Gutter

chapter 24

SATIN SAT on the love seat in the plush living room staring out the window at downtown Brooklyn. She thought she had been dreaming that night in the hospital when Cross had come. She was afraid of the dark-skinned man at first, but there was a calming quality to him… almost a familiarity. When she was placed into the back of the darkened van she thought sure that it would be her last ride, but to her surprise he had brought her to Sharell. From what she was able to gather from the conversation he had done it for Lou-Loc. She had no idea what kind of connection the Goth could’ve had with Lou-Loc, but she would look into that afterward. What mattered now was that she was free to raise her child.

“How’re you feeling, Satin?” Sharell descended the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of Bibs and white Air Max. Her stomach looked as if it would burst through the fabric if she moved the wrong way.

Satin smiled up at her. “Considering… yeah, I’m cool.”

Sharell sat on the couch and placed a hand over Satin’s. “Baby, you’ve been through a lot so it’s gonna take some time to heal. And never forget that me and Kenyatta got your back.”

“Gutter,” Satin said out loud, listening to the name that she had heard dozens of times. “It’s funny, because I’ve only heard stories about him and I feel like I’ve known him since forever.”

“You don’t go listening to what people have to say about my Ken, he ain’t that bad,” Sharell joked. “Anyhow, I gotta run out real quick, but I’m coming right back. You sure you don’t wanna come with me and get some air, sugar?”

“Nah, I’m okay, but thanks. I think I’m just gonna stay in and get my head together,” Satin told her.

“Okay, but you know you can’t spend the rest of your days hiding in the house. We still gotta get you to the gynecologist to see about my little niece or nephew, but I wanna speak to Kenyatta and Snake Eyes to see what the legal situation is gonna look like.”

“God, I’ll probably be a fugitive for the rest of my days.” Satin put her head in her hands.

“You don’t go worrying about that, I’m sure Snake Eyes is gonna get the matter cleared up. At the least he can tie it up in so much red tape that the baby will be starting pre-k by the time you go to trial. We didn’t wait this long to get you back, just to have them snatch you away again, Satin. Leave it in the Lord’s hands and everything will be fine.” She hugged her.

“Thank you, Sharell.” Satin squeezed her back. “You hardly know me and you’ve already done so much. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Don’t even worry about that, Satin. Lou-Loc was my brother so that makes you my sister. Family will take care of family, baby. Now let me get outta here so I can hurry up and get back.” Sharell stood to leave. “There are some leftovers in the fridge in case you get hungry, but I’m gonna bring some manna back with me when I come. You want me to leave Mohammad here with you while I’m gone?”

Satin recalled the dark-haired man who stood between Sharell and Cross, and how empty his eyes were even in the face of certain death. Being around Cross was frightening, but there wasn’t much comfort with Mohammad either.

“I’ll be cool.” Satin rubbed her arms.

“Okay, well I’ll see you in a few hours. If you need me just call.” Sharell held up her cell phone. Once she was sure that Satin was good she headed out.

When the door locked behind her, Satin curled her legs beneath her on the couch and picked up the remote. It had been so long since she’d watched videos that she hoped she could keep up with the new music scene.

SHARELL STEPPED out of her building, humming a tune with a name she didn’t remember, but it brought her plenty of joy as a child. Mohammad nodded at her passing, but didn’t get out of his car, nor did she expect him to. Though his eyes seemed as alert as ever, she knew that the incident with Cross had disturbed him. After the encounter he opened his mouth to apologize, but Sharell waved him silent.

She hit the remote, popping the locks on her X5, and tossed her purse in the backseat. When she went to climb behind the wheel a cold chill ran up her back. She glanced around cautiously, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on the block. Shrugging it off as the nervousness that came with harboring a fugitive, Sharell got behind the wheel and started the car.

WHEN B-HIGH raised his face from the armrest, he looked like he’d been given a facial using baking powder. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his limbs were pumped with adrenaline. He tried to clear his nostril, but there was too much cocaine lodged in it. The Spanish cats he scored from were trying to bust his brain wide-open with the sweet white they served up. Reluctantly, he removed a napkin from the floor and blew his nose. He hated to waste good cocaine, but it was better than suffocating himself.

It turned out to be a good thing that the coke got lodged in his nose. Otherwise he might’ve missed Sharell coming out of her building. The powder he’d snorted supercharged his brain and demanded he take her on the spot, but the killer Major Blood had shaped held him in his seat. There were too many people on the block and he doubted if he could even get to her before her shadow popped off. Patience over passion, he told himself.

Sharell wasn’t wearing a uniform so he knew that she wasn’t going to work. It was probably a short run, because Sharell didn’t stray too far from home if it wasn’t work-related, and even when it wasn’t her shadow was forever present.

B-High had gotten a kick out of the standoff between the two men. He was actually about to turn in for the night when he saw Sharell come out of the building, with her bodyguard standing out in the open. Until then he had been little more than a shade that she whispered to when she thought no one was watching. B-High was always watching, just like Major Blood had taught him. He didn’t know what part the disheveled-looking girl played in Major’s plan, but people skulking around in the night were always worth looking into.

From a slumped position in his seat he watched Sharell head toward her car. He’d almost thought she spotted him when she looked around suspiciously. Thankfully, she kept moving. Right after Sharell pulled out, the shadow got on her tail. Sliding from his car he moved to Sharell’s building. It didn’t take much for him to jimmy the lock and slip in. He found a nondescript utility closet and ducked inside. B-High took the small tinfoil package from his pocket. Sharell was sure to be gone for at least a few hours so he decided to party a little while he waited.

chapter 25

HIGH SIDE was lounging in front of the corner store on 142nd and Lenox Avenue, drinking a forty ounce. Periodically he would look up from the newspaper on his lap and scan the block for signs of trouble. Though his friend hadn’t said it, he knew the situation unfolding around Harlem had him rattled. Next to Gutter, Pop Top was the most dangerous cat in Harlem, so if Major Blood had him spooked then they had a serious problem.

Around the corner, inside of the second building, a young man served the fiends that High Side sent his way. When Lou-Loc had divided up the territories this became High Side’s domain. He had occasional trouble with the Blood cats from Seventh, but for the most part they respected him enough not to tread directly on his turf.

“Break ya self, nigga!” Young Rob said, walking up on High Side. He was followed by C-style, and they both looked high as hell.

“Man, you need to quit playing so much. You know we got drama out here, fool. Playing like that can get yo shit pushed back,” High Side told him.

“Nigga stop fronting like you extra G wit it. You’re so caught up in that forty and last night’s basketball scores that you ain’t even on point. What you gonna do if that nigga Major Blood run up on you?”

High Side smiled and lifted the newspaper, exposing the large handgun on his lap. “Put a fucking hole in him.”

“Solid.” Rob gave him dap. “So, what’s the word on the streets?”

High Side shrugged. “Not much. There were a few incidents, but since them Brownsville niggaz put the mash on them two cats, it’s been pretty quiet.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” C-style said. “Since y’all niggaz been banging out the block has been on fire. I can’t even pump my little weed in the hood no more.”

“You wasn’t getting no money anyhow,” Rob joked.

Rob and C-style traded insults, while High Side laughed at both of them. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a car pulling up to the light. It wasn’t unusual as 142nd was a busy block. The strange part about it was the way the female passenger in the backseat was looking at him. It wasn’t a look of recognition, but one of hatred. At the moment the passenger side door swung open, High Side made his move.

High Side sprang to his feet and threw the crate he was sitting on at the car, shattering the windshield. The young man who had been trying to climb from the car fell back, trying to avoid the spray of glass. The back door opened up and Ruby hopped out, blasting away with her Desert Eagle. The storefront glass shattered, but none of the bullets hit anyone.

Ruby’s eyes flashed pure hatred as she tried to lay down her enemies. When she had approached Hawk about sanctioning a hit on Harlem, he brushed her off, saying that Major would handle it. He might’ve had faith in the assassin handling the problem, but Ruby refused to sit by and wait. The Crips would answer for the murder of her lover.

Rob knocked C-style to the ground just as bullets whistled over their heads. Not bothering to see if she was hit, Rob rolled on his back and began firing his.38. The bullets tore into the car, but he too failed to hit anyone.

Two more men climbed from the now bullet-riddled car as it turned the corner of Lenox Avenue. They opened fire on the block, not really caring who they hit. High Side got low and cut through the crowd of people that were scattering up the block. Firing from one knee, he hit one of the shooters in the throat. The man dropped his gun and clutched at the hole in his neck. Blood spilled over his fingers and down the front of his shirt as he crashed to the ground.

“Die muthafuckas!” Ruby roared, firing her cannon. The Eagle sent shock waves up her arm every time it bucked, but she held it in a death grip. She didn’t even bother to take cover as Rob and High Side exchanged fire with her crew. Her own safety was no longer an issue. All that mattered to her was revenge.

Rob tried to get out of the line of fire, but was too slow. Ruby hit him once in the leg and twice in the back. Rob tried to keep his feet, but vertigo overcame him and he hit the ground. Rob was leaking all over the place, but he still tried to crawl to the hysterical C-style.

The remaining shooter had managed to back High Side into the doorway of the bodega. The small man who worked the register quickly slammed the small wooden door, separating himself from the skirmish and grabbed his phone to call the police. The shooter was trying to bring his firing arm around, but High Side held onto his wrist for dear life, while hitting him with a series of left hooks to the skull.

Over the shooter’s shoulder he saw his little man, Young Rob, slam face first into the ground. Ruby was easing up on the boy’s prone body to finish him off, but High Side was too busy fighting for his own life to do anything about it. He watched in horror as she knelt beside Rob and blew the back of his head off with the Eagle.

High Side’s grief lasted for about five seconds before it was replaced with blinding rage. He grabbed the shooter by his arm and slammed his knee into it, at the elbow. The shooter howled in pain as the gun went flying from his hand. High Side cracked him with a savage right to the jaw, sending him spilling out onto the street. High Side went to pen him, but froze when he heard a round being chambered to his right.

Ruby drew a bead on High Side, who was frozen like a deer in headlights, and prepared to finish him off. Though she knew the young man wasn’t Gutter, he’d been identified as a shooter for Harlem Crip. High Side had murdered quite a few of her folk, so he definitely had to go. No sooner than Ruby’s finger brushed the trigger, pain exploded in her chest. She looked down at her blouse, which now had a red stain in the middle. On shaky legs, Ruby turned to see C-style holding Rob’s smoking gun.

“Bitch,” Ruby gasped. “You shot me.” She was dead before she hit the ground.

With the immediate threat being taken care of, High Side refocused his attention on his attempted murderer. The shooter’s arm hung limp at his side as he tried to get up using one arm. High Side drew his pocketknife and grabbed the shooter by the back of his shirt.

“Fuck you think you going?” He yanked the shooter to his feet. “You was gonna kill me huh, muthafucka?” High Side cut his face with the blade. “Yeah, I told you niggaz about fucking around in Harlem.” He plunged the knife into the shooter’s gut. High Side stabbed him over and over again. Even when the shooter went down, High Side continued to plunge the knife into his chest, arms, legs, or whatever else was exposed. Only when he heard the familiar police sirens in the distance did he stop stabbing the man.

Wiggling the blade deeper into the wound, High Side broke it off in the man’s chest then addressed C-style. “Baby girl, we gotta roll!” High Side called, while wiping his bloody hands on the dead shooter’s pants.

“Oh, Rob,” she sighed over his ruined body.

“C, we gotta go, now!” High Side said more forcefully. When C-style didn’t respond, he grabbed her by the arms and yanked her to her feet. “C”-he turned her to face him-“Cory, that nigga gone and you can’t honor his memory behind no damn bars. Now bring yo ass on, girl!”

C-style said her final goodbyes to Rob and allowed High Side to lead her away at a jog. In the course of a few seconds her life had been irreversibly changed. Rob was dead and she had officially caught her first body. Until then she had been little more than a supporter, but now found herself in it up to her ass.

chapter 26

SHARELL HAD never been happier to see her little Brooklyn block. What started out as a quick outing ended up with her shopping on 125th for her and Satin, and hitting the bootlegger for some movies. She knew that the girl was going through a lot and she wanted to plan a girls’ night out to help her on the road to recovery. After being near catatonic for so long she needed to refamiliarize herself with the world.

She locked her door and pulled her jacket closed to protect her from the whipping winds. It seemed like out of nowhere the weather had dropped since earlier. Just as she reached the front of the building a fashion magazine that she’d been holding blew away. She thought about chasing it, but it was chilly and she wanted to get inside with the bags.

Outside her apartment door she could hear the sounds of rap videos coming from the television. Good, Satin was still awake so she could see her new outfits. The moment Sharell turned the key in the lock she heard a door behind her swing open. When she turned around she found herself nose to barrel with a wild-eyed man holding a gun.

“Bitch, if you even think about screaming I’m gonna peel yo shit,” B-High warned. The coke had him charged so his hand trembled a bit.

“Please, just take it. Don’t hurt me!” Sharell pleaded, trying to hand him her shopping bags and purse.

“I don’t want ya fucking goodie bag.” He slapped the bags away viciously. “Back into the crib, bitch, now!” he ordered.

“Sharell, is that you?” Satin called from the couch, where she had been perched most of the day. She knew she heard Sharell unlock the door, but wondered who she could be talking to? When she got off the couch to investigate, Sharell spilled into the living room, almost knocking her over. Hot on her heels was a man with a gun. Satin thought about going to the kitchen for a knife, but the man must’ve been reading her mind because he took the gun off Sharell and trained it on Satin.

“Don’t get cute, bitch,” he warned. “Both of y’all get on the couch.” He waved the pistol. Sharell complied, but Satin stood where she was. It wasn’t that she was trying to be defiant, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate with her.

“You hear me talking to you.” B-High stepped forward and placed the gun against Satin’s forehead. Tears ran freely from the girl’s terror-filled eyes, thinking that she was going to die that night and her escape from the institution would’ve been in vain.

“Don’t! She’s fresh out of a mental hospital and probably isn’t processing what you’re telling her!” Sharell screamed. She was trying to buy them some time so she could figure a way out of the mess. Her gun was inside her purse, lying on the hallway floor outside the apartment. She also had a pager that would alert Mohammad to trouble, but it was useless, hanging from her keychain, which was still dangling from the lock in the front door. Unless she figured something out they’d both be dead.

“Let’s see if she processes this.” B-High slapped Satin viciously in the face.

She spun and had it not been for the couch she’d have hit the floor. Satin touched her hand to her lip and it came away bloody. Satin had fought her brothers all throughout her childhood for trying to put their hands on her, but a stranger doing it was even more of an insult. Though she knew she was holding the short end of the stick, she couldn’t help but wish that she’d still had the gun she’d used to murder her brother.

“That’s better.” B-High smiled. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Here you go.” He tossed the roll next to Satin. “Tape your friend up, and make sure you do it good, because if she causes any shit before I’m done I’m gonna have to shoot her sooner than I intended.”

“What do you want?” Sharell asked with tears running from her eyes.

“I want your faggot-ass man’s head on a stick for what his family did to my peoples, but I’ll settle for a piece of that fine Spanish tail.” He nodded at Satin.

“Don’t you touch her.” Sharell moved to cover Satin. Satin was sitting on the couch with her knees curled to her chest, rocking. Sharell didn’t know what was going through Satin’s mind at the time, but if looks could kill the man would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

“Bitch, get yo ass out the way.” B-High grabbed a handful of Sharell’s hair and yanked her viciously from the couch. When she was on her feet, he slapped her twice across the face and tossed her across the living room. Satin moved to help Sharell but B-High grabbed a handful of the oversized T-shirt she was wearing and threw her back onto the couch. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He stepped closer to her.

“Don’t touch her!” Sharell screamed. Her side hurt like hell, but luckily for her, and B-High, she didn’t fall on her stomach.

“Shut you fat ass up.” B-High pointed the gun at Sharell. “When I’m done with her, I’ll get to you. I hear pregnant pussy is pretty good.” He snickered and turned back to Satin. “If you don’t fight, I’ll make sure I shoot you in the head so at least you’ll die quick.”

Satin tried to crawl under the sofa cushion as B-High undid his belt. The hungry look in his eyes reminded her of the way the orderlies looked at her at the institution. On more than one occasion the men working the graveyard shift had come into her room and fondled her. A time or two they had even penetrated her, but thankfully they used protection. Though she was nonresponsive most of the time, Satin was aware of just about everything around her. Just the thought of her body being violated again made Satin snap.

When B-High placed his gun on the floor to balance himself, Satin was on him like a wild cat. B-High tried to grab her wrists, but her arms were flailing too wildly. She raked her nails across his face and sank her teeth into his collarbone, drawing a scream from him that sounded like a wounded animal as she tore a chunk of flesh from him.

“Crazy bitch.” He punched her in the face. Satin bounced off the couch and landed on the floor. “Now I’m gonna shove it in your ass instead of your pussy. Then I’m gonna blow your stinking hole out,” he promised, retrieving his pistol from the floor.

B-High lowered himself to the ground over Satin, keeping the gun pointed at her head as he worked her T-shirt up. She was wearing a pair of cheap cotton panties that he ripped away with little effort. B-High admired her unkept bush and thought how warm her hole must be. Not caring if she was wet or not he began forcing himself inside her. Satin whimpered like a wounded puppy as she felt B-High’s thick penis splitting her open. She had been through a great many things in her young life, but this was by far the worst. As the head of B-High’s penis slipped past her dry lips she wondered if death would’ve been so bad after all. Closing her eyes, she prepared for the worst.

THERE WAS a popping sound, followed by something warm splashing on Satin’s face. She opened her eyes in time to see B-High clutch at his shoulder just before rolling off her. Behind him, Sharell stood, holding her smoking.22.

“Damn it, are both of you bitches crazy!” B-High barked, staggering to his feet.

“As God is my witness, if you don’t get out of my house I will kill you!” Sharell warned in a shaky voice.

“Okay, take it easy, shorty.” B-High raised his hands over his head and began easing along the wall toward the door. “I’m leaving, just don’t shoot again.”

Seeing that he was complying, Sharell relaxed a bit, which was a mistake. B-High lunged at her almost faster than she could pull the trigger. She tried to shoot him in the face, but the shot went wild and struck the wall. Before she could get off another round, B-High’s fist slammed into her jaw with a sickening crunch, sending her crashing to the floor and the gun across the living room. She tried to get back to her feet, but B-High was on her with his hands wrapped around her throat.

“You stinking bitch, I’m gonna break your fucking neck!” he snarled, raining spit into her face. Sharell started seeing spots as it became harder and harder for her to breathe. Just before the darkness took her B-High suddenly stopped choking her. When her vision cleared she saw Mohammad towering over both of them, strangling B-High from behind. The man’s eyes were slits of pure hate as his powerful hands worked B-High’s neck. Satin noticed B-High trying to bring his gun up to take a shot at Mohammad and kicked his arm. The shot missed Mohammad’s face, but grazed his cheek.

“Fucking worm!” Mohammad snarled, tossing the smaller man across the living room. B-High crashed into the entertainment system, breaking the screen on the plasma television. He looked like he was going to try and get up again, but ended up collapsing back to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Mohammad helped Sharell to her feet.

“Sore as hell, but I’ll live. Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile.

“No thanks needed, I gave my oath that no harm would come to you. Now, I’ve got to get you ladies out of here. Can you walk?” he asked Satin, who nodded. “Good, we’ve gotta go.” He ushered them toward the door.

MOHAMMAD STEPPED from the building, sweeping the street with his pistol. His face stung and his shirt was covered in blood from his wound, but he would have to attend it later. What was important was getting his charges to safety.

Sharell followed him, dragging Satin by the hand. She tried to keep up, but the harsh concrete was tearing her bare feet up. The best she could do was hobble behind Sharell. After months of living in a dream, reality was coming at her at a faster pace than she was ready for.

“Start the car,” Mohammad ordered, looking up and down the block in case the would-be assassin had an accomplice. From the way people were running and screaming at the sight of the bloodied and armed man, it would only be a matter of time before the police showed up, and they didn’t have time to explain what happened. The city was no longer safe for them.

Sharell’s hand shook so violently that it took her four attempts to disarm the alarm and unlock the door. She hopped behind the wheel while Satin climbed in on the passenger side. The girl had a wild-eyed look to her and her body trembled uncontrollably.

“You okay?” Sharell asked as she started the car.

“What was that all about?” Satin asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt like her heart was going to leap from her chest due to all the excitement. If God was playing a joke by continuously throwing obstacles in her way, she sure as hell didn’t find it funny.

“I don’t know, but we sure ain’t gonna stick around to find out.” Sharell threw the car in gear. She hit the car behind her and the one in front of her trying to get out of the parking spot. With a dented fender and a busted headlight she was finally able to get out into the street. “Mohammad!” she called her shadow.

“I’m coming.” He trotted around to the passenger’s side. Before Mohammad could get all the way into the car, pain exploded in his back. He tried to right himself, but a second bullet hit him in the thigh, dropping him to one knee. He turned around and saw B-High standing in the doorway of the building, aiming his gun at the car. Never leave a kill unfinished, Sharif’s words rang in his head as B-High shot out a window on the car.

“You fucking bitches!” he rasped. Mohammad had cracked his ribs, and he was sure to be suffering from a concussion, but the cocaine had him feeling like Superman.

“Mohammad!” Sharell screamed frantically.

“I’m good,” he lied. “If you have to, go without me.” He slammed the door. Mohammad rolled onto the hood of the car, upper body stretched across. Ignoring the pain that now racked his body, Mohammad drew a bead on B-High.

“Thought you could kill me?” B-High ranted, firing off a shot. “It over for you niggaz, Major Blood is gonna shut this shit down!” He fired another shot. “You muthafuckas…” that was as far as B-High got before a bullet went into his right eye and exited just behind his ear.

Mohammad collapsed across the hood of the car, finally overcome by his injuries. It took the combined efforts of Satin and Sharell to get him into the backseat. Satin sat with him, trying to stop the bleeding, while Sharell hopped behind the wheel and peeled off.

“We’ve gotta get you to a hospital,” Sharell said, struggling to see the road in front of her through the tears.

“No… no hospitals,” Mohammad said weakly. “Here.” He handed her a bloody piece of paper that been in his pocket. “Put that address in the navigation system, that’s our destination.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, jumping on the B.Q.E. at Camden Plaza, heading for the Long Island Expressway.

“The only place where Gutter and Anwar felt you’d be truly safe,” he said, before laying his head back and closing his eyes. His body had long ago gone numb from blood loss, but the first chills were starting to set into his muscles. He knew they were the first icy pulls of death, but he wouldn’t accept it. He would live to see Sharell to the safe house, but when his task was done Anwar and Sharif would honor their promises.

chapter 27

THE HUNTS Point area of the Bronx was popular for two things: its factories and its sex trade. During the day it was lousy with trucks dropping and picking up deliveries, but when the sun set it got interesting. Whorehouses, strip clubs, and of course your street corner prostitutes, all opened for business when night fell. With all the nightly traffic Hunts Point generated it seemed like a no-brainer what to do with the property they’d purchased up there, they turned it into a strip club. The Blue Light was shaping up to be one of the premier spots in the area and Hollywood wore the fact that he owned a piece of it with more pride than a proud parent.

“Umm-hmm, this is my kind of place!” Dirty Bill exclaimed, eyeballing a chocolate doll strutting past in a black thong and high heels. He had gotten his name because no matter how many baths he took he still looked dirty.

“You know Wood got an eye for these bitches,” Goldie replied. Much like Hollywood he was a young, fly nigga. You could always find Goldie dipped in jewels while the latest in designer wear draped his lanky frame. He was a handsome cat with smooth chocolate skin and could’ve easily been a model, but the streets took hold of him early in life.

It had initially been Goldie’s idea to open a gentlemen’s club, but he didn’t have the capital. Hollywood, already being a part of the circuit, saw the potential in the idea and was quick to offer up what he had in the stash. It took some doing, but the two entrepreneurs managed to get the Blue Light off the ground and the buzz was getting crazy.

“Wood, we sho nuff gonna make some cake off this joint.” Goldie rubbed his hands together.

“That’s the general idea, cuz. Shit, there was times I had to keep these bitches humping around the clock to get that change up, but I can’t even front, this shit was worth it,” Hollywood said, watching the crowd. “I can’t wait till High Side’s and Bruticus’s thirsty asses get here so they can peep this shit!”

“Say, speaking of High Side, y’all heard about that shoot-out on 142nd?” Dirty Bill asked.

“I heard a lil something-something. You know the hood talks.” Goldie shrugged it off.

“Yeah, I heard that nigga, High Side, was out there tearing off slob asses!” Bill said excitedly. “Wood, you know how that nigga be on it, right?”

“Yeah, High Side is a true soldier, but I ain’t heard nothing about him shooting nobody,” Hollywood lied. He knew what had happened as soon as it went down because High Side and C-style had come through his brownstone after the shooting, but it wasn’t his place to tell Bill that.

“Man, do you ever think about anything other than hood politics?” Goldie asked, clearly getting irritated with Dirty Bill.

“Hell nah.” Bill looked at him as if he was crazy. “G, I eat, sleep, and breathe the hood. You gotta keep your ear to the streets if you plan on winning this game, and I’ve always been a sore loser.”

“What’s good, cat daddy?” a Puerto Rican girl with blond hair approached them. She was wearing a white bikini top and a see-through wrap skirt. Even if the material hadn’t been transparent there was no way she could’ve hidden the horse-sized ass beneath it.

“Lexi, right?” Goldie smiled, exposing two rows of gold teeth.

“Ah, so you remember?” She smiled back.

“But of course. You look way different out of your clothes.” Goldie openly eyed her.

“Everything is different when the clothes come off, poppy.” It was only Lexi’s second night at the club so Goldie hadn’t really had a chance to pick her brain yet. Normally either he or Hollywood would handpick the girls who worked at the club, but Lexi had interviewed with Joe and only met Goldie in passing. Joe raved about the girl’s body and seeing her damn near naked Goldie understood why.

“I might just have to see about that,” he replied.

“Mind if I sit down?” She motioned to the vacant stool between him and Hollywood. Goldie nodded. To his and especially Hollywood’s surprise she didn’t sit on the stool, but on Hollywood’s lap. Hollywood acted as if he didn’t even notice her.

“Damn, Wood, you need some help with that?” Dirty Bill rubbed an ashy hand across Lexi’s thigh. She smiled before slapping his hand away.

“You gotta pay to play.” She pushed her breasts together, teasing him.

“If that’s the case then you might as well rise the fuck up off me, because I sure as hell ain’t no trick,” Hollywood told her in an icy tone.

Lexi slid her ass further into Hollywood’s groin. Even though he was wearing his game face she could feel his dick getting hard under her ass. “Baby, just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I would never disrespect a true player like that,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

“And what makes you think I’m a true player?” he asked.

Lexi flicked her tongue out then gave him a sly smile. “Everyone knows big Wood from Harlem. My home girl Janice says you’re the man to see if a bitch wanna clock some real paper.”

Hollywood quickly flipped through his mental rolodex and placed a face with the name. Janice was a young bitch he had met a while back at a dive called the News Room off Grand Concourse. She was a young mud-kicker dying to live the fast life, but was lazy as hell so she didn’t make the grade.

“Well, in case you ain’t heard, ya girl fell a lil short.” He chuckled softly.

Lexi turned around and straddled his lap. There was a fierceness in her eyes that stirred something low in Hollywood’s groin. “I said that was peoples, not my style.” She took Hollywood’s hand and placed it on her ass. “Wit all this junk I can’t do nothing but get money.”

Hollywood had to smile at her snappy comeback. “I’ll tell you what.” He eased her off his lap and slid off the stool. “Let’s go on in the office and rap for a taste. Maybe we can come to some type of understanding.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She swayed her big ass toward the office. Hollywood admired her ass for a second before following.

THE MINUTE their SUV touched the Bronx, Eddie was struck by a sinking feeling. Tito was behind the wheel with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, silently watching the streets, while Miguel sat next to him, using a handkerchief to load the clips to the various weapons they were carrying. Trailing them in a Camry was a cat named Boo and some wild-ass niggaz from Newark, who claimed Sex, Money, and Murder Bloods. There were six of them in total, making up what Major Blood had referred to as a war party.

Eddie watched Major as he bobbed his head to Mack 10’s “Bang or Ball,” mouthing along with the song. His heart seemed to swell with pride as he stacked his set in fluid motions that came from years of throwing it up. From the moment Eddie had laid eyes on the man at the airport he knew that he was going to be trouble, and the trail of bodies he was leaving was proof of that. Gutter’s house was slowly slipping into chaos.

“Say, Blood, you hear me talking to you?” Major asked, snapping Eddie out of his daydream.

“Huh?”

“I said be the fuck on point,” Major repeated. “We ’bout to roll into a fucking nest of vipers and I don’t want no fuck-shit throwing my plan to the left.”

“Fuck the left, it’s right all night, we straight,” Eddie said in a nasally tone. Since his nose had been broken it always felt like it was stopped up, making him sound like he had a cold.

“Fool, stop trying to act you niggaz out here is properly educated. Just be on point, ya raccoon-looking muthafucka,” Major taunted Eddie who was also sporting two black eyes, caused by the broken nose. Eddie knew better than to try and get fly out of his mouth with Major Blood, but Miguel snickering gave him a new target to direct his anger at.

“Fuck you laughing at, Blood?” Eddie glared at Miguel.

“You, nigga. I can’t front, you do kinda look like a raccoon with them shiners, kid,” Miguel pointed out.

“Fuck you, ho-ass nigga. I’d like to see ya ass try and go toe-to-toe with me!” Eddie snapped.

“Toe-to-toe my ass, Eddie, you know damn well you can’t fight!” Miguel shot back. Miguel was an easygoing cat, but next to Tito and Major he was the most thorough cat in the car.

“Man, why don’t the both of y’all shut the fuck up.” Tito glanced back at them. “Major is right. We ’bout to go at these niggaz on they own turf and I don’t plan on none of my home boys getting left behind. We ride or die together.”

“Ain’t y’all the cutest, kicking that real comrade shit. Look, fellas,” Major addressed everyone in the car, “this murder shit ain’t rocket science, but there’s an art to it. All we gotta do is go in that bitch and wet everything moving then bounce, simple,” Major said as if it was just another day at the office, which to him it was.

“Shit, I’m down wit that one-eighty-seven all day, but this ain’t gonna be easy. All them niggaz gonna be in there strapped and, of course, they gonna have security at the door. How we gonna bust on the bouncers and still be able to creep on them crabs? As soon as they hear the gunshots it’s gonna be like the Fourth of fucking July,” Miguel pointed out.

Major turned his attention to Miguel. “Lil brother, would I lead you on a suicide mission? Blood, one thing I’ve learned in my life is that money truly is the root of all evil. We ain’t gonna have to lick one shot until we get right up on them marks.”

Tito chuckled, blowing smoke from the edge of his mouth. “Kick back, Blood. The big homey got it all worked out.” Both Tito and Major Blood had reassuring smirks on their faces, but it did nothing to put Eddie’s mind at ease.

About a block from the Blue Light, Tito stopped the car. In the rearview he could see two shadows slithering out of the Camry and vanishing into an alley next to the gentlemen’s club.

“Time to rock and roll, poppy,” Major Blood said over his shoulder, handing Eddie the Mac that had been on his lap. Eddie looked at the gun as if he didn’t understand so Major explained. “You’re gonna go post up by that store.” Major nodded to a darkened doorway across the street. “Anybody come out but us, hit ’em hard and fast.”

Eddie looked at the gun that was now resting on his lap, and swallowed. He’d hoped that his job would be to watch the car, or possibly subdue security, but Major had other plans. He looked at his elder G, who was watching him intently, and knew that he had to follow the order. Major was testing him and if he didn’t answer the call to arms there was no doubt that he would end up going out like B. T. or worse. With a silent nod he stepped out of the car and went to take his post.

Major watched as Eddie crossed the street with his shoulders sagging, before turning back to Tito and Miguel. “You niggaz ready to push a muthafucka?”

In response, Tito laughed and stepped out of the car. Everybody from Harlem to Kansas City knew the reputation of Cisco’s executioner, even with the rumors of L.C. going soft no one ever doubted his willingness to kill. Whether Miguel felt the same or not was the question.

“Sup, home boy?” Major asked. Miguel didn’t respond, he just got out of the car and followed Tito.

Major and his team strolled to the entrance of the club chatting among themselves. When the bouncer spotted them, he started moving in their direction. Miguel thought he was about to pop off, so he reached for his gun, but Major Blood stayed his hand. To his surprise the bouncer walked right past them as if they weren’t even there. Miguel looked to Major who just winked.

The lights in the club were dim, but it wasn’t dark yet. They would go almost completely out later in the night when the crowd picked up and the freaky shit started jumping off. There was a main stage in the back, and several smaller stages positioned around the main floor. Though most the smaller stages were vacant at the moment there were three big booty chicks entertaining the crowd from the main stage. Though the Blue Light was a Crip establishment, the trio of Bloods had to admit that the spot was popping.

Major Blood scanned the club for Hollywood, but he was nowhere to be found. At least somebody was on their job, he thought, looking over at Miguel who was trying to grope one of the strippers. If he decided to stick around New York and reap the benefits of his work there would have to be some serious personnel changes. The pretty boy wasn’t a killer like Gutter and Pop Top, but he was said to be a major cog in the Crip machine, which is why he had to be taken out. He wanted to strip Gutter of all his friends and family before he killed him. If things worked out as he planned, Hollywood’s murder would go as smooth as silk.

Miguel’s head whipped back and forth as he watched the parade of flesh at the Blue Light. A dark-skinned girl with an ass that belonged on a horse tried to engage him in conversation, but a subtle elbow from Tito put him back on point. The place was crawling with Crips so they had to take extra caution.

“Let’s hit the bar!” Major shouted to Tito over the music. Major Blood picked his way through the light crowd, never taking his eyes off the four men who were huddled at the bar. Though no one saw him draw, two.9s appeared in Major’s hands. The men at the bar were chopping it up with two strippers, having a good time. Little did they know Major Blood was about to change all that. None of them were Hollywood, but they were all from the wrong side of the track, which was reason enough to trip.

“Let’s announce ourselves, boys,” Major said to his crew, before breaking his rival’s circle.

chapter 28

THE RIDE was shorter than he had remembered it, Gutter thought to himself as the Regal exited off the East Pacific Coast Highway, near the community hospital. Though the area had changed quite a bit since Gutter had last been there it still brought back memories. From gunfights to chasing trim, he and Lou-Loc had seen more of their fair share of action on the Long Beach streets.

Snake Eyes drove, while Gutter occupied the passenger seat. Rahkim was glaring out the window, smoking cigarette after cigarette, while Danny shifted around nervously under the weight of the carbine rifle on his lap. Gutter wondered for the umpteenth time if he made the right decision in letting Danny come to California with him. The war was still in full swing, but the rules had changed. There was no more etiquette between the crews, just who had the highest body count. It had been years since Gutter had found himself in the thick of it, but the animal that had rocketed him to ghetto star status still lurked beneath the surface and would react accordingly when and if it came to it, but would Danny be able to stand the test of fire? At the end it had been Danny’s choice. Gutter made no secrets about the lifestyle he led and what it meant to be a true banger. Twenty-four/seven you rode for the cause in any and all things. From mayhem to murder, you either put in work or you didn’t join up, simple as that.

Trailing them in the blue Escalade were Tears, Criminal, Jynx, and the big homey Ren from Four Duce Gangster. Jynx had a presence in Long Beach, so that automatically put the odds in their favor with that as the meet spot. Big Ren was the blue-collar cat, always willing to ride for the cause. He had been putting in work for almost twenty years and showed no signs of slowing down. Though he was a brutal cat, Gutter had brought him along for more strategic reasons. He would be their insurance policy to make sure Trik played fair.

“You think these niggaz gonna keep it funky, or try to pull something?” Danny asked from the backseat, snapping Gutter out of his daze.

He turned to his protégé. “I don’t really know, but I know we gonna be prepared for whatever.”

“Shit, I hope these niggaz do trip so I can put something hot in a bitch-ass oh-la.” Rahkim brandished his Desert Eagle.

“Why don’t you put that shit away, Rah, before you accidentally shoot one of us or get us pulled over,” Snake Eyes suggested. He had been tight with the Soladines for years, but because Rah was always in and out of prison he had never gotten a chance to know him. Rahkim was a wild card and Snake Eyes didn’t quite know what to expect from him. What he did know was that if Gunn’s little brother decided to trip it would lead to unnecessary bloodshed, something nobody wanted.

“Little cousin, I’ve been on one since you and Gutter’s asses was both just wanna-Cs, don’t tell me how to go about mine,” Rah responded, placing the gun on his lap.

“Rah, ain’t nobody trying to tell you how to do nothing, but Snake Eyes is right. The streets is already on fire over this shit that happened with Gunn and the last thing we need is to get pulled over for some dumb shit,” Gutter told him.

“Whatever, nephew.” Rahkim sucked his teeth and went back to staring out the window.

Gutter just shook his head. He knew that Rahkim was going to be a headache, but there was no way he could’ve left him behind. Next to himself, Rah was the most experienced combat solider, so if things got ugly he would be invaluable. Not only that, Gunn had been his older brother and the man responsible for putting him on the set. He had just as much right, if not more, to be included as anybody.

When they reached the hood, they didn’t bother reading the street signs to see where they were because the walls told it all. Insane, Rolling 20’s, Dawgz, S.S. (Sons of Samoa), the ruling factions of Long Beach, California, made sure you knew exactly where you were and who was on top.

When they turned down Nineteenth Street you could immediately feel the tension. Various groups of Mexicans were partying in their yards, slinging or just enjoying the weather. Though neither set represented in the two cars had a current beef with the Chicanos, the relations between blacks and browns in Long Beach had always been fragile. Danny must’ve picked up on it too because he got a firmer grip on his rifle. When they stopped at the red light, a vato who had been resting on a deck stood up and eyeballed them. Gutter turned his sinister eyes on the Mexican, but didn’t try to provoke a situation. The Mexican shouted something to one of his home boys that nobody really heard over the music, but whatever it was caused the man to stand next to his comrade and join in the staring contest. When Gutter refused to turn away under the glare of the two hard-asses, the second Mexican threw up Eighteenth Street, which was one of the most notorious Latino sets on the West Coast.

Rahkim gripped his pistol and reached for the window switch on the Regal, but Gutter locked it, giving him a stern look. Reluctantly, Rahkim let the young man slide as they passed through the green light and continued on their way. He understood that Rahkim was fuming over what had happened to his brother and was ready to bust on just about anyone, but the brash young soldiers from Eighteenth Street weren’t their targets that night, the Swans were.

“Don’t trip on it, Unc, them young boys is just stunting,” Gutter said, trying to soothe Rah. “If they mug us again when we bail through, then we can kill’em together, right now we got more pressing business.”

Rahkim nodded, but didn’t necessarily like it. He had been in prison during the time the treaty was signed and things had died down among the sets. Much like his older brother he came up in the era when banging was in full effect. Whether it was an enemy, or a rival set trying to front, you laid your murder or knuckle game down; diplomacy was a foreign thing to him.

When the Regal turned into the church parking lot there were three cars already there, idling. In the darkened lot there was no way to tell how many people were in the cars, but Gutter was sure that the vehicles were lousy with Brims. The Crips were the ruling force in Long Beach so there was no way a Blood as notorious as Trik would come through the city without a heavy security detail, as Gutter had already anticipated, which is why Lil Blue and a few of the other locs had come down ahead of them and were strategically placed around the block. If Trik and his people had come to do anything other than talk they were going to be in for quite a surprise as Lil Blue and his team had orders to shoot to kill.

“Shit, how many of them do you think it is?” Danny asked.

“I don’t know, cuz, so you just make sure you’re on point for the bullshit,” Gutter said.

“These muthafuckas frog-up you better let that muthafucka bark,” Rahkim told Danny, motioning toward the carbine on his lap. “On Crip, cuz, lay everything down that ain’t the right color!”

Gutter stepped out of the Regal, followed by Snake Eyes and Rahkim. Tears, Jynx, and Ren got out of the Escalade and came to stand at Gutter’s side. No one spoke, but everyone knew what time it was. Gutter, Jynx, Rahkim, Ren, and Snake Eyes moved carefully toward the line of cars, while Tears and the others watched for signs of trouble.

In the quiet darkness the sounds of car doors opening and closing could be heard. There were five men approaching, to match the numbers Gutter had with him. The first three he only knew to be foot soldiers from Swan, but the last two Gutter was familiar with. Mongo was Pudgy’s little brother, but there was nothing small about the man. He stood a towering six feet six and was built like the Incredible Hulk, with bulging arms and legs like tree trunks. Whereas Pudgy was more the diplomat, Mongo was a straight beast. He had killed more than his fair share of Crips and Bloods during his twenty-one years on earth and the look on his face said that he was thinking about adding to his list of bodies that night.

Bringing up the rear was a man who, though he was of a very average size, radiated menace. He was dressed in freshly pressed tan khakis and a red-and-black flannel shirt that was buttoned at the neck. His long, Jheri-curled hair hung from beneath his wool Raiders skully like only the world outside him had changed since 1989. His black eyes were tired and haggard as if some weird death scene played over and over behind them. Stopping a few feet short of where Gutter and his people were, he gestured that the next move was theirs.

Being a war vet himself Gutter understood that the man was still unsure about how far he could trust them. Since the war first kicked off the older cat had been on the front line racking up a long dossier of enemies. People like him were forever doomed to live on the edge of life and death, not knowing when or where their numbers would be called. As Gutter examined him he wondered if he wasn’t looking at a sneak preview of what he was to become, if he even lived to see that age.

The tension between the two clicks was so tight that you could almost feel the very air constricting around your throat. Gutter nodded to his comrades and matched the man’s steps, until they were within a few feet of each other. In the still of the night in a darkened Long Beach parking lot Gutter stood toe-to-toe with not only a sworn enemy, but the man who held the secret to Gunn’s murder: O.G. Trik.

chapter 29

DIRT BILL was finally starting to have fun. The girls saw him with Goldie and Hollywood so they thought he was someone important. For the past twenty minutes he had been in the ear of a sensual chocolate gem, trying to get her head rates to drop from sixty to thirty-five. He was finally starting to make headway when he felt someone bump past him to get to the bar.

“Pardon me, Blood,” Major Blood said, squeezing up to the bar.

“Loc, I ain’t ya Blood, that shit don’t rock up here. This Harlem, cuz,” Dirty Bill said, not even recognizing the threat.

“Word? I thought we were in the Bronx?” Major said sarcastically with his hand casually at his side.

In every group there was one. A cat so quick to make a show that he doesn’t bother to assess the situation or measure the odds. Nine times out of ten it’s gonna end nasty, but the poor bastard has gotta make a show of it. This was the case when a cat that had been kicking it with Bill decided to add his two cents to the mix. “Harlem Crip, nigga. Fuck is you smoking?” the kid snarled.

“Crabs!” Major said, placing one of his guns under the kid’s chin. The kid opened his mouth to say something, but Major Blood put a bullet through his chin and out the top of his head.

Goldie moved with the grace of a jungle cat as he grabbed the stripper closest to him and held her in front of him like a shield. In true gangsta style he hoisted his pistol and started busting back at Major Blood, who was scrambling to get out of the way.

“Not in my muthafucking house!” Desire, who was the bartender, shouted as she came up from behind the bar with a pump. The twenty-two-year-old bartender might’ve weighed about a hundred and ten pounds on a good day, but she had the heart of a giant. The burst went wild, shredding through a beam and an unlucky patron, but never touching anything from the red side. Tito bounded on top of the bar and placed his gun to her forehead. Desire pursed her lips to spit in his face, but ended up kissing the barrel as her brains squirted onto the Coronas in the cooler.

HOLLYWOOD LAY back in the leather recliner with one foot slung across the arm, while Lexi gave him some gangsta-ass head. Hollywood suspected that she was about her business from the way she came at him, but the love boat ride she was currently giving him would net a mint on the streets. He needed to have this little freak bitch with him.

Hollywood was about to crack for the pussy when a faint noise caught his attention. The office was soundproofed from the music on the main floor, but there was no mistaking the sound of a gunshot. He lifted his head to say something to Lexi and barely got out of the way as a switchblade came whizzing past his chin. Lexi looked up with murder in her eye and bellowed, “Die crab!”

Hollywood was stunned by what was unfolding, but he shouldn’t have been. From the time Lexi opened her mouth at the bar she smelled like a snake, but Hollywood let his dick send mixed signals to his brain and now he was caught literally with his pants down.

“That’s on Blood I’m gonna open yo pretty ass up,” Lexi vowed, jabbing at him with the blade. When she came with a wild swipe, Hollywood made his move. Throwing himself backward in the recliner he brought his knees up into Lexi’s chin, snapping her head back and throwing her off balance. Instead of trying to get farther away from Lexi and her blade, Hollywood threw himself in her direction. He tried to knock Lexi to the floor so he could pen her, but miscalculated his lunge and was only able to subdue one arm. By the time he realized his mistake the razor was grazing his jaw.

Hollywood never felt the cut, but he knew something was terribly wrong when his face got moist. Lexi had opened him up from his earlobe to his lower lip with more precision than a surgeon. Hollywood didn’t have to see it to know that his beautiful face was ruined, and thus his pockets would take a hit. To this day nobody really knows if it was the vanity in Hollywood or the fact that Lexi had cut him, but he slammed his fist into her skull so hard that it cracked, breaking his hand in the process.

“Con’n bitch.” Hollywood kicked her in the ribs as he took stock of his hand. There was no doubt that his right hand would be no good to him that night, but he could shoot just as well with his left he thought as he grabbed his hammer off the desk where he’d left it before the near fatal blow job, and headed for the office door.

As soon as Hollywood opened the office door, a bullet slammed into it. The club he had vested so much in was being shot up and torn apart like a saloon. Three Spanish-looking cats were by the entrance wilding the fuck out. He recognized Tito and Miguel, but the light-skinned kid with the braids was a new face. From the way he was clapping shit up that had to be the infamous Major Blood. The way they were cutting loose it would only be a matter of time before the Crips were overrun.

Hollywood boogied back to the office desk and wrapped on it a series of times, popping a false panel out of the side. Nestled in the panel was the grand opening gift Wiz had given him. Tucking his pistol into his waistband and checking the barrel of the gift, Hollywood stepped out onto the main floor.

THERE WERE five of them in all; five lambs who had successfully escaped the slaughter. They had all began the night with different reasons for hitting the spot, but they were exiting with a common thought; survival. When the shooting had started everyone broke for it. Drinks were abandoned and some of the girls jetted wearing nothing but thong and clear heels. Outside meant life, so in a massive wave they pushed for the door.

Eddie knew they’d be coming, but he was still startled when the club doors flew open and people began spilling out onto the street. None of them were Crip soldiers, but they had all been sentenced to death. How many innocents would die that night to claim the life of one enemy?

“Live by it, die by it,” Eddie told himself, stepping off the curb.

A big butt stripper, whose weave was sitting at a funny angle from her frantic exit, was making swift strides in Eddie’s direction. Eddie laughed at how funny she looked trucking on the six-inch heels to keep his mind off her face, which had twisted into a horrid mask as the bullets from the Mac ripped up her chest. As her blood drained into the gutter at Eddie’s feet he thought how Major had surely condemned him to hell. But he would rather pay in the afterlife than go against Major Blood in this one. With that thought in mind Eddie began sweeping the crowd with the machine gun.

THERE WERE so many people trying to get out of the crosshairs that Miguel could barely raise his gun, let alone get a shot at the wild man, Goldie. It seemed like every time he even thought about pulling the trigger someone darted out in front of him. The whole spot was thrown into utter chaos, and from the look on Major Blood’s face he was enjoying every minute of it.

Through the tangle of arms and heads Miguel could see Goldie now had his back to him. With a smirk at the stripes he would get for smoking Goldie, he took aim and pulled the trigger… A split second later he felt the intense heat.

“IS THIS a private party, or can anybody join in?” Hollywood capped before pulling the trigger on the oddly shaped sawed-off.

The recoil from the Dragon-Mouth round was so powerful that the gun almost flew out of Hollywood’s hand. Even with the stalk braced against his hip the weapon was difficult to control with only one hand. The aftermath of the blast was thick smoke hanging in the air and the smell of sulfur damn near choking Hollywood, but seeing the carnage the blast had caused made it almost worth the vomit that was trying to escape the back of his throat. Wiz had warned against firing the thing in close quarters and now he understood why.

The young Chicano had come up with some very interesting gadgets over the years, but the Dragon-Mouths were the best yet. A Dragon-Mouth was a shotgun shell that had magnesium shavings and mercury packed in with the gunpowder. When the pellets burst from the casing they ignited, making the spray look like a horde of tiny fireballs.

Miguel was barely able to throw himself out of the way as the embers ignited his clothing and singed his cheek. The more he swatted at the flames the more they seemed to spread. Man’s natural fear of fire caused him to momentarily forget his enemies and try to strip out of his jacket. This gave Goldie a clear window.

The first bullet hit Miguel high in the shoulder and sent him stumbling forward. When he turned around, Goldie hit him twice more in the chest. Miguel crashed into the bar, sending abandoned glasses and bottles spilling to the floor. The last thing he would see in his young life was the grin on Goldie’s face as he sent a fatal round through his cheek.

HOLLYWOOD NARROWLY missed the barrage of bullets Tito sent his way, as the edge of the bar provided him with a minute to breathe. It felt like slugs were coming from every direction at once, and even with the Dragon-Mouth he and Goldie were in a tight spot.

“Cuz, we gotta make for the back!” Goldie shouted from over his shoulder.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Hollywood said, sliding another shell into the gun. “When I let this bitch rock, be ready to bust a move!”

“Solid,” Goldie said, still clutching the girl.

Hollywood popped from behind the bar and fired, holding the sawed-off in a one-handed grip. The kick knocked his aim off a bit, but it didn’t affect the damage inflicted as the fiery pellets ignited everything in their path. While Major Blood and Tito dove for cover, Hollywood broke for the back door.

Dirty Bill, who had all but been forgotten, saw his chance and made the mad dash. He fired his gun over his shoulder, not really hitting anything, and moved as fast as he could toward the back door. Seeing his comrade dart out into his line of fire gave Goldie pause, and this was all the time Major Blood needed to react. He gave Goldie one to the chest and flipped him backward. Dirty Bill never even cast a glance at the man who he called friend as he disappeared toward the back.

BILL ALMOST broke his neck getting to the fire door. When the bullet struck the wall just above his head he almost shitted his pants. Hollywood was hot on his heels. He knew the homeys were sure to brand him a sucker for the stunt he pulled so he reasoned he might as well kill Hollywood to keep the story from getting out.

Without breaking his stride Bill lowered his shoulder and crashed through the fire door. The emergency siren went off, but Billy couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears. He knew he was free at the moment the cool air hit him, but the thought quickly left his brain as a bullet exploded in it.

“HOW’S HE holding up?” Sharell called over her shoulder.

“I can’t stop the bleeding,” Satin said nervously as she pressed her hands over the hole in Mohammad’s back. He was lying across the floor of the backseat with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Mohammad, we should really get you to a hospital,” Sharell said, weaving the X5 in and out of traffic.

“No,” Mohammad said weakly. “We can’t risk the police getting involved. Here.” He handed her his cell, which was slick with blood. “Call Anwar, and tell him where we’re going. He’ll send someone.”

“But what if you bleed to death before help comes?” Satin asked.

“Then it will be what it will be. Just keep driving until we get to the address. Anwar will take care of everything,” he told her before closing his eyes.

“Mohammad, Mohammad!” Satin shook him. At first she thought he was dead, but his eyes fluttered open.

“Not to worry, Sharif won’t let the reaper have me. He’s promised as much,” Mohammad assured her.

“Sharell, delirium is setting in. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“Mohammad, don’t you go dying on us, you hear me?” Sharell called to him, but there was no answer. She spared a glance over her shoulder to see that he was still breathing, but barely. “Lord, please don’t take him,” she whispered, flipping Mohammad’s phone open to call Anwar.

chapter 30

HOLLYWOOD DIDN’T have to look over his shoulder to know that Tito and Major Blood were hot on his heels. If their heavy footfalls hadn’t given them away the plaster spraying on him from all sides did.

Just ahead of him he saw Dirty Bill hit the fire door and go spilling into the darkened alley, two seconds later he was flopping back inside. A small hole appeared in the middle of his forehead, though the blood had yet to show itself.

Trapped, was the first word that popped into Hollywood’s mind. With the two Blood assassins at his back and God only knew how many enemies in the alley he had just become the filling of a shit sandwich. Faced with the choice of having to deal with two seasoned killers or the unknown odds outside, Hollywood chose the latter.

“Die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” he mumbled before rushing the fire door, with the Dragon-Mouth at the ready.

The two young men who had been staked out in the alley were so focused on Bill that they didn’t even notice Hollywood swing the Dragon around until its roar bounced off the walls of the alley. Boo managed to dive out of the way at the last second, but his partner wasn’t so lucky. He flapped around on the ground like a wounded fish as the flames ate away at his chest and face. His agony was intense, but short-lived as Hollywood tossed the spent sawed-off and finished him with his pistol. Seeing the streetlights at the end of the alley, Hollywood rushed for freedom, only to be fired on before he made it out of the alley.

HAD HOLLYWOOD not slipped on a beer bottle, Boo would’ve parted his skull like the Red Sea with the shot he let off. Hollywood fell hard on his ass, just before a bullet struck the wall above his head. The impact from the fall jarred his gun loose and sent a jolt of pain through his broken hand as he landed on it. He now found himself a bit dazed and at the mercy of the coal-black young man advancing on him. Just when it seemed like it was over, the whole alley was flooded with light and angry shouts.

HOLLYWOOD BARELY had time to roll out of the way as the Honda jumped the curb and slammed into Boo. The car pinned his small frame to the wall with a bone-cracking sound, sending blood spraying from his mouth and onto the windshield. In a rare act of mercy Bruticus got out on the passenger’s side and blasted Boo once in the head.

“Yo, Wood…” Bruticus turned to say something to his comrade and a slug slammed into his lower back, sending him crashing into the hood of the car. Another spray of bullets came from across the street where Eddie had been hiding, riddling the side of the car.

After retrieving his pistol Hollywood staggered toward the car, sending an occasional shot at the fire door to keep Tito and Major at bay. He was barely able to duck into the backseat before Eddie shredded the top of the car.

Leaning from the driver’s seat, High Side spit off with his 9, laying cover fire for Bruticus to make it back inside the car. Before all the doors could be closed, High Side threw the car in reverse, clipping a fire hydrant when they hit the street, blanketing the block in water. He felt like a coward for running, but a good run was always better than a bad stand.

“Cuz, what was that shit all about?” High Side asked, swerving in traffic.

“It was about some faggot-ass slobs stepping way out of bounds,” Hollywood panted. “Man, this shit is getting out of hand real quick.” He felt his ruined face. Even if he dropped a few stacks on getting plastic surgery there would probably still be a scar.

“Son, I’m calling Pop Top and telling him what went down.” High Side flipped his cell phone open.

“Fuck Pop Top, nigga. Get Gutter on the line!” Bruticus demanded, trying not to pass out from the loss of blood.

chapter 31

“I SEE YOU still slumming, cuz,” Ren said, with his face twisted into a mad-dog stare. He stood with his heels touching and feet pointing out like the top half of a number four.

“I could say the same, Blood,” Trik replied. There was no emotion in his voice and his eyes remained cold as he stared at Ren. The men were equal in height as well as build, but whereas Ren was known as a brawler, Trik was a stone killer.

There was an uneasy moment where neither man said a word. There was the faint sound of thunder in the distance, but there didn’t seem to be a cloud in sight. Mongo tensed like he was about to make a move, but Jynx had him covered. When the air had finally come to a boil, both Ren and Trik burst into broad grins.

“What’s popping, family?” Trik embraced Ren.

“Same shit, different day.” Ren hugged him equally tight. “Nigga, I ain’t seen you since Christmas!”

“You know the streets keep a nigga busy.” Trik shrugged. “Tell my auntie I’m gonna come check her for her birthday though.”

Jynx looked totally confused, but Gutter and Snake Eyes shared a quiet chuckle. The main reason that Gutter had brought Ren along was because he and Trik were first cousins. Sure, they racked up one hell of a body count on opposing sides, but it never came between the cousins. Gutter reasoned that if Trik did have something dirty up his sleeve he’d have been hesitant to spring trap if his family was involved.

“So, what’s this all about, cousin?” Ren asked Trik.

“It’s about us offering some crab muthafuckas a hand up and they pull a bitch move. Fuck you on snatching my brother, Blood?” Mongo spat viciously.

“Man, you need to slow ya muthafucking lip and remember where you at.” Jynx stepped forward with a scowl. “Only blood pump through the beach is blue blood.” Years before Mongo had shot one of Jynx’s home boys when he was coming out of the movie theater with his girl. Jynx had always wanted to even the score, but hadn’t had the good fortune to bump into him.

“Man, we gonna roll around in the dirt like some schoolkids or we gonna swap some stories?” Gutter’s voice boomed. He didn’t speak above his normal tone, but the power in his words is what gave it volume.

Trik turned to the speaker and narrowed his eyes. His features had hardened since the last time he’d seen him; he knew the youngest male Soladine. “Sup, Gutter?”

Gutter shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me? Word is you got some intel on who put the heat to my uncle.”

“Man, skip all that. We ain’t telling you crabs nothing until I see my brother!” Mongo cut in. The veins in his thick neck were bulging like they would burst at any moment. He was trying to lay the guerrilla down, but Gutter wasn’t moved.

The fire in Gutter’s eyes was the only sign that he was becoming irritated with Mongo. “Dawg, why don’t you kick back with that loud shit, fo it get tense ’round here? Unlike some muthafuckas, I respect the rules of conduct, so I wouldn’t do you or your envoy like that. But if you niggaz is running some bullshit you can rest assured the Soladines ain’t gonna be the only ones burying one of their own.”

“Why don’t everybody just kick back for a minute,” Trik spoke up. “Gutter, let’s cut to the chase ’cause ain’t neither one of us got time for it. The bottom line is I came here to see if we can put a cease to the bloodshed.”

“Trik, you must be out ya mind to come over here talking some peace shit when my brother is about to be laid into the ground, cuz. Nah, this shit is about to go full-scale,” Rahkim said emotionally.

“Young Rah, I done lost two brothers and a nephew to this shit, so make no mistake about my understanding your loss,” Trik said. “Gunn was born on the wrong side of the fence, but me and all the home boys respected him as a stand-up nigga and we also respected the fact that he wasn’t active no more.”

Snake Eyes spoke up for the first time. “Trik, I’ve known you for a long time and you’ve always been a man of your word, but if the homeys respected Gunn’s inactive status then how the fuck did he get hit? And why is the finger being pointed at y’all?”

“I don’t know all the details, but what I can tell you is that nobody from this side sanctioned that hit,” Trik assured them.

“Man fuck dancing around the subject. If y’all didn’t do it, I wanna know who killed my uncle,” Gutter said seriously.

“Come on, G, you know I ain’t in the business of snitching,” Trik told him.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad, because I’m in the business of killing and if you had us come out here for nothing I’m gonna put in some overtime,” Gutter shot back. Trik looked like he wanted to say something, but kept looking to his homeys for a reaction. “Trik, what is your face telling me that ya mouth ain’t?”

Trik ground his teeth together. He looked from his troops to theirs and weighed his options. Sure, they could all bang out and make a bad situation worse, but Trik wanted a solution, not a bigger problem. Taking a short breath, he addressed Gutter, “Walk with me for a minute, Gutter.” Trik motioned toward a darkened corner away from everyone else.

“Nigga, fuck that shit. Trik, you better start talking before these fullies do!” Rahkim snarled.

“It’s all good, Unc.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his enraged uncle’s shoulder. “Come on, Trik.” Gutter broke away from his group. When they were out of earshot, Trik began speaking in a hushed tone.

“First of all, let’s get one thing straight, lil homey, I earned my stripes just like you and everybody else out the Soladine house, so I don’t take kindly to being spoken to like a common street punk,” Trik told him.

“I hear you, Trik, our family is dead, and the finger is being pointed at you, not nobody else. Now, if you’ve got some info you wanna share, I’m listening. If not, the next time we meet we’ll be speaking over pistols,” Gutter told him. It wasn’t a threat, but an actual fact and Trik knew that.

Had this been ten years ago it would’ve surely been on and popping for the threat Gutter had launched at Trik. In his day he had commanded respect and been quick to violence, but it was no longer his day. The young wolves had changed the code of conduct and every gangster, young and old, could be a potential victim of their wrath. Trik was a battle-worn vet, one of the few who had lived to see his forties, and was just trying to live peacefully for the rest of his days, and a confrontation with the youngest remaining Soladine wasn’t something he wanted. No, it was better to just give him what he wanted and be done with it. With any luck Gutter and the wild assassin from the red side would kill each other and be out of Trik’s hair for good.

“A’ight, trip this.” Trik leaned in to whisper to Gutter. “I ain’t gonna deny the fact that a Blood blasted your uncle, but it wasn’t about no turf. This shit was about a murder that’s over twenty years old. The muthafucka who wasted Gunn had a personal grudge, one that even the nation couldn’t make him let go.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know who could’ve been holding a grudge against Gunn for twenty years?” Gutter didn’t bother to hide his irritation at Trik’s riddles.

“Shit, you’re a smart kid. Ask your uncle Rahkim about it. You think on the only nigga crazy enough to clip a dude like Gunn after he was declared inactive, and you couple it with what you learn from your uncle. It’ll come to you.”

“Trik, that ain’t good enough. You said you wanted to end the violence, so I need a name to make that happen,” Gutter told him.

Trik sighed. “I want this shit to stop, but I ain’t about to just give up one of my own, Gutter, you should know this. Wrong or right, he’s still damu and I just can’t send him off to the slaughter like that, so you’re on your own with the name. Now, if you wanna get down over it”-Trik spread his arms-“cool, but I’d rather keep this shit individual instead of riling the sets. It’s hard enough to get these little niggaz to quit tripping as it is.”

Gutter weighed Trik’s words. He could’ve tried to force the issue, but to what end? Trik obviously wasn’t giving up the name, and besides he had already risked more than he had to trying to put a stop to the fighting. Some people might’ve taken the fact that Trik was meeting with Crips in Long Beach as a sign of not being down, which could’ve netted him a bigger problem than the Soladines. For him to risk his life like that Gutter knew that Trik truly did want to put an end to the violence.

“A’ight, O.G. Trik.” Gutter nodded. “Me and mines is gonna bail back to the ’rib and try to put the pieces of this puzzle together.”

“G, you know if anybody finds out I put you on the trail…”

“Don’t worry about that, Trik. I ain’t gonna throw you under the bus for what you did here today.”

Trik laughed. “Young general, this ain’t got nothing to do with worrying, it’s about finally saying enough is enough. I’ve been killing and watching homeys die longer than most of these niggaz been alive. Set love used to be about something bigger than the turf, but somewhere along the line the game got twisted. If I don’t never go to another funeral, it’ll still be one too many. I’m tired of this shit, homey, you feel me?”

Gutter thought about his own life and what it was amounting to. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m starting to,” he said, going back to join his soldiers.

“What’s good, cuz?” Snake Eyes asked, noticing the worried expression on Gutter’s face after speaking with Trik.

“Mount up, niggaz, we outta here,” Gutter addressed his crew.

“Fuck you mean y’all out of here? What about my brother?” Mongo demanded.

“As soon as we’re clear, Pudgy will be released,” Gutter told him, as he climbed behind the wheel of the Regal.

“So what’s up, Hoover and Swan cool or what?” Trik called after him.

Gutter smirked. “For the moment. But trip this, big homey, if what you told me was some bullshit, I’m gonna come through yo hood and kill you personally, but that’s after I stink your wife and anybody else in the house that’s old enough to vote.” With that being said, Gutter backed the car out of the lot and mashed to the highway.

“SO WHAT’S the business, nephew? We blasting on Swans tonight or some other fag-ass set?” Rahkim asked from the backseat.

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” Gutter told him. “Say, Unc, what you know about a slob Gunn blasted on back in the eighties?”

Rahkim laughed. “Shit, you know how many niggaz my brother done killed in the last twenty years? You’d be better off asking me who the mayor of Mexico City is.”

“Nah, this would’ve been different. From what I gathered from Trik this has to do with a grudge of some sort. Think on it, Unc, is there anything that Gunn could’ve done back then that somebody would’ve been willing to wait twenty years to retaliate?”

Rahkim was silent for a minute, going over the list of kills he knew about. Suddenly he recalled something that might be relevant. “Actually I do remember some shit, a real fucked-up situation that went down at the fair. The Hoovers got into it with some niggaz and they bitches from the 900s, which turned into a firefight. A bitch got shot while her kid was in the backseat of the car. Gunn didn’t know shorty was there at the time, but when he found out it had him fucked-up for a long time.”

“The Nines?” Gutter tugged at his beard. Gutter flipped through his mental rolodex of killers in California and found that the list was longer than he was comfortable with. Death was a rite of passage for the children of the Pacific Coast, same as peewee football for suburban kids. Though the 900 block Bloods weren’t the largest set, they had a reputation for brutality, but he still couldn’t think of one who would’ve been stupid enough to touch Gunn… then it hit him. One 900 block rider was just that fool.

“Major Blood,” Gutter hissed. For as long as he could remember Major Blood had been a thorn in his and Lou-Loc’s sides. Neither of them could ever figure why he was so hell-bent on giving them grief, but after hearing Trik’s and Rahkim’s tales it finally made sense. “The woman Gunn killed had to be Major Blood’s mother, or at least an aunt or some shit. He’s the shooter.”

“Major Blood?” Snake Eyes asked, his voice going up an octave. At the mention of the man’s name Snake Eye’s mental gang file popped open. Major Blood was a cross between Lou-Loc and Gutter, with a splash of Charles Manson. He had never met the man, but he knew of Major Blood and his exploits all too well.

“Oh, hell nah!” Rahkim slammed his fist into the door, rattling the windows. “That lil half-spic son of a bitch couldn’t have touched mine? Floor this bitch to Compton, Ken. On Hoover, I’m gonna smoke his ho ass and everybody close to him.”

“Oh, we gonna ride on them niggaz real proper, Unc, don’t worry about that. Before I leave California I’m gonna send Major Blood and his whole gang a great big fuck you. But the question still remains, where the fuck is he?” He was about to add to the question when his new cell phone vibrated. When he looked at the screen and saw the 646 area code he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“ARRIVED AT destination,” the computerized voice of the navigation system informed them.

The residential block looked like something out of Home & Garden, with its manicured lawns and SUVs in the driveways. She looked back at Mohammad who was still moaning softly. He was in a great deal of pain, but at least he was still alive. When she turned into the driveway there were three cars already there, and she could see men moving about in the darkness. She was about to throw the X5 in reverse when she felt something touch her arm.

“Family,” Mohammad breathed softly, leaving a bloody smear on the sleeve of her jacket. He slumped back down to the floor and seemed to go unnaturally still. Satin touched his neck and gave Sharell a sad look.

The one leading the pack had to be Anwar. She had never met him personally, but she knew he was a youthful-looking man and the dark-haired youngster approaching the X5 didn’t look to be a day over seventeen or eighteen. Behind him was a stocky brute, wearing black fatigues and the beginnings of a smile on his face. The last man in the group was tall, wearing a black kufi. His dark eyes looked concerned as he scanned the interior of the car. When they were right on top of the car she pulled Mohammad’s gun and aimed it out the window.

“You won’t be needing that, I am Anwar, prince of the Al Mukalla, I believe you know of me?” Anwar stopped, but didn’t back down from the gun. Sharell hesitated for a minute, but eventually lowered the gun and opened the door. The smiling boy-prince extended his hand and helped her from behind the wheel.

The bearded man, who was called Sharif, rushed to the backseat to attend Mohammad. He pulled him gently from the back of the car and placed him on the lawn. Ignoring his bloodstained clothes, Sharif placed his ear to Mohammad’s chest. He looked up from Mohammad to Sharell and asked, “How long?”

“A few minutes, if that,” Sharell said with tears now spilling from her eyes. Yet another life had been taken by Gutter’s personal war. Mohammad had sacrificed himself to protect her and she would make sure that he was honored properly. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Sharif glanced at her, but didn’t reply. Instead he looked to Anwar with questioning eyes. Anwar turned to the stocky man, Roc, who shook his head in protest. There was some kind of conflict going on between the men, but Sharell didn’t know what it was.

“It was his wish and his right,” Sharif said defensively.

Anwar sighed. “Do what you must, Sharif, but do not let your promises interfere with your duties.”

Sharif nodded. He scooped Mohammad from the ground, and though the dead man clearly outweighed him, he did it as if he weighed little more than a child. As gently as a parent could, he lowered Mohammad into the backseat of a black sedan and got behind the wheel. “I’ll have someone here by sundown,” he called to Anwar, who didn’t bother to respond. The sedan backed out of the driveway, and disappeared into the night.

“Let’s get you two in the house,” Anwar said to the frightened young women. Noticing that Sharell was still holding Mohammad’s bloody gun, he offered to take it.

“No, thanks,” Sharell said, making sure a round was chambered. “I think I’ll hold on to this for a while.”

chapter 32

GUTTER PACED the front yard of Gunn’s house, sucking a blunt and swigging a beer. He had always been a notorious pothead, but it seemed like he’d taken to drinking more since he’d been in California. It was probably because of the increased stress he’d found himself under being back on the West.

Shortly after meeting with Trik he got a call from a frantic Sharell. Apparently somebody had tracked her to their hideaway in Brooklyn and tried to kill her and Satin. His boo had put a slug in the intruder, just as he’d taught her, but it had been Mohammad who had saved them. Gutter’s heart went out to the young soldier who had laid his life on the line for Sharell. She said that his wounds were pretty serious and doubted that he would make it, but Gutter felt otherwise, even though he didn’t say it. He knew things about Mohammad that no one outside of Anwar and Sharif did. In time, Mohammad’s body would be whole again, but it was more than he could say for the man’s soul.

Gutter wanted to hop on the next thing smoking back to New York, but Anwar assured him that all was well. Roc and two of his men were with her at a predetermined location. They would stay with Sharell until Gutter could get some of the homeys out that way to post up. She was as safe as could be, but Gutter was still uneasy about being away from her when she needed him most. He had to get home ASAP. He would attend his uncle’s funeral, but when everyone left for the burial he and Danny would be on their way to the airport. When he got to New York, heads would roll.

The next piece of business he had to deal with was the poor job Pop Top had been doing with the set. Not long after he spoke to Anwar, Hollywood was on his line. He was about to brush the late-night call off until Hollywood explained that not only was he in the emergency room, but Rob, China, and B. T. were dead. He wasn’t moved by B. T.’s death. In fact, he had often wondered at how trustworthy the man was. What hurt him was the fact that they had lost two more men… no, boys, on the front line. It seemed just like yesterday they were getting high together while Gutter lectured them about what it meant to be a true banger. He had no idea how he would face their mothers when it came time to bury their sons.

During the course of his conversation he’d also discovered why Major Blood was nowhere to be found. He had all the homeys out looking for him, but nobody was able to turn up anything. The reason for that was the fact that he was in New York killing Gutter’s men. Gunn’s death settled the old score, but more important it got Gutter to come to Cali. It was all a ruse to get the rooster out of the henhouse while the weasel slaughtered the chickens.

All morning he had been on the Internet, searching news articles online. The numbers of gang-related deaths and arrests were staggering. Newsday even added their two cents about the sudden growth spurt of gang violence that had broken out all over New York. Major Blood had been putting in serious work going at the Crips in New York, but Pop Top had made sure quite a few of theirs would be sidelined indefinitely. The war raged on with both sides taking heavy losses.

Gutter cursed himself for not being there to lead his army. He had successfully turned Harlem Crip into a solid organization, but they weren’t prepared to deal with a cat like Major Blood. He killed without thought or remorse and was always willing to go a little harder than the next man. People like Major Blood had no problem killing mothers or other family members just to get his point across. The question still remained: if he was there to kill Gutter then why lure him to Cali while he was in New York?

Immediately after speaking to Hollywood, Gutter called Pop Top and demanded to know what was going down.

“It’s blue, cuz, I got it under control,” Pop Top assured him.

“Nigga, how the fuck is it blue when three of my homeys got dropped since I been gone?” Gutter demanded.

“Man, B. T. was a straight bitch from the jump and as far as the other two… they were just casualties of war. Shit happens, man, ain’t no need to worry,” Pop Top said as if it were nothing.

“See that’s your problem, cuz, you don’t worry. You got a nigga like Major Blood picking off soldiers left and right and you don’t see a need to worry?”

“Man, that nigga ain’t special. He bleed like everybody else, Gutter.”

“Dawg, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Major Blood ain’t like everybody else. This nigga is bad news. That little tit-for-tat shit you’re playing with him is not only getting us hot, but it’s getting niggaz killed.”

“G, it’s under control. Don’t trip, I’m gonna put a lid on it, no problem,” Pop Top said, getting tired of talking to Gutter.

“Muthafucka, is you crazy? This shit is all over the news! Son, you got the police on us, the sets on us, and if you fuck around the Feds might not be far behind!” Gutter barked.

Pop Top sucked his teeth. “Man, what you tripping for, cuz? You left me to run the set while you handle ya little family problems, so let me do my thing.”

“Top”-Gutter sighed-“I left you in charge because I thought you’d keep it running while I had to dip to the West. As soon as Major Blood popped up you should’ve called me and I could’ve gave you the four-one-one on that buster.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“You know what, don’t even sweat it, Top. I got something more important that I need you to take care of. Niggaz tried to get at Sharell last night.”

“What? Is she okay? Who needs to die, cuz?” Pop Top asked.

“Kick back, man. I’m gonna be home tomorrow to take care of all that shit. Right now she’s good, Roc got her stashed away at my house in Long Island. I need you and some of the homeys to go out there and help out,” Gutter told him.

“Come on, cuz. I ain’t no babysitter, I’m a field general, I belong in the trenches, you know that,” Pop Top protested.

“Top, right now what’s going on in the trenches ain’t important. I’ll see to that when I get back. I need you to tell the homeys to fall back until I get there. Major Blood don’t play like everybody else, and I don’t wanna lose no more soldiers, Top.”

“This is some bullshit, man. In one breath you tell me to keep up the war effort and in the next you tell me to run from Major Blood like I’m some fucking pussy? I ain’t wit this shit, cuz.”

“Loc, fuck what you wit!” Gutter shouted. “I’m asking you to do me this solid, and you’re giving me grief? Check this shit, Top, you’re leading the set in name only. I’m the iron fist behind Harlem Crip. Now, if you can’t do me this solid, cool, I’ll get somebody else. But make no mistake, my nigga, I won’t have you questioning my actions. Dig me?”

“Whatever, man. I got you,” Pop Top said, and hung up the phone.

“Silly muthafucka,” Gutter spat, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“You a’ight, G?” Snake Eyes asked, climbing out of his car. Gutter had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed him pull up.

“Yeah, I’m straight.” Gutter pounded his fist. “Just tripping off this nigga Pop Top. That muthafucka act like he run Harlem, homey.”

“Well, for a good while he did. You know what they say about when a dog tastes blood, cuz. You might wanna keep your eye on that dude.”

“Man, Top crazy as hell, but he ain’t stupid.” Gutter waved him off. “You send that bread off for me, my nigga?”

“Yeah, man.” Snake Eyes handed him a Western Union receipt.

“Rob’s sister is handling all the arrangements. She say that Ms. Lucy too broke up to do much other than cry, so she on it. I think they’re gonna have the services tomorrow.”

“Damn, that was quick.”

“I know, but they wanna get it out of the way, homey. I can only imagine what those women must be going through,” Snake Eyes said sadly.

“Muthafucking Major Blood,” Gutter spat. “It wasn’t enough that that crazy bitch Ruby took my lil homey off the set, but then this nigga Major Blood had the nerve to go at my bitch? Man, that’s gonna be the first nigga I see when I get back to the Coast.”

“Yeah, ya boy’s been getting his murder on, but he ain’t try to kill Sharell, this nigga did.” Snake Eyes handed him a folder he had been holding. “You might recognize the little bastard in the picture as B-High, who used to kick it back in the days.” Snake Eyes narrated while Gutter scanned the folder’s contents.

“Didn’t they cross that nigga out for hitting two of his own?” Gutter asked, glaring at the picture.

“They tried, but he vanished.” Snake Eyes pulled a small legal pad from his pocket and began flipping the pages. “Spent some time in Miami and at some point slipped into New York. With his track record I’m surprised you haven’t had any trouble out of him before this. Between him, Reckless, and Major Blood, they kept some shit jumping in Compton.”

“Yeah, we gonna see how much Reckless got jumping after a real muthafucking gangsta touch the turf. After I lay this bitch nigga, I’m gonna grease his faggot-ass cousin, Major.” Gutter tossed the file back to Snake Eyes. “He might not have tried Sharell his self, but that don’t change the fact that he put somebody on the case. That’s my word if them niggaz touch my wife…”

“Easy, homey.” Snake Eyes placed a reassuring hand on Gutter’s shoulder. “You and I both know that she’s good where she’s at. Nobody but us and Anwar knows where she’s tucked.”

“Nobody but us and Anwar knew where she was tucked before,” Gutter reminded him. “Cuz, I’ll just feel better when this nigga is outta my city, real talk.”

“Soon enough, cousin. I’ve made arrangements for the funeral and wake for Big Gunn to go down tomorrow, all in one shot. The family understands about you having to bail early because of the emergency in New York. Speaking of cutting out, what you think about taking Tariq with you?”

“Who, Lil Gunn? Man, fuck am I gonna do, give him package and teach him to blast muthafuckas? Nah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Gutter laughed it off.

“Well, I do. Come on, G, look what that nigga is dealing with out here. His mama’s a winehead and his daddy ain’t here no more. Who’s gonna raise him, the fucking streets? You see what happened to us.”

“Snake, your ass is a lawyer, fuck is you talking about?” Gutter asked him.

“Yeah, but you went on to become a gang banger, and so did Poppa, Ray, Baby Crunk, and Lou-Loc. Now three of the people on that list I just ran down to you are dead, one is in jail, and the other one is trying to get himself killed. So what’s that telling you, that one out of every six of us will make a little something of their life?”

“Yo, dawg-”

“Nah, hear me out for a minute, Gutter. That boy is without a doubt his father’s child; if you leave him here it’s only a matter of time before he falls into the bullshit. I mean, it ain’t like he’s gonna have a whole lot of choices if he stays, G.”

“Man, we banging in New York too!” Gutter pointed out.

“Yeah, but not like these niggaz.” Snake Eyes motioned toward the garage, where most of the crew was assembled inside. “Besides, you know when Sharell drops her load this shit is gonna have to slow up anyhow. Get the little nigga outta here before the police or the meat wagon does.”

Gutter measured his words, wondering if his friend’s suggestion would make things worse or better. He was right when he said that things would change when Sharell gave birth. She had already started tightening the reins, and they’d get even tighter with a new baby. It wasn’t such a bad thing though because Gutter needed to slow down. Maybe bringing Lil Gunn to the East Coast would help him do that. He knew how easy it was to be fourteen on the set, with nobody but the hood to guide you.

“You might have a point, Snake, but who’s to say that Gunn even wants to go?” Gutter asked.

“He says,” Snake Eyes informed him. “You know me and Lil Gunn are way cool because just about once a month I gotta fly up to get him outta some shit, so he talks to me. His mama ain’t doing nothing but pushing him from the nest and into harm’s way, but you know Stacia ain’t trying to hear she has flaws. I asked the little nigga if he could move, would he? And he say in a heartbeat.”

Gutter shook his head at his old friend’s cunning. “A’ight, loc. Let me holla at Sharell about it and we’ll see what pops. Right now, I gotta go holla at these niggaz, before Rahkim gets them all hyped up.” Gutter headed for the garage.

WHEN HAWK was finally allowed to leave the precinct he was less than a happy camper. They had picked him up the previous night and brought him in for questioning on the recent rash of murders. Hawk had been on the police radar as a known gang affiliate and general piece of shit, but until then they’d never been able to come up with a solid reason to pick him up. Apparently they thought that he would be able to shed some light on the rash of gang-related shootings that had taken place over the last few days. Of course, Hawk refused to talk until his lawyer arrived.

The cops were so pissed that they took him from the precinct and drove around Harlem for hours to make it harder for the lawyer to locate him. The bullshit part of the whole thing was the fact that they had picked up several of the Crip leaders also, and thought it would be funny to release everybody at the same time. There was almost a full-scale riot between the two factions right in front of the precinct. Hawk was lucky to slide out before anything serious jumped off, but it still didn’t change the fact that Major Blood’s cowboy-ass antics had brought unnecessary heat down on him.

“Man, this nigga done stirred up more shit in two days then Cisco did the whole summer.” Red tossed a newspaper across the room to Hawk. All throughout it were details about the murders. Crips killed Bloods and Bloods killed Crips. Murder was an everyday thing in New York City, but when it involved the two rival gangs it narrowed the list of suspects considerably. There had been seven murders reported over the last three days and more coming in.

The most tragic piece was the one about a woman getting shot in Harlem. Hawk had warned Ruby over and over, but she wouldn’t listen. He should’ve known that her hatred of the Crips and love of Supreme wouldn’t let her sit by and watch, but he never expected this. Major Blood was proving to be more of a detriment to them than an asset.

“This muthafucka is over the top.” Hawk flipped the paper closed and tossed it onto the floor. “What the fuck were they thinking about calling him in?” Hawk wondered out loud.

“Dawg, you know the phone is gonna be jumping in a minute. When the big boys feel all this heat they’re gonna need somebody to point the finger at,” Shotta told Hawk.

Hawk knew he was 100 percent right. He was responsible for Major Blood while he was in the city and though he had not ordered the murders personally, he would surely take the blame for not keeping the killer on a shorter leash.

“Man, I knew that muthafucka was gonna be trouble the minute he showed up in New York,” Red said. “Son, them Cali niggaz don’t know how to chill the fuck out, now when his ass is long gone we still gonna be catching the flack.”

“Don’t even trip,” Hawk said, grabbing his car keys off the coffee table. Next he went to the closet closest to the front door and retrieved his Glock from the iron box where he kept it. “We gonna go see Major Blood and have a little chat. We out.” Hawk led his crew from the apartment.

“WHAT THE fuck is wrong with your face?” High Side asked, noticing his partner’s sudden mood change when he got off the phone.

“Man, this bitch-ass nigga Gutter is tripping,” Pop Top told him. “Old fag-ass nigga Hollywood went and dry-snitched, now Gutter on some next shit.”

“Dawg, you know how me and you do, but I think Gutter should’ve been told about this shit a long time ago,” High Side admitted.

“So now you sucking Gutter’s dick too?”

High Side narrowed his eyes. “Man, watch yo fucking mouth. Cuz, all I’m doing is pointing out the obvious to you. We was having a hard enough time with all the different red sets popping up and this Major Blood nigga ain’t do nothing but make it worse. Maybe we need to kick back until Gutter gets back?”

“Fuck all that shit, Side. When Gutter’s ass was laid up, Lou-Loc put me in charge of Harlem, now I ain’t good enough to run it?”

“Dawg, that was before Major Blood came on the scene putting batteries in niggaz backs,” High Side pointed out.

“Man, fuck Major Blood and fuck Gutter. Them niggaz don’t run Pop Top.” He spat on the ground.

“So what you gonna do now?”

“This nigga screaming some he need me to go watch his bitch out in Long Island,” Pop Top said, clearly not feeling it.

“Damn, nigga, you ain’t never strike me as the babysitting type,” High Side teased him.

“Nigga, fuck you!”

“Man, fall back you know I’m only fucking wit you.” High Side laughed, but Pop Top didn’t.

“Well, don’t fuck wit me, I done had enough of that shit to last me a lifetime. That fool got me tight, son. This nigga from Cali and act like he know what it is in New York ’cause he been here a few years. Shit we was born and raised in New York!”

“Man, go ahead wit that shit, Pop Top. Gutter is running the show and that’s just the way it is.” Unlike Pop Top, High Side didn’t have delusions of grandeur. He was good with the few corners he’d been given and didn’t really care who was at the helm.

“But it ain’t gotta be, son,” Pop Top said, with a wicked plan forming in his head.

“Man, what kinda shit you talking?” High Side asked in a suspicious voice.

“Check this, all I’m saying is that maybe it’s time we had a little more say in the way things are run? I mean, we are from Harlem, ain’t we?”

High Side thought on it for a minute. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with it?”

“Man, it has everything to do with it, Side. We homegrown, baby, but Gutter is the one who gets all the props. Check, when him and Lou-Loc first started that unified set shit, who helped them rally the troops?”

“Us,” High Side said.

“And when muthafuckas jump up, who put ’em down?”

“Us.”

“Exactly.” Pop Top slapped his palms together. “We opened the door for a nigga and we can’t get a set of keys? Don’t get me wrong, High Side, I got love for the homey too, but he ain’t the only nigga putting in work.”

“I see your point, but what we supposed to do about it, Top?” High Side asked.

“Fuck you think, nigga? If I can’t get a piece up under Gutter, I might as well take the whole pie.” Pop Top flipped open his cell phone.

“Who you calling?” High Side asked.

“Bronx Presbyterian Hospital.”

chapter 33

THERE WERE so many young men gathered in the garage that the door had to be kept open to accommodate them. Weed smoke filled the air while bottles clanged together and weapons were visible on just about everyone. Most of the men, Gutter knew, but the rest had just come to get their pound of flesh.

“Cousins,” Gutter began, forgoing the formalities. “Yesterday we lost a down-ass soldier. A soldier who put many of us on the turf, and handed damn near all of us beat-downs when we were out of bounds. Gunn was not only my uncle, but he played the father figure to a great many of us. We all knew Gunn wasn’t in no more, hell everybody on the Coast knew he wasn’t active, but that didn’t stop that ho-ass nigga Major Blood from laying my folk.” The people who had gone with him to see Trik knew who was behind the killing, but this was the first time Gutter had said it publicly.

“Major Blood?” someone whispered.

“I thought he was in the can?” another voice added.

“Nah, they smoked him for killing Bad Ass!” someone else added to the mix.

“Nah, that fag is alive and kicking, causing me even more grief on the East Coast,” Gutter said.

“Man, I say we mount up for a road trip, loc!” Criminal said eagerly. It had been awhile since he killed something for the hood and didn’t know how much longer he could contain himself. Gutter and Rahkim were icons to young Criminal and he was dying to get his stripes up.

“Nah, little cousin, that’s a problem that I’m gonna deal with personally. Oh, but before I do, I want that slob to feel what we feel right now,” Gutter said emotionally. “I want him to know what it’s like to bury a homey or a muthafucking relative!” he shouted. “Tonight, we rolling through Compton and I’m gonna show these niggaz from the other side how to catch a fucking body. When we bail through, I want any and everything in that hood to lay down!”

The crowd roared at Gutter’s proclamation. The sounds of sets being shouted and guns clicking were all that could be heard. They didn’t even see Rahshida when she pulled up in the driveway with Monifa. Seeing twenty young men gathered on her property, with Gutter and Rahkim in their midst, meant another mother would be burying her child soon.

“What are y’all doing out here congregating?” she addressed them, putting her shopping bag down on the hood of the car. Monifa came to stand beside her.

“Ain’t nobody congregating, Auntie. The homeys just came by to pay their respects to Big Gunn.” Gutter leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She frowned at the smell of liquor coming off his breath.

“Kenyatta, don’t play me, all right?” she warned him. “I know y’all ain’t fixing to go in them streets and act crazy?” When nobody responded her suspicions were confirmed. “When are y’all gonna ever learn?”

“Rah, you tripping-” Rahkim began.

“I’m not tripping, Rahkim, you’re the one that’s tripping. As old as you are and as much as you’ve been through I’d think you’d be trying to defuse these kinds of situations instead of agitating them. Rahkim, that is not what Islam teaches,” she tried to reason with him.

“Man, fuck that. A nigga blasted on my brother and I ain’t supposed to do nothing? We can all be devout Muslims at Gunn’s ceremony tomorrow morning, but tonight I’m a muthafucking gangster.” Rahkim stormed past his twin.

Rahshida let out a deep sigh. “Hasn’t there been enough death already?” She was looking at the men assembled. “Criminal, wasn’t it your brother who got shot last month at the bus stop? Tears, how did you feel when those boys from Six Duce almost blew your face off in front of your son?” No one responded. “Don’t you see it? Us killing them and them killing us is getting us nowhere. The only people that thinking is beneficial to is white folks who don’t want you to rise above this foolishness. When it is gonna end?”

“When there’s only one side left,” Gunn called from the flowerpot he’d been sitting on. Rahshida hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke. There was a coldness to his eyes that she had seen in her little brother’s eyes just before someone died.

“And you, Tariq. What are you doing? It’s bad enough that I had to lose my brother to this madness. Will I lose you too?” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

“Nah, you ain’t gotta worry about Tariq, Auntie.” Gutter put an arm around her. “Tariq is coming back to the Coast with me, I’m gonna make sure he’s good.”

A glimmer of hope shone in Rahshida’s eyes. “Kenyatta, please don’t let him get turned out to this craziness. Teach him a better way.”

“I’ll do my best, Auntie,” he said, looking over at Gunn whose eyes were cold and focused. “I’ll do my best.”

IT TOOK nearly a half hour, but the young men finally went on their way. Snake Eyes was gone again, this time tracking down a current address for Major Blood. He’d heard through the grapevine that he’d purchased a property on the east side of Compton. Rahshida had taken Lil Gunn inside the house to have a heart-to-heart talk. He’d been elated when Gutter made the announcement that he’d be moving east with him. Gunn saw it as an opportunity to learn the art of gang-banging from a true street legend so naturally he was all for it. What he didn’t know was that his cousin had a whole different plan in mind.

Gutter had thought of himself as untouchable, especially after his resurrection, but the man formerly known as B-High had shown him different. The first thing Gutter intended to do when he got back to New York was move everyone out. He had recently closed on the house in Long Island and wanted it to be a surprise for Sharell, but the botched hit sped things up. Now her dream house was a safe house. He realized that he needed to do a better job at keeping his family and his hood separate and Brooklyn just wasn’t far enough.

“Can I holla at you for a minute?” Monifa walked up on him.

“Sup, ma?” he asked a little dryly. From the look in her eyes he could tell she had something heavy on her mind and he really wasn’t for it at that moment.

“Y’all really riding tonight?”

He looked at her as if it were a stupid question. “Come on, Mo, you know the answer to that.”

“Kenyatta, I understand you’re hurting over Gunn, as we all are, but ain’t much can be done about it right off. You said it yourself that he ain’t even in California so what good will it do for you to roll tonight?” The shameful look Gutter gave her put a nasty thought in her mind. “Gutter, you can’t. They’re civilians!”

“So was Gunn, he was inactive.”

Monifa gave him a disbelieving look. “Homey, the last time I checked you couldn’t retire from this life like a nine-to-five. I’m not saying it was right for Gunn to die, but he knew the risks. If you wanna ride on Major Blood, I feel you… but leave everybody else out of it.”

For a minute Gutter’s face softened, but when he saw Criminal standing off to the side waiting to see him his war face came back. “Mo, I hear what you talking, but I ain’t got no understanding of that shit right now. They done took the two people closest to me in under a year and if I don’t put my murder game down now, these niggaz ain’t never gonna learn.”

“Gutter”-she moved closer and spoke in a hushed tone-“you don’t have to do it like this. Revenge is one thing, but this… Kenyatta, I can remember a time where there were lines that even you wouldn’t cross.”

Gutter took a step back and stared at her. “This is a whole new day, baby, and I’m a whole new man, smell me? It’s kill or be killed, ma, ain’t no more passes.”

Monifa searched his eyes for some semblance of the youth or innocence that they once held, but all she saw were two pale green pools. No life, no warmth, only color. “You are truly lost, aren’t you?”

“Nah, I ain’t lost, baby.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m just really finding myself.” He stepped around Monifa and went to join Criminal.

Monifa watched him leave and wondered who the man was that she’d just spoken to. Gutter had always been a killer, or at least that’s what she’d heard, but even he was within reason. She didn’t know the man standing not ten feet away from her and she didn’t know the man that she’d given her body to. If Kenyatta Soladine still lurked anywhere inside that shell, he was buried too deep for her to discover. There was a time when she was the most important thing in Kenyatta’s life, but to Gutter she would always come second to the set.

“YOU GOT that done already?” Gutter asked in surprise.

“Shit, you should’ve known that wouldn’t take long. The biggest problem was having too many volunteers. The hood loved yo uncle, cuz,” Criminal said.

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but I don’t need no bunch of ragtag niggaz at my back when I bust this move, C.”

“Kick back, cuz, you know I wouldn’t even do you like that. These niggaz is handpicked by me, cuz. Niggaz I ride wit on the regular, I know what they made of,” he assured Gutter.

“That’s why I fuck wit you, cuz, you always been a straight rider.” Gutter draped his arm around Criminal lovingly. “Man, you ready to put in some real work?”

“Cuz, you know I stay down for that one-eight.” He flashed the butt of the gun jammed down the front of his oversized jeans. “I been waiting for a reason to trip on a nigga anyway, but them touching Gunn means it’s no-holds-barred. Man, I’m gonna smoke any muthafucka out there, that’s on the turf!”

Gutter smiled at Criminal. Of all the young homeys, he really dug Criminal. He was a loyal soldier and spent more time listening than he did talking. Not only was he about his business, but he loved the set more than anything. He showed the same kind of vigor about gang-banging as Lou-Loc and Gutter had. If he survived the night he was surely going to become a big man in the hood, Gutter would see to that.

“Sup, locs?” Lil Gunn addressed the two men.

“What it is, lil nigga.” Criminal pounded his fist. “How you holding up?”

Lil Gunn shrugged. “I’ll be a’ight, man. Niggaz die every day.”

Gutter placed a hand on Lil Gunn’s shoulder. “Cuz, you daddy wasn’t just no nigga, he was a legend. You might not have been as tight with him as you should’ve, but don’t never doubt that your father was a great man. Outside of this banging shit, Gunn was a good nigga and did a lot of good for the neighborhood.”

“I hear you, cuz,” Lil Gunn said.

“Man, don’t even trip that shit ’cause you know we fixing to ride for the big homey,” Criminal told him, trying to pick his spirits up.

“That’s what I’m talking about; I’m ready to blast on something!” Lil Gunn said eagerly.

“Man, you ain’t gonna do shit but stay your ass in the house where women and children are supposed to be. This ain’t something for kids, man,” Gutter told him.

“Man, Criminal ain’t but a year or two older than me,” Lil Gunn pointed out.

“But he ain’t my little cousin.” Gutter mushed him playfully. “Dig, I know you can handle yourself, Gunn, but I promised Auntie that I’d try to deprogram some of that street shit outta you.”

“Come on, G, that’s my pops!”

“Yeah, and you done already went and made your mark for him, which I’m still thinking about fucking you up about. Gunn, you’re still a shorty, man, no matter how many niggaz you done shot. Enjoy being a kid for a while, because when you blink it’ll be all gone, feel me?”

“Yeah, man,” Lil Gunn mumbled.

“Don’t feel bad, cuz. Just think, tomorrow night we’ll be on in New York City. If you thought L.A. was live, wait till you get a taste of the city. Them bitches love Cali niggaz.”

“Straight up?” Lil Gunn asked excitedly.

“Square biz, loc. Besides, you a Soladine nigga, pulling hoes is in your genes. Now go on in the house and start getting your shit ready. We still got a lot to do before we bail and I still gotta convince ya mama to let you roll.”

“She ain’t gonna give a damn. Not having to look after me will just give her more time to get faded.” Lil Gunn stomped off to the house.

“Watch your mouth!” Gutter called after Gunn, who slammed the screen door behind him.

“Man, you really ain’t gonna let that nigga get it in for his pops?” Criminal asked.

“Hell, nah, I ain’t letting him ride. That there is a child, Criminal, this shit ain’t for him.”

Criminal shrugged. “It ain’t really for none of us, but it’s what we got. Maybe if you let him ride out he’ll get it out of his system.”

“Let me tell you something.” Gutter grabbed Criminal by the collar of his T-shirt. “That’s my uncle’s boy and he ain’t gonna fall in line with this dumb shit. If I ever hear talk of a nigga letting Gunn ride again, I’m gonna be a real firm supporter of Crip-on-Crip violence, you understand me?”

“A’ight, homey, damn!” Criminal cringed. He’d heard stories about Gutter’s wrath and didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.

“Good.” He let him go and then smoothed Criminal’s T-shirt.

“Look, man, sorry about all that. Check, y’all go out and start rounding up them cars. When the sun goes down we ride on oh-las.”

chapter 34

MAJOR BLOOD paced back and forth under the L on 128th and Twelfth. There was planning to be done and enemies to lay and Hawk wanted a sit-down. He had no idea what the man wanted to talk about and frankly didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get it over with so he could go back to busting Crip skulls. The news of B-High’s death didn’t sit well with him.

B-High was a two-bit junkie and a killer, but one of the few friends Major Blood had left. It should’ve been a simple task for him to follow Sharell and then kill her, but something had gone wrong. Now Major Blood would most likely have to kill the bitch his self, if he could even find out where she’d disappeared to. She and Satin had vanished and nobody seemed to know where they were, but they couldn’t hide forever and he always filled his contracts, no matter how long they took.

“Man, what you think he wants?” Eddie asked nervously.

“Like I fucking care. They smoked Miguel, man. I don’t wanna hear nothing other than a full-out strike come outta that dude’s mouth,” Tito said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, my nigga. We’ve played enough, now we crush Harlem and bring the glory back to the five. This is the part of the movie where the thugs cry,” he vowed.

“There he go right there.” Eddie nodded to a black Mercedes truck that was coming down the block. Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Hawk was on the curb and making hurried steps toward the trio.

“Hawk, what’s popping, baby?” Eddie grinned.

“You, shut the fuck up.” He pointed at Eddie, wiping the smile from his face. “Blood,” he addressed Major, “I need to holla at you.”

Major Blood shrugged his shoulders. “So talk.”

“What the fuck are you out here doing?” Hawk questioned. Red and Shotta had parked the car and were a few paces away watching the scene.

“My job, nigga. Fuck you think I’m doing?” Major Blood shot back.

“I don’t recall you making all of us hot being a part of your job description. Do you know I just got outta lockup?”

“They just springing you from the Island?” Major asked in an uninterested tone.

“No, the precinct.”

“Then what the fuck is you crying about, Hawk. So you had to spend a few hours in the can, personally I think it’s good for your character.” Major snickered.

Hawk took a deep breath. “Look, homey, don’t break fly with me. I’m talking about this sick-ass game you’re playing with Gutter’s people. You’ve got the police crawling all over the hood behind this shit. Why don’t you just whack who you gotta whack and be done with it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill Gutter all right, but I’m gonna do it in my own time, on my own terms,” Major said.

Seeing that reasoning with Major wasn’t working, Hawk decided to throw his weight around. “Check this, Blood, you a respected member of this thing of ours, but I’m calling the shots in Harlem. Now, you done turned a fruitful-ass spot into a shooting gallery all because of some sick-ass game you’re trying to play with Gutter. My advice to you is to do what you came for and get on the next thing smoking back west.”

Major stared at him in disbelief. “Your advice? Muthafucka, who is you to advise me of anything? Blood, them niggaz smoked my little man, so this grudge is personal now. First I’m gonna finish smashing on Harlem, then I’m gonna kill Gutter’s bitch, and just when that nigga think it can’t get no worse I’m gonna pop his fucking head off. So my advice to you, is to try and stay out of the cross fire. I’d hate to see you end up like Bad Ass.”

Hawk felt a chill at that statement. It was rumored that Major had had the O.G. killed, but the evidence was never solid enough to bring him before the nation on charges of treason. Hawk knew that Major was trying to intimidate him and if he let him the killer would surely have free rein in New York.

“Man, I ain’t Bad Ass!” Hawk shot back. “I’ve been putting in work for a long time, Blood, don’t test me.”

“Fuck outta here.” Major laughed him off. “When is the last time you shot some fucking body? See, that’s the problem with you old niggaz.” Major inched closer to him.

“Watch ya self, son,” Red spoke up. He moved closer to Hawk, but Major Blood ignored him.

“When y’all come up on a few dollars,” Major Blood continued, “you lose that edge, and that is a sign of weakness.” Without warning he shot Red in the chest, dropping him. Shotta moved to draw, but Tito had him covered.

“You know what they say about the weak and the strong.” Major rubbed the hot barrel across Hawk’s face.

“You loony muthafucka, if you kill me then your ass will never make it out of New York. You’ll spend the rest of your days as a hunted man.” It was a weak threat, but it was all Hawk could think of to say to save his life.

Major just laughed at him. “Baby boy, your name don’t hold that kinda weight anymore. It’s a new day in Harlem, Blood,” Major squeezed the trigger and hit Hawk once in the chest, surprising all in attendance.

Hawk clutched at the gaping hole and stared up at Major Blood in disbelief. He knew that the killer’s services came at a high price, but he never expected it to be his life. Shotta tried to break and run, but Major gunned him down.

“Man, they’re gonna send a fucking hit squad after us,” Tito said nervously.

“Let them,” Major said as if it were nothing. “In two or three days my cousin Reckless will be here with a few of the homeys from the set. Niggaz from the East Coast can either side with us, or die with Hawk. At this point I don’t give too much of a fuck.”

“This is bad, man. Real bad,” Eddie said, pacing nervously.

“The old ways are done,” Major Blood said to the corpse at his feet. “It’s time to bring in some fresh blood.” With a smoking barrel in his hand he turned to Tito and Eddie. “What’s it gonna be, homey, the new regime or the old?” he asked, pointing the gun at Tito’s head.

“Shit, I’m wit you all day Blood,” Tito said hurriedly.

“What about you?” Major Blood turned the gun on Eddie.

Eddie swallowed his heart, which was trying to crawl up from his throat. “All I wanna know is what we’re gonna call the new set?”

“That’s what I like to hear from my generals,” Major Blood said proudly, tucking the gun back into his waistband. “This night marks a new beginning for our little family. Death to all those who oppose us, Crip, Blood, or civilian. Come on, y’all”-he draped his arms around them-“let’s go get twisted, because tonight… We’ve got a funeral to attend.”

GUTTER STARED at himself in the mirror for a long while before he finally managed to get off the bed. All of his jewelry and identification were wrapped in a sock and tucked in the top drawer. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Over his freshly done braids he wore a stocking cap so as not to worry about leaving hair follicles behind. He watched enough CSI to know that the police technology allowed them a million different ways to catch a nigga if they wanted them bad enough, and for what they were about to pull, they’d sure as hell be hot on their heels.

Making sure his twin Glocks were secured in the holsters around his belt he headed out the bedroom and descended the stairs. Monifa was sitting in the living room with Rahshida and Lil Gunn watching some old movie on television. He tried to smile at her, but she turned away. Fuck her too, he thought to himself. If she thought because she’d gotten a little dick from him in a moment of weakness meant she could dictate what he did, she was dead wrong. Gutter loved Monifa, but it was a love that had been slowly fading over the years. His love for the set was everlasting.

“I’m heading out, Auntie,” he called to Rahshida. She glanced up at him then went back to watching her movie. “You need anything?” She didn’t even acknowledge him. “A’ight, I see how it’s going down. Fuck it, I’m out.” Gutter had made it to the front door when Lil Gunn came running up behind him.

“Cuz, I need to holla at you about something.” Gunn whispered. “Walk with me to the kitchen.” Gutter looked over his shoulder and both Monifa and Rahshida were watching him.

“Gunn, I told you that I ain’t letting you ride with us tonight,” Gutter scolded him as they walked into the kitchen.

“Nah, man. I know I can’t ride, but I need you to do something for me.” The youngster dipped under the sink and came up holding something wrapped in a pillowcase. He unwrapped it to expose the six-shot.44 hidden inside.

Gutter gave him a quizzical look.

“It belonged to my daddy,” he explained. “When you bust on them niggaz, do it with my daddy’s fo-fo,” Gunn pleaded. Tears had welled up in his young eyes.

“You got that, cousin,” Gutter assured him, placing the.44 down the front of his pants, weighing them down further.

“That ain’t good enough, Gutter, you gotta put it on something. Put it on the hood that you gonna kill them niggaz that killed my daddy.”

“Gunn-” Gutter began but was cut off.

“Fuck that, cuz. You either put in on the turf or the moment y’all leave the block, I’m gonna sneak outta here and handle it myself!” Gunn said seriously.

Little Gunn had backed him into a corner. Putting something on your hood was the most serious oath you could take. If you put something on your hood and didn’t follow through then your word didn’t count for shit.

Gutter took Gunn by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “On Harlem Crip, I’m gonna make sure your father’s murder doesn’t go unpunished. I’m gonna bring it to them niggaz, cousin.”

To Gutter’s surprise, Lil Gunn grabbed him in a bear hug. The young man squeezed as hard as he could, while sobbing into Gutter’s chest. “I know you will. My daddy used to always tell me that you and me was more like brothers than cousins and I know you’d never let your little brother down.” Gunn pulled away and wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his T-shirt.

“Go on back in the living room before your aunt thinks I’m trying to teach you how to cook crack or some shit.” Gutter mushed him. The two men walked back into the living room, and all eyes were still on Gutter. He just shook his head and stepped out the front door, where he was greeted by ten armed and dangerous men.