start talking before these hammers do.” Gutter motioned toward his heavily armed entourage.

Pudgy was clearly as nervous as a rabbit in a pit of vipers, but he tried to steady his voice when he spoke. “Listen, man, I didn’t wanna come here to die, but they said it would be a show of good faith.”

“Who the fuck is they?” Criminal asked.

“The homeys from Swan, Trik wants to meet with you guys.”

“Fuck Swan!” Rahkim raged, stepping around Gutter and placing the sawed-off to Pudgy’s large stomach. “You niggaz killed my brother, ain’t shit to talk about.”

Pudgy fought to control his bowels. When the homeys gave him his mission, he told them that he’d wanted no part of it. The Soladines were a wild lot and there was no reasoning with them. Still, Trik had insisted he do it. It was either that or be tried as a traitor. Now, Pudgy found himself about to be executed for trying to do his duty. His only hope would be to reason with the more sensible member of the clan.

“Gutter, man, tell dude to stall me out,” he pleaded.

“And why the fuck should I?” Gutter glared at Pudgy. “Swans shot my uncle and y’all knew he wasn’t riding no more. Fuck you and your whole set. Mad Man, Lil Blue, take this faggot somewhere and waste him. When you’re done, dump his body in Swan hood.”

“Wait, man!” Pudgy pleaded, as the youngsters grabbed hold of him. “We didn’t hit Gunn.”

“Yeah, so who the fuck put the work in on my uncle, Santa Claus? Don’t change the fact that a fuck nigga in a red suit did it.”

“Gutter.” Pudgy tried to compose himself. “Please, just meet with Trik. He can clear this whole mess up.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rahkim said. “Trik is probably just trying to lure us out. Let’s smoke this muthafucka for the big homey, nephew.”

“It ain’t like that, man,” Pudgy insisted. “Trik just wants to bring an end to all this shit. On my kids, we ain’t lay hands on yo people.”

Gutter mulled it over for a few. Though Trik was quite a few years older than him, Gutter knew what he was about. Back in the day Trik had the reputation of being one of the most savage niggaz in the hood. If he wanted to get at the Soladines he wouldn’t have sent a messenger, he would’ve come in with an army. But for as savage as Trik was, he was one of the few niggaz left who respected the old codes.

“Okay, we’ll meet with Trik,” Gutter agreed. Rahkim started to protest, but Gutter waved him silent. “When and where?”

Pudgy visibly relaxed. “Trik said y’all could meet at the Beverly Center.”

“Fuck that nigga, who say he get to pick where the fuck we meet? Them ol ho-ass niggaz probably got something cooked up over that way.”

“Dawg, I wouldn’t play wit y’all or my life like that, Trik ain’t plotting,” Pudgy tried to convince Gutter.

“Nah, cuz, I’m wit my uncle on this one. We pick the spot or it don’t happen.” Gutter thought on it for a minute. “That Beverly Center shit is out; we’ll meet in the Beach… the old church on Fourth.”

“Okay, man, you got that. I’ll go tell him.” Pudgy made to leave, but Gutter stopped him.

“Hold on, cuz. I’m reasonable, not stupid. Call Trik and tell him. Your ass is staying here. Mad Man, Lil Blue”-Gutter turned to the youths-“take this fool somewhere and sit on him until you hear from us.” He turned back to Pudgy. “If this does turn out to be some funny shit, I’m gonna let my niggaz take turns fucking you up. Then I’m gonna cut your throat from ear to ear.”

Pudgy didn’t know Gutter that well, but he knew from the young man’s reputation that he was serious. Trik seemed sincere about his intentions, but Pudgy hadn’t been willing to bet his life on it. Now it seemed that he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

AFTER PUDGY placed the phone call to Trik, he was escorted to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Gutter, followed by Criminal and Rahkim, made his way back to the house. Rahkim complained the whole time, saying how they should’ve just blasted Pudgy, and Gutter did his best to ignore him. He knew that they could keep killing Bloods from now until the end of the year, but there was no guarantee that they’d be any closer to catching Gunn’s killer. He would meet with Trik to see if his words held any truth, but if they didn’t, he’d be another dead slob.

When they reached the house Monifa was still standing on the porch where he had left her. At first she appeared rattled, but once she noticed they had all come back in one piece she relaxed. She knew better than to ask Gutter what had happened in front of Rahkim and Criminal, so she stored it away for later. She informed him that she had to make a run, and she’d be back in a little while. After kissing him on the cheek, she got in her car and pulled off.

Gutter had been in the house for about fifteen minutes when Snake Eyes came in. The young attorney’s cane clicked against the hardwood floor as he crossed the foyer into the living room. Though his limp had improved over the years, he still sometimes depended on the walking stick for balance. After speaking to everyone, he made his way to the backyard where Gutter was sitting on a lawn chair talking to Criminal.

“What up, Harlem?” Snake Eyes dapped him.

“Ain’t shit, we got a lead on Gunn’s killer so we gonna mash in a few.” Gutter filled him in.

“Well, you’re gonna have to fill me in because I got something a little more pressing to holla at you about.” Snake Eyes took Gutter gently by the arm and steered him out of earshot of everyone else. “I got a call from Sharell today, she says she’s been trying to call you, but keeps getting the voice mail.”

“I kinda smashed my phone. I’ll call her when I get in the house. Is everything okay?” Gutter asked.

“Yeah, she was ecstatic actually. Satin is at your house,” Snake Eyes told him. Gutter just smiled. “G, you wanna explain to me how you were able to get her released from the hospital?”

“Trust me, cuz, you don’t even wanna know, loc. But check, they say Trik from Swan wanna jaw about who bust on Unc.”

Snake Eyes raised his eyebrows. “Straight up?” he asked, momentarily forgetting about the fugitive.

“Square biz, homey. He say he got some information on who popped him up and he wanna meet with me.”

“You think he trying to plot?” Snake asked.

“Man, if he don’t play fair Ima let Criminal and them niggaz break that power saw in on Pudgy’s fat ass.”

“Shit, I’m rolling with y’all,” Snake Eyes declared. He had a fire in his eyes that Gutter hadn’t seen in quite a few years.

“Nah, Snake. It might get ugly, and you’re too valuable to get caught up in some bullshit,” Gutter explained.

“You can’t cut me outta this one,” Snake Eyes insisted. “Big Gunn was always looking out for me, and I want to see his killer brought to justice, hood justice.”

Gutter couldn’t even argue the fact that Snake Eyes had a very valid point. Of all his comrades, Snake Eyes had been the closest to Gunn. Not only did he school him to the streets, but he was the main reason why Snake Eyes didn’t fall under the sword after the O’Leary murder.

There were several gang factions, Crip and Blood, that didn’t appreciate the heat the cop killers had brought down on them. Lou-Loc and Gutter were safely tucked away on the East Coast, but Snake Eyes had remained in California to finish school. A few cats thought about getting at him, or maybe even turning him in to call the dogs off, but Gunn made it very clear that if anything happened to Snake Eyes, the hand of death would fall on the offender. So, with Gunn as his guardian angel, Snake Eyes was able to finish school and pass the bar. Though his main legal practice was based in Miami, he made frequent trips to L.A., where he did consulting out of a small office downtown, off Central Avenue.

“A’ight then,” Gutter agreed. “But you keep your ass out of the fire if it gets hot, Snake.”

“Man, stop acting like we ain’t come up under the same knuckles.” Snake Eyes waved him off.

“Now, when we go through there we ain’t gonna roll deep, but we gonna bring muscle and insurance. Criminal”-he turned to the youngster-“round up two or three of your best shooters, I got something I need y’all little niggaz to do.”

“All day, cuz,” Criminal said with vigor.

“Snake.” Gutter turned to his longtime friend. “Walk with me, counselor. We’ve got plans to lay and enemies to blast.”

“SPEAK ON it,” Major Blood said into his cell phone. He listened for a minute as his little cousin Reckless brought him up to speed on what was popping on the west.

“Yeah, they snatched his fat ass out in Torrence,” Reckless said. Major could hear the mirth in his voice. “Trik is trying to smooth things over with them sucka-ass niggaz, you want me to go see him?” the young boy asked, eager to lay something down for the cause.

Major Blood thought on it for a minute. “Nah, let that Jheri curl-wearing muthafucka breathe for now. Once I take care of shit out here, we can put the second phase of our plan in motion. Just lay low until it’s time to mash niggaz out.”

“You got that, big homey. So when we gonna move on the old heads?” Reckless asked. He hated missing out on all the killing he was sure his cousin was putting down on the East Coast.

“In due time, Blood, for right now you just keep your eyes and ears open,” Major told him.

“A’ight then, see about me.” Reckless ended the call.

Major sat, processing what he had just learned. He wished he could be there to see the look on Gutter’s face when the mystery finally unfolded, but it would have to wait. There were things that he still had to put in order before his plan could come full circle. The UBN could fool themselves into believing they were running the show, but when the smoke cleared Major Blood would show them all who was really in power.

chapter 23

DANN AND Tears walked into the garage of the Soladine house to find it overrun with soldiers. Men sat on crates or leaned against walls, chatting. The fact that they were all armed told them that something was up. In the center of the mix were Gutter, Snake Eyes, and Criminal. Snake Eyes was leaning in whispering to Gutter, who was loading an AK-47.

“Damn, it looks like Kuwait in this piece,” Danny said, handing Gutter the box containing his new cell phone.

Tears gave all the men dap and leaned against the workbench, which held a variety of firearms. “Looks like you niggaz is fixing to ride?”

“We are,” Criminal said. Seeing the confused looks on Danny’s and Tear’s faces Criminal went on to rundown what Pudgy had told him.

“You think these niggaz is on the level?” Tears asked, taking a Mac 11 from the workbench, and checking the clip.

“We’ll know in a little while,” Snake Eyes said, popping a clip in a 9 and reaching for the next weapon to load. “We’re meeting them niggaz in Long Beach.”

Danny picked up a shotgun and cocked it. “Now, this is what I’m talking about.”

Criminal twisted his brown face in disgust. “Homey, put that strap down before you hurt somebody. This ain’t no fucking game, so be cool.”

“Come on, man. You act like I ain’t gangsta with mine.” Danny puffed up.

Criminal studied his East Coast cousin for a minute before responding. “Trip this, cuz; it’s easy to sike ya self up to ride on a nigga, but sometimes the coin flips and you can wind up on the other side of the pistol.” He raised his shirt so Danny could see the darkened lumps from healed-over gunshot wounds. “My nigga if I don’t know nothing else I know you die the way you live and I plan on going all the way with it.” Criminal brandished a long pistol.

Danny held Criminal’s gaze, but the lifeless eyes staring back at him swept a phantom wind across the back of his neck. “I can respect that, homey. Look, all I’m saying is that if my homey Gutter is riding into a dangerous situation, I’m going too.”

“It’s cool,” Gutter spoke up. He looked at his protégé seriously and asked, “So you really trying to ride the train?”

Danny stared at Gutter and said, “All day. One thing you always told me was that the set came before anything. If you ’bout to sit wit the devil then you might as well get me a chair.”

Gutter held out his fist. “Solid, little brother.”

“Harlem gangsta to the death, big homey,” Danny declared loud enough for everyone to hear, and pounded Gutter’s fist.

MAJOR BLOOD sat motionless in the armchair of his hotel room. Though he wasn’t ranting, as Miguel thought he’d be, the rage in his eyes was apparent. Resting on his lap was a copy of the Daily News. Within its pages two articles caught Major Blood’s eye. The first was about two men killed in a gangland shooting. J. B. and Steve had been good soldiers, but at the end of the day they were expendable. What pissed him off about reading of their deaths was the fact that his warning to Pop Top had been ignored. Steps would have to be taken to show Harlem that he meant business.

The most interesting article was about a woman who had been found dead at a Connecticut mental institution. The ironic part about it was that it wasn’t Satin. The woman who had been killed was supposed to have been in another room, but somehow ended up in Satin’s bed that night. Ms. Angelino had vanished and neither the staff nor the authorities had a clue as to where she’d gone. Major Blood crumbled the newspaper and tossed it into the corner.

“That’s some crazy shit, blood,” Miguel said. “What do you think happened to the bitch?”

“How the fuck would I know,” Major snapped. He had a perfect record as far as contract kills went and Satin had just screwed it up. When he found out who had helped her to escape he vowed that they’ll die slower than she will.

“Something has gotta be done, man,” Eddie added. “Pop Top waxed Vlad and Pook then he had at least five of ours in Brooklyn murked. If we let those fuckers get away with killing them cats it ain’t gonna look good on us.”

Major turned his cold stare to Eddie. “You know what, you have a knack for pointing out the obvious, you silly muthafucka. Next time I’ll break your jaw instead of your nose, maybe then you won’t say such stupid shit.”

Eddie touched his swollen nose, and sucked his teeth. He hadn’t known Major that long, but he already couldn’t stand him.

“Kick back, Eddie,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “So, what we gonna do now, Major?” he addressed his namesake.

“We start hacking away at the limbs of Harlem Crip until it’s time to take the head,” Major told him. “I’m ’bout to call my little nigga B-High and tell him it’s time to start leaking muthafuckas. Maybe he can get the point across better than I can,” he said with a wicked edge to his voice.

“Man, you keep talking ’bout this lil nigga, but how come don’t none of us know him, I assume he Blood?” Eddie asked, which got him a stupid look from Major Blood. “Be cool, nigga, the only reason I asked is because I don’t know his moniker, what’s the skinny on him?”

“Ain’t no skinny, that’s my nigga from the way. Solid-ass soldier,” Major said, not wanting to go into B-High’s shaky history. “Man, we can play twenty-one questions later, y’all go do whatever you gotta do for the day because tonight we riding to the strip joint.”

“Yeah, I could go for that. Fuck a few of them fine-ass black bitches or something tonight.” Miguel rubbed his hands together.

Major Blood looked at him as if Miguel was as dim-witted as Eddie. “Man, we ain’t going to catch no bitches, we going to catch some cases.”

“What’s the plan, Blood?” Tito asked.

Major just grinned and said, “To kill as many muthafuckas as we can without getting caught.”

POP TOP paced the storage unit trying to suck the life out of a Newport. The cigarette had already burned almost down to the filter, but it didn’t stop him from taking one last drag before tossing it to the ground and fishing around in his pocket for another one. C-style had just delivered the news of China’s suicide and of all the homeys he seemed to be taking it the hardest.

Though he gave China more grief than anyone else, he was quite fond of the little soldier. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t convinced him to go on the hit then maybe the little boy would still be among them, laughing and rolling the blunts. China was yet another name added to the steadily growing list of casualties.

“Damn, I can’t believe the little nigga off’d himself,” High Side said from the crate he was sitting on.

“Yo, the boy was straight laid out!” C-style said emotionally.

“Fuck,” Pop Top growled, slamming his fist into the wall, rattling the cool metal. “If it ain’t bad enough that this Major Blood nigga is picking us off, now you got niggaz cashing in their own chips.”

“Man, I say we move on these niggaz, son. I don’t like the idea of having to constantly watch my back,” High Side said.

“How we gonna move on them when we don’t know where the fuck to find them? This Major Blood nigga is like HIV, every time he shows up somebody dies,” Hollywood pointed out.

“Dawg, I don’t know how y’all feel, but I say we get low until Gutter comes back. He’ll know how to handle this,” Rob suggested.

“Get low?” Pop Top glared at Rob. “Nigga, this is war, ain’t no getting low. Either you a soldier or a pussy? Which one is it?”

“I ain’t no pussy,” Rob said softly.

“Then stop acting like one.” Pop Top went back to his pacing. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Young Rob, but he was stressed the fuck out. Gutter had entrusted him with the well-being of the set and he was letting the situation with the Bloods get out of control. The local crews were easy enough to deal with, but Major Blood was another story. Whereas the young cats running around New York were wolves, Major Blood was a snake and proving to be more trouble than Pop Top had expected. His rational mind told him to call Gutter, but Pop Top never moved rationally.

“We gotta get a handle on this, cousins,” Pop Top continued. “We’ve fought too hard to get a lock on Harlem to let some out-of-town nigga come through and fuck it up.” He took a minute to light the cigarette dangling between his lips. “I’m gonna put something together to bring an end to this Major Blood nigga, in the meantime y’all just be on point. I want every muthafucka on the set to be armed at all times.”

“That’s how I roll anyway, cuz, you know that.” High Side brandished his pistol. “First nigga come at me sideways is gonna get his muthafucking head popped off.”

“Man, y’all can sit around playing cowboys and Indians, but I’m about to hit the bricks and see about my scratch,” Hollywood said, heading for the door.

“Where the fuck is you going?” Pop Top asked.

“I gotta go meet the boy, Goldie, and open up shop. Pussy ain’t gonna sell itself. Side”-he turned to High Side-“you still coming through later?”

“Hell yeah, nigga. I’m gonna scoop the boy, Kiss, then we’ll push through the spot. I wanna see what you lame muthafuckas is working with anyway,” High Side teased him.

“Fuck you, nigga, just make sure you bring some of that good crack money to spend wit my bitches!” Hollywood shot back before leaving the unit.

“HOW IS she?” Gutter asked.

“She’s still a little out of it from all the drugs they’ve been pumping into her, but other than that she seems fine,” Sharell said into her cell phone, which was cradled between her ear and shoulder. “I still don’t know how he managed to get her out of the hospital.”

“Cross has a way of getting in and out of places most people can’t,” Gutter told her.

“Who is he? I mean, I know he was a friend of Lou-Loc’s, but he ain’t no gangster.”

“You’re right, he ain’t no gangsta,” Gutter said, thinking about the eerie Cross. “But who he is ain’t important right now, baby. What’s important is that Satin is safe.”

Sharell could sense that he was uncomfortable talking about Cross so she let it rest. “So, when do you think you’ll be back?”

“Shouldn’t be more than a day or so. You know we don’t sit on bodies more than forty-eight hours before entering them into the Mosoleum.”

“Kenyatta, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Gunn. I only wish I could’ve been there for the funeral. Please tell Rahshida I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

“I will, ma, and don’t trip she understands.” He paused as he watched Monifa walk past the kitchen and give him a look.

“Kenyatta, is everything okay?” Sharell asked.

“Yeah, everything is cool. I’m just tripping off my uncle being gone,” he lied.

“Don’t you worry about that, Ken, he’s with the Lord now. You just be strong, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” His eyes followed Monifa’s every move. He was so engrossed in her that he only half heard Sharell still talking.

“Kenyatta, did you hear me?”

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I said I love you,” she repeated.

“Oh, I love you too,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “A’ight, let me go on out here and see about Lil Gunn. I’ll call you later on, okay?”

“A’ight, you do what you gotta do and come back to me in one piece.”

“No doubt, later boo.” He ended the call. He smiled at Monifa, who was watching him intently. Instead of returning the gesture she sucked her teeth and walked out the front door. “Can’t win for losing,” Gutter said as he headed out the back door to the yard.