Gutter

chapter 35

FUNERALS, JUST as a rule, are sad as hell. But to attend a funeral for a child was a whole new kind of pain. Gutter had paid for the entire funeral, including the seemingly infinite flowers that were spread over the caskets and along the walls, but it couldn’t bring back the lives of the two men who were sent to their final wake.

China and Rob were laid out side by side in two beautifully crafted caskets of a heavenly blue hue. Their faces no longer wore the scowls the streets made them hide behind, but the calmness of two boys who may have just laid down for a nap.

Rob’s mother wore a grim face, occasionally dabbing at the tears that seemed to flow lightly but consistently down her face. Her heart was crushed beyond measure at losing her little boy, but she tried to hold it together as best she could. Ms. Lucy was another case. She bawled like a hungry infant, thrashing her head and occasionally falling. Twice her sister had to keep her from hitting the ground.

C-style sat alone in the corner, taking in the scene. All the homeys had showed up to the funeral. The one decent thing Pop Top had done under his rule was insist that no one showed up to the funeral in street clothes. Though Ms. Lucy knew what was up, Rob’s mother was a square, and they didn’t want to disrespect her. Everybody wore grim faces as they thought of the two lives lost to the set.

The set, C-style thought to herself. Look what the set had taken from her. Rob might not have been the be-all and end-all as far as men went, but he was hers. They had a bond that was supposed to stand the test of time, it wasn’t enough though. He was gone… he died trying to protect her from the enemy… the same enemy C-style had blasted out of existence. It was either kill or be killed was the way she saw it.

There were so many things going through her head that she didn’t really know what to feel; sad for the loss of her lover, guilty because she was now a murderer, or stupid for buying into Gutter’s war? C-style looked down at the cold face of her lover and now imagined herself in the casket. Harlem suddenly started to feel way too small for her.

Pop Top stood off to the back, flanked by High Side and Bruticus. Hollywood sat on the other side of the pew with a fresh-faced young thing snuggled against him. He wore a bandage over the side of his face where Lexi had cut him and dark glasses. Ever since he’d alerted Gutter to Pop Top’s bullshit there had been tension between them. Hollywood didn’t give too much of a shit about his attitude though, his face and his business were ruined.

Every so often High Side could be seen casting a suspicious glance at Pop Top. His friend had something cooking and High Side was sure it’d go poorly. He and Pop Top went back like two flats, and had held each other down against seemingly impossible odds, but he was talking some other shit. If they tried a mutiny and it didn’t go right they’d be dead men.

“Sup, cuz?” Pop Top asked High Side, noticing the conflicted look on his face.

High Side shrugged. “Ain’t shit, man, just thinking. Seems like we’re losing more of ours than taking out theirs. It’s fucked-up what happened to the lil homeys.” He nodded at the caskets.

“Yeah, man. A real fucking shame,” Pop Top agreed. “Don’t trip though, they gonna get theirs, all we need is a new strategy. After the funeral I’m gonna dip out to L.I. for a minute with Sharell.”

“What happened to ‘fuck Gutter, I ain’t no babysitter’?” High Side questioned.

“You know there’s always a method to my madness, cuz. Just be ready to roll when I come scoop you.”

High Side looked at him. “Man, Gutter asked you to go, not me.”

“High Side, it’s gonna rain out this bitch and I don’t want none of mine to get wet. We just gonna sit up for a while and plot our next move.” Pop Top tried to sway him.

“Man, a nigga got business on the streets; I ain’t got time to be laid up in the suburbs. Do what you gotta do, man, I’m out here.”

“What y’all rapping ’bout?” Bruticus asked, moving closer. He was still a bit stiff from the bullet he’d taken in his lower back, but thanks to the medication he’d been prescribed he wasn’t feeling much pain.

“Ain’t shit, just thinking back on the homeys,” Pop Top lied.

“Damn, cuz, I can’t believe them lil niggaz is gone,” Bruticus said.

“I know, son,” Pop Top agreed. “Man, I don’t know what made China off his self, but the boy Rob went out like a gangsta!” Pop Top said proudly.

“Ain’t no honor in death, kid,” Hollywood said. No one had even seen him get up and walk over. “Them young boys is outta here, cuz… gone from it,” he said emotionally. “They didn’t deserve to go out like that, fam.”

“Yeah, but we gonna ride for them kids. Word to mine, it’s on!” Bruticus declared.

“All day, cuz.” Pop Top was speaking to Bruticus, but staring at Hollywood. “So what’s up, you gonna call Gutter on speaker phone so he can get the play-by-play on this too?” he asked sarcastically.

Hollywood looked at him stone-faced from behind his shades. “Man, go ahead with that shit, Top. This ain’t the time or place.”

“Then pick a time and a place,” Pop Top challenged.

Hollywood glared at Pop Top. He was surely armed, but Hollywood didn’t come empty-handed. He had a two-shot tucked in his cast that he could get to easily if need be, but to cause a scene at a funeral? “Let me get with you outside for a minute.” Hollywood stepped outside with Pop Top and the others on his heels. Before the chapel doors were even closed behind them, Pop Top started right in.

“Fuck that shit. A bitch cut ya face and you get all scared and shit and call Gutter. What’s up, Wood, I thought you was ’bout the movement?” Pop Top accused.

“Man, don’t ever question my dedication to Harlem, I’m just as down as any of these niggaz, if not more so.” He motioned to the scar on his face and the cast on his hand. “This shit was about dealing with a problem that was getting out of hand.”

“I had the problem under control!” Pop Top snarled.

“How you had it under control, Top, when we taking more losses than them? Look”-Hollywood tried to compose himself-“we all crew so it ain’t no sense in beefing about it, but we had to let the homey G know what was going down, Top.”

Pop Top sucked his teeth. “Whatever, man.”

“Why don’t you two niggaz kiss and make up?” Bruticus teased.

“Fuck you.” Pop Top spat on the ground. “So, what Gutter say to you about this Major Blood cat?” he asked Hollywood.

“He’s bad news times ten. The best way to deal with a cat like Major Blood is to kill him on sight, no questions asked.” Hollywood recounted what Gutter had told him.

“Shit, we’ve been trying like a muthafucka,” High Side added.

“Man, it’s time to lay this bitch-ass nigga out once and for all. Me and-” That was as far as Bruticus got before the back of his head was knocked clean off.

THE REVEREND had stopped speaking and everyone crouched in their seats when the sounds of gunshots erupted outside. C-style took a quick glance around the room and saw that her crew that had gathered in the back was nowhere to be found, so that meant they were the source of the gunshots, but the question remained of what side of the bullets they were on. Some of the homeys started drawing weapons and charging the door, sending the mourners further into panic. Fingering the small pistol in her purse, C-style fell in step behind her gang.

EDDIE STEERED the car while Tito sat in the passenger seat rolling a blunt. Major was silent in the backseat, which unnerved Eddie. The whole time Major Blood had been in New York, he’d been boastful and arrogant, but now he was as silent as the grave. Now he just sat, staring out the window and petting a C-15.223 caliber like it was a cat. Eddie wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the machine gun and wasn’t about to ask, considering the mood Major Blood had been in since killing Hawk.

Eddie turned right on 125th and Eighth, heading north. Along the block he could see the cars lined up and people milling about in front of the funeral home. Among those people were Pop Top and his gang. Seeing his enemies Major Blood sat up in the seat.

“Slow down, my nigga,” Major said, moving to a kneeling position in the backseat.

“You ain’t gonna kill these niggaz in front of the funeral home, are you?” Eddie asked nervously.

Major chuckled. “Watch me.” As Eddie neared the funeral home, Major leaned out the window and started dumping.

ALL HOLLYWOOD could do was stand there in shock as bits of Bruticus’s skull sprayed on his face. One minute they had been talking and the next his comrade had gone down. Major Blood was leaning out of the back of Hawk’s truck firing on them with reckless abandon.

A crackhead coming out of the store, holding a forty ounce of Country Club, was the only thing that saved Hollywood from getting caught too. The bullet tore through the fiend’s chest, slamming him into the bodega window. Willing himself to move, Hollywood dove behind the funeral home’s hearse, which Tito proceeded to spray with slugs from a black Mac.

“It’s on!” Pop Top roared, drawing his own weapon. He fired on the truck, while trying to back up to the safety of the funeral home. At the sound of gunfire the homeys had started filing out of the funeral home, and most of them got caught in the cross fire and were gunned down. A few were able to let off return fire, while others ran for cover.

Answering the call to arms, High Side returned fire on his enemies. He and Pop Top looked like two gunslingers; taking turns ducking and returning fire. The windows of the truck shattered, but there was no way to tell if they’d hit anyone. The tires on the truck squealed as Major Blood and company sped off up Eighth.

C-STYLE STEPPED out onto the curb and was horrified at the scene. Bodies were strewn all in front of the funeral home, which was now riddled with bullets. Hollywood was picking himself up off the ground with a terrified look in his eyes. Pop Top and High Side looked rattled, but otherwise okay. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Bruticus. The former Decepticon was stretched out on the concrete with a gaping hole in the back of his head. When C-style saw the goop oozing out the back of his head she ran around the corner and vomited.

“Oh, shit they laid the homey!” a nameless face said, motioning toward Bruticus’s body.

Pop Top walked over and looked down at his slain friend. “Damn,” he whispered, hearing Gutter’s warning about Major Blood ringing off in his head. “What kinda nigga shoots up a fucking funeral home?”

“The kind Gutter warned us about,” Hollywood said, making the sign of the cross over the fallen homeys.

“What the fuck we gonna do now, Top?” High Side asked.

“Make sure we don’t end up like that.” He nodded at Bruticus. “Wood,” he addressed the pretty boy with a plan forming in his head. “The homey got something he need done and I’m gonna need you with me on this.”

“All day, homey. What you need?” Hollywood asked, forgetting that they’d been about to come to blows a few minutes before.

“I’m gonna call you with an address and have you come meet me. Once we rally the troops, we take action. It’s time I did something to bring an end to this shit and restore some type of order to Harlem Crip. I’m getting Major Blood off our asses and ending this fucking war once and for all.”

“We ’bout to go after Major Blood?” Hollywood asked.

“Something like that. I’ll put it to you like this, in a few days this little war will be over and Major Blood will be officially out of our hair,” Pop Top assured them before walking around the corner.

Hollywood looked to High Side for an explanation, but he just shrugged. There was something going on with Pop Top that Hollywood couldn’t place his finger on, but he had a bad feeling about it. “I’m up, fam. I ain’t trying to be around when the police come asking what happened.”

“Shit, me either. I’m getting the fuck from around here,” High Side said, watching as people finally got the courage to come out of the bullet-riddled funeral home.

“C, it might be a good idea for you to get out of here too. If you want I can give you a ride?” Hollywood offered.

C-style managed to tear her watery eyes away from the carnage. “Nah, I’m gonna stay for a while.”

Hollywood knew that she was still going through the motions over Rob so it would be useless to argue the point of why she shouldn’t stick around after a shoot-out. “A’ight, ma, but let me take that from you.” He reached over and took the gun she had forgotten was in her hand. “C, you sure you’re good?” The girl nodded weakly. “Cool, baby. Do what you gotta do and stay off the block for a while. I got a bad feeling about this shit,” Hollywood warned before dipping off to his car with High Side on his heels.

C-style just stood there for a while, staring at the ruined funeral home and the horrified looks on the mourners’ faces. Two of the homeys were escorting Rob’s mother and Ms. Lucy from the funeral home to the limo. She could tell they were terrified and rightfully so. It was bad enough that they had lost their babies, but the war wouldn’t even allow them to mourn in peace.

C-style took her blue bandanna from her purse and went to wipe her face, but stopped in midmotion. It was the same bandanna she’d been given when Big Keke and the home girls had put her on the set. Her heart had swelled with pride when she received it and Gutter embraced her as one of his lil home girls, but now it represented the ugliness that being in a gang had brought into her life. Until that moment it had been one of her most prized possessions.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she whispered to herself. C-style let the bandanna slip from her hand and float to the ground. This drew some disapproving looks from some of the home boys that were still gathered around, but at that point she didn’t care. She was done with the set.

LEXI WAS propped against the lumpy white pillows, trying her best to get comfortable. Her head felt like a herd of elephants was on parade inside it. Hollywood had treated her to a hairline fracture and a severe concussion. To add insult to injury Major Blood had botched the hit on him. She was pissed, but her visitor had eased the pain a bit.

When she’d gotten the initial phone call she thought it to be a prank or even a setup, but as she brushed her hand against the manila envelope containing the five g’s she knew it to be real. If her source was on the up-and-up then Gutter had finally gone too far and Major Blood would get a second chance at Hollywood. Soon she would call him to set the final wheels in motion, but the morphine drip in her IV told her it could wait until after her nap.

chapter 36

THE EAST SIDE OF COMPTON: SOUTH ATLANTIC AND EAST COMPTON BOULEVARD

“MAN, WHAT the fuck is this nigga doing way over on this side?” Criminal asked from the backseat.

“Fuck if I know,” Blue Bird said, taking a hit off the dipped cigarette and trying to pass it to Tears, but he declined so Criminal readily snatched it. “What I do know is that these niggaz is out of bounds, aiding and abetting a fucking fugitive!”

“Man, y’all need to put that shit out and get focused on the muthafucking task at hand,” Tears said, rolling down the windows. “We deep in enemy territory, cuz. I’m sure if Major has brought a crib out this way there’s probably some 900s ’round here too.” Tears pulled up to a red light at the corner of East Compton Boulevard and South Atlantic Avenue.

“Fuck 900s and for damn sure fuck Lime Street, I’m dumping on sight,” Criminal said, way louder than he needed to. The PCP was obviously kicking in.

A group of young men standing in front of the store caught Blue Bird’s attention. He recognized them all as members of East Side Lime Street except the one in the wheelchair. He was a 900. Being the troublemaker he was, he looked back at Criminal and said, “Say, cuz, there go some Nines right there. You gonna let them marks clown you by posting up when they know we riding?”

“Nigga what? Watch this muthafucka bark.” Criminal brandished a long-nosed Colt. Tears knew what was about to go down and had it not been for the red light he would’ve pulled off. Before he could even protest Criminal was out of the car and heading in the direction of the store.

IT WAS a beautiful night on the Pacific Coast. The sack chasers were out sacking, and the dope boys were out getting their sling on. Just another day in the hood… At least it was for the moment.

“What’s up, East Side?” A man in a wheelchair asked, rolling up to the store. He was dressed in black Dickies pants and a red T-shirt.

“Oh, shit, Big Bo from the Nine!” He snatched his green Seattle Supersonics hat off for emphasis. “Man, fuck you doing way over here?”

“Same thing you doing, nigga, trying to cop a bottle and get blown,” Bo told him, wheeling up to the window to place his order.

“They ain’t got no liquor stores where you stay at?” A man in a Raider’s cap asked sarcastically.

“Hell yeah, you know the hood ain’t got nothing but hard times and liquor stores. Me and the homeys is kicking it off San Luis at the rest.”

“Y’all posted up over here? You must be ready to flip that Lime?” another young man asked. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but there was a green sports band around his arm, the kind you would get at a club.

Bo looked up at him. “You know I ain’t no set flipper, Blood. It’s Nine or nothing, y’all know my style.” He threw up his set.

“Man, your old ass still out here tripping, wheelchair and all,” Lil Bay teased him.

“Please believe it, my nigga. They might’ve put me down”-he dipped under the seat of his wheelchair, and came up holding a small pistol-“but not out, you feel me, dawg? I ain’t tripping though. My nigga Major copped a pad for his people down that way, so we just come through and coast. Me, Mo-Mo, and the nigga Reckless.”

“Reckless? I thought I seen him come through here a time or two. I just thought he was on one.”

“Man, stop that bullshit. My folk is cool,” Bo said, knowing he was telling a bold-faced lie. Though Reckless was barely a day over twenty, he had Major Blood’s temper and bloodlust.

“Shit the way Reckless be on it I doubt if it’ll be a secret for very long. It’s only a matter of time before that fool smokes somebody, much of that sherm as he smoke,” Bay said, taking a swig of his forty ounce.

“Man, the nut don’t fall too far from the tree,” Supersonics cap said. “I don’t know who the fuck is worse, between him and Major.”

“Say, Blood, who that?” sports band asked, nodding toward a dark-skinned young man who was coming across the street. His question was answered when he heard the battle cry.

“Crrrrriiiiiiiipppp!” Criminal bellowed right before he lit the block up.

A SERVICE STATION OFF NORTH HOLL AVENUE

“RUN MUTHAFUCKA grab you shit and duck, I’m from the crew of O.G.s where niggaz don’t give a fuck!” Mad Man sang along with the Dogg Pound song blasting from the stereo. “Man, this niggaz can’t C faded!” He slapped Lil Blue on the arm.

“Man, turn that shit down before you get us pulled over, nigga!” Lil Blue snapped. “These niggaz send us off on this fucking dummy mission and yo ass is having a sing along.”

“Kick back, cuz. You act like it’s something to bust on these ho-ass niggaz.”

“Man, this is some real fuck shit!” Lil Blue said from the passenger seat of the stolen Pontiac. “Them niggaz is gonna get all the glory, while we do the grunt work.”

“Quit bitching, cuz, this shit should be fun,” Mad Man told him, as he surveyed the gas station. A middle-aged man was jiggling the pump inside his ’91 Ford, and a gray Le Sabre was double-parked in front of the station. “Come on, man. Let’s go in here and rip this bitch off so the homeys can get it popping.”

The plan had been for Mad Man and Lil Blue to go around committing petty crimes and leading the police on a chase while Gutter and his team would roll through and put the smash on Reckless and his family. Lil Blue Bird was still upset that they wouldn’t be a part of the murders, but Mad Man didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, stripes were stripes.

“I still don’t like being no damn diversion,” Lil Blue complained, taking the gun from under his seat and jamming it into the pocket of his pullover. Still mumbling under his breath, he followed Mad Man across the gas station.

There wasn’t much going on inside the filling station. A group of young men congregated around the beer cooler, arguing about what kind of malt liquor they were gonna chip in for. Behind the bulletproofed glass a young girl clicked her gum, and chatted away on her cell phone, not really caring about the loitering young men. All she wanted to do was make it through her shift unmolested. From the way the young men were dressed Mad Man knew they were bangers and a wonderful plan formed in his mind.

“Looks like we might get some real action after all, cuz.” Mad Man nudged Lil Blue and nodded at the young men around the cooler. Lil Blue Bird just smiled and continued on to the potato chip rack, while Mad Man moved to get a Pepsi.

“What’s cracking, baby?” Mad Man capped to the attendant, opening the Pepsi before paying for it. He took a deep swig and watched for her reaction.

The girl rolled her eyes and clicked her gum one last time before asking the caller to hold on. “Can I help you?” She glared at Mad Man.

“Yeah, I came in to get some blunts and something to drink, but I’ll settle for your phone number.” Mad Man smiled, at which she just frowned.

“Nigga, please”-she rolled her eyes-“what you need to do is get yo ass from around here with all that blue on.” She motioned toward his blue-on-blue Chucks. The girl tossed two Phillies in the little sliding drawer and punched in a series of keys on the register.

“Bitch, please, my pass is international!” Mad Man snarled. “Yo cuz,” he called to Lil Blue Bird, loud enough for the young men by the cooler to hear. “This bitch sound like shorty that was wit that tampon we rolled on at the drive-through. You remember the bitch who fries you ate!”

“Straight up, cuz.” He picked up on his friend’s train of thought. “Bitch ass rolled through the wrong hood and got caught, you know the rules.” The last insult thrown spurred the young men to approach them.

“Sup, Blood. You know where you at?” said a young man wearing jeans two sizes too big for his slim hips. His fitted cap was cocked deep to the right, and the set of his jaw said trouble.

Lil Blue took up the challenge with his chest poked out. “Nigga, we know where we at. The question should be, do we give a fuck?”

“Y’all don’t start tripping in here. You know I got a half hour left on my shift, so save that shit for then!” the cashier shouted from behind the glass.

“Bitch, shut up,” Mad Man said, tossing his Pepsi against the glass. When he turned around to add his two cents to the mix, he was holding his hammer. “Now tell me where the fuck we at?” Mad Man demanded, pointing it at the man who’d approached Lil Blue Bird.

The young man’s scowl faded and he was once again the little boy his mother would kiss on the forehead before school every morning. “Lime Street,” he mumbled.

“What, nigga? Tell me again?” Mad Man pressed the barrel against his forehead.

The young man who had been sipping the forty looked like he was having a moment, but Blue Bird pushed the notion from his mind by pressing the barrel of the Beretta in his back. “Don’t do it to yourself, homey,” he warned.

“Now,” Mad Man continued, “tell me where we at?”

The kid looked like he would fall out if he didn’t think a sudden movement would’ve gotten him shot. “Lime… Street,” he forced out. “East Lime Street.”

Mad Man grinned at him before slamming the butt of the gun into his head. The kid collapsed into a heap, trying to stop the gush of blood that was spewing from his head. “Fuck you hood, nigga!” Mad Man spat. He hadn’t had to be so brutal, but he wanted to make sure that he left the young man with a clear picture of what he had signed on for choosing a side. One thing Mad Man hated more than an enemy was some that represented the life without fully understanding it.

“I done told you fool about set tripping in here, I’m ’bout to call the police!” the cashier threatened.

Lil Blue Bird spun and let off a shot. The barrier webbed, but didn’t shatter, which was enough to get the cashier to jump beneath the counter. “Bitch, weren’t you told to shut up? Now”-he turned to the young men-“you muthafuckas turn you pockets out,” he said, waving the gun. “The big homey Gunn has passed on and he demands tribute.”

Ten minutes later Mad Man and Lil Blue Bird were hopping back to the Pontiac, laughing like two schoolkids. They had robbed all the young men and the cashier before snatching an armful of cigarettes and fleeing. The police were surely on their way to the crime scene, which was expected. But when they got to the gas station and demanded to see the tape they’d only find out what Mad Man and Lil Blue already knew. The camera hadn’t worked in three months. When they got back to the hood they would break Tia off for her stellar performance, but right then they had more mischief to cause. The chase was on.

THE MOTEL room at the Holland Motor Inn was several steps down from the room at the W Hotel in Manhattan, but it would have to do. Being anywhere within the five boroughs was too risky. Not only did he have to worry about the Crips, but the police were riding on every gang in an attempt to restore order and the Bloods wanted answers as to what had happened to Hawk. New York was on fire and Major Blood had struck the match.

“That shit is all over the news,” Tito said proudly as he watched an Asian woman on the screen recount the shooting that evening in Harlem.

“Anybody reach out about Hawk yet?” Eddie asked.

Tito looked at his cell phone. “Yeah, niggaz been blowing my jack up all night, but I’m looping the calls.”

“Man, they gonna know we was behind that shit,” Eddie told him.

“So?” Major Blood spoke up. “Blood, Hawk was connected, but he ain’t have no real street power in years. Niggaz is gonna be tight for a while, but when we bring down Harlem and start the new unification they’ll get over it. Hell, we’ll be heroes!”

“Or dead men,” Eddie mumbled.

“I’m getting tired of your negative attitude, Eduardo.” Major pointed a finger at him. He was about to start ranking on Eddie again, but his cell phone made him hold the thought. He listened for a while, trying to decipher the caller’s slurred speech, then asked, “Lexi?”

chapter 37

SOUTH LIME AND EAST SAN LUIS

JUST BEING so deep in enemy territory, armed and out for blood, made Gutter think of Lou-Loc. There had been times when he and Lou-Loc would arm up to ride, looking to gain stripes or push a dangerous enemy off the planet. Although the enemies they sought that night were dangerous, it wasn’t stripes that fueled him, it was revenge.

“You good, nephew?” Rahkim asked from the backseat.

“Yeah, man, I’m cool,” Gutter replied, continuing to stare out the window.

“Damn, it’s a bunch of niggaz out here,” Danny said, watching the homeys on the block watch him. The residents of South Lime eyed the strangers suspiciously.

“Shit, all that means is that it’ll be a higher body count,” Jynx told him. “These Lime Street niggaz ain’t ’bout shit, but the boy Reckless is as dangerous as a rattlesnake. If you see him, smoke his ass because he’s damn sure gonna try and smoke you.”

“I can dig it. Let’s just do this and get up out. I ain’t never been to the can in New York and I sure as hell don’t wanna go while I’m out here.”

“Don’t trip, lil cuz. Mad Man and them are gonna have the police tied up for a while so we got a window of time,” Rahkim informed him.

“Ain’t that the house right there?” Jynx pointed at a two-story stucco number. There were two young men standing in front, one of which they recognized as Major Blood’s nephew, Reckless.

“Yeah, there it go. And peep ya boy slipping,” Rahkim said excitedly. “We got the drop on ’em, nephew; all we gotta do is lay ’em down.” No sooner than Rahkim had made the statement there were gunshots in the distance. The element of surprise was gone and Reckless and his partner were now armed and alert to danger.

“Sounds like Tears and them done kicked it off already,” Jynx said.

“Then we might as well claim our fifteen minutes of fame,” Rahkim said, leaning out the window and leveling his gun. “What’s up now, niggaz!”

SONIC’S HAT took one high in the chest, spinning him. Criminal popped him once more in the back of his head, tipping him forward and through the store window. Bay bolted for the street only to have Tears clip him with the car. He was hobbled but still found the strength to keep moving. This is when Blue Bird stepped from the vehicle.

“Come here, muthafucka.” Blue Bird grabbed Bay by the front of his shirt. “Where the fuck you going, huh?” He slapped Bay twice in the face with his gun. When Bay crumpled to the ground Blue Bird shot him twice in the chest and looked around for his next victim.

Sports Band tried to run, but the PCP-charged Criminal was on him. Sweeping Sports Band’s legs, Criminal sent him crashing down on his face. Before Sports Band could fully roll over and plead for his life, Criminal aired him out.

The man in the Raider cap tried to run in the store, but the Korean owner had locked the door at the first signs of trouble. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with a grinning Blue Bird.

“Yeah, what that Hoover like?” Blue Bird demanded, pressing the hot barrel into Supersonics cap’s cheek. His eyes were wild and his movements jerky from the PCP.

“Man, we ain’t got no beef with Hoover.” Raider cap winced against the burning.

“Tough shit, dick head. Next time be more careful of the muthafuckas you let lay in yo hood.” Blue Bird shoved Raider’s cap against the storefront and pulled the trigger. Raider cap’s chest exploded in a nasty spray. Even after he was down, Blue Bird gave him two more for good measure.

Bo tried to use the element of surprise and draw his gun, but Tears was on him. He kicked the wheelchair over viciously, spilling Bo to the ground. “Hold that down, baby. The party is just about to get crunk.”

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Blue Bird walked up. He grabbed Bo by the collar and hoisted him back into the chair. “What up, cuz?”

“Man, you niggaz is tripping, you know who you fucking wit?” Bo jerked away from Blue Bird. He tried to sound tough, but couldn’t keep his voice steady. This wasn’t the first time he’d looked into Blue Bird’s eyes, but he feared it’d be the last.

“Gangsta Bo, you and yo peoples done finally stepped outta line.” Blue Bird patted him on the cheek.

“Blue, what you talking man, y’all the ones who outta bounds right now. You popped off for nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t call laying the homey Gunn nothing.” Tears stepped up. “Yo partner Major violated and now we gotta settle up.”

“What you think we should do wit this nigga?” Blue Bird asked no one in particular, as he rocked Bo’s wheelchair back and forth.

“Say, loc, let’s see how fast he can move this muthafucka.” Criminal kicked the chair.

“So what’s up, Bo, you think you faster than a streetlight?” Blue Bird positioned himself behind the wheelchair and rolled Bo to the curb.

“Come on, Blue, stall me out!” Bo pleaded, trying to stop the chair’s wheels with his hands, nicking his fingers up. Bo tried to climb out of the chair, but Blue Bird kept yanking him back down.

Blue Bird leaned down to whisper into Bo’s ear. “Don’t worry about it, homey. You won’t be alone in hell for too long.” Just as the light was about to turn green Blue Bird shoved Bo into the street.

Bo almost made it clean to the other side before his chair hit a pothole and deposited him onto the street. He looked on in horror as dozens of headlights bore down on him.

“Holy shit.” Tears winced as a Cressida flipped Bo high into the air. He didn’t even have the heart to look as the skidding Lincoln Navigator finished him off.

“Buck up, nigga, it ain’t that bad.” Blue Bird chuckled. “Let’s make it back to the car and hit the block. Don’t make no sense in Gutter and them having all the glory.”

“Man, he said Reckless belonged to him,” Tears reminded Blue Bird of Gutter’s order.

Criminal shrugged. “Then we kill everybody who ain’t Reckless.”

THOUGH RECKLESS and Major Blood were first cousins, they looked nothing alike. Whereas Major was stocky and high yellow, Reckless was rail thin with skin like polished onyx. After Maria’s death, Essie helped her parents to raise the orphaned Major along with her own child. Reckless grew up idolizing Major Blood and his exploits, and when he was old enough Major Blood turned him out to the life. Kill for kill Reckless hadn’t quite reached Major Blood’s status, but he was off to a damn good start, terrorizing the residents of L.A. and pushing his enemies off the map.

“So what’s the word from Major?” Mo-Mo asked, sipping his forty ounce.

Reckless shrugged. “You know my big cousin is on his job. We lost B-High, but he dropped that funky nigga Hawk, so it’s officially on with the homeys.”

“B-High? I thought that nigga was dead?”

“The boy has been laying low on the East, but it looks like the East done laid him low.”

“Church.” Mo-Mo shook his head. “So when we supposed to be hitting New York?”

“Shouldn’t be more than a few days. He’s got some things to tie up before we push out,” Reckless told him.

“Dude, I can’t wait to get out there to the East. They say the money out there is sweeter than anything we’ve ever seen out here. And let’s not even talk about the bitches. I hear damn near every bitch in Harlem got an ass like a horse. They ain’t built like that out here, Blood, huh?”

“A bitch is a bitch to me,” Reckless said, staring at his hands as if he had just discovered them. He loved to get high and analyze things. He had once spent an hour observing a roach he had trapped under a shot glass.

“Blood, that water got you straight tripping.” Mo-Mo laughed. The humorous moment was short-lived when they heard gunshots and screams off in the distance. Before Mo-Mo could say anything, Reckless was as sober as a judge and on his feet, gun at the ready.

“Fuck was that?” Reckless asked, eyes sweeping the block.

“Man, Bay and them niggaz probably tripping,” Mo-Mo said, not bothering to reach for his gun, which was lying next to his chair. Though he was also a killer he didn’t function as well under the influence as Reckless.

“Them dumb-ass niggaz is always making the block hot.” Reckless relaxed, but didn’t put his pistol away. “I’m gonna check that dumb-ass little nigga when I see him later on.”

“Kick back, Blood, you know how it goes in the hood.” Mo-Mo relit the cigarette. He had just lifted the forty back to his lips when the bottle exploded, spraying him with beer and glass.

“What’s up now, niggaz?” Rahkim roared, firing on the two young men. Rahkim was so anxious that he missed both targets, but he blew away damn near the entire wooden porch. Mo-Mo managed to fall off the chair while Reckless dipped behind a large flowerpot and returned fire.

The car came to a catercorner stop, blocking half the street. The homeys filed out of the car and moved to strategic positions from where they could lay Reckless or anyone else who thought to aid them. They were on foreign soil so it was free fire on all aggressors. Ducking and firing, Gutter found cover behind a sturdy oak, and assessed the situation.

Bullets flew with abandon, bringing chaos to the quiet block. It was almost as if Gutter had a front row seat to the premiere of his own movie. Danny was huddled against the car, clutching a shotgun to his chest. Gutter expected to see fear etched across his face, but instead he saw determination. His young protégé spun off the bumper and let a shell rip. Rahkim and Jynx took turns spraying the front of the house in an attempt to kill everyone inside. They had no intentions of taking prisoners. Seeing his homeys in combat stirred the monster in him. The promise of blood would finally be honored.

chapter 38

“WHERE THE fuck these nigga come from?” Mo-Mo shouted to Reckless over the gunfire.

“I don’t know where they came from, but I know where I’m about to send them!” Reckless snarled, firing from behind the flowerpot. He wished his cousin had been there beside him, but Mo-Mo would have to do… or at least he hoped. While Mo-Mo was only fighting for one life, Reckless was fighting for three because his girlfriend and infant son were inside the house.

Frustrated with the seemingly useless defensive stance, Reckless decided to press his enemies. When he saw an opening he darted out and tried to finish Rahkim, which would’ve equated to a dead enemy, had Gutter not shot him first. Reckless stumbled backward and crashed hard onto the porch.

“Nigga caught me,” Reckless gasped as pain rocked the whole left side of his body. He tried to press his free hand over the wound to slow the bleeding, but it didn’t help.

“Make for the pad!” Mo-Mo ducked and squeezed. The first shot shattered a car windshield, but the second struck Jynx in the thigh, spilling him to the concrete. Reckless slipped into the house, stumbling across the threshold.

“They trying to turn tail, nephew, let’s finish these cowards!” Rahkim shouted, advancing on the house.

Gutter’s movements were so swift that his uncle had to do a double take. He had heard stories while he was in prison about how efficient a killer his nephew had become, but seeing it with his own two eyes was like watching The Matrix. Gutter moved with the grace of a dancer, but the skill of a war vet. Dirt flew in the air from where Mo-Mo’s bullets struck, but he always seemed to be a fraction of a second too late to hit his target. Gutter faked left and went right, tossing himself to the dirt-filled front lawn, mashing the Glock’s triggers as he went.

Mo-Mo’s right shoulder exploded, slamming him into the door frame of the house. He was able to keep the grip on his pistol, but couldn’t find the strength to raise his arm. Half falling into the house, Mo-Mo tried to slam the door behind him, but Rahkim was on his heels.

“No, the fuck you don’t. I’ve waited too long for this here.” Rahkim kicked the door in.

People were starting to stir from their houses to see what was going on, but a short blast from Danny’s shotgun sent them scattering. In the distance he could see a group of young men gathering, surely the soldiers of Lime Street rallying to combat the invading Crips.

“Danny-Boy, Jynx!” Gutter shouted to them as he ascended the stairs. “Anybody come down here but ours, kill ’em!” he ordered before following Rahkim into the house.

Danny-Boy dragged Jynx up on the porch and helped him into one of the vacated chairs. His leg was soaked, but his gun arm was as strong as ever. Once Jynx was positioned, Danny dropped to one knee, resting the shotgun on the porch rail and awaited his enemies.

The inside of the house was a mass of chaotic sound when Gutter crossed the threshold. The television was tuned to BET and playing slightly louder than it needed to be. The smoke alarm blared as something left on the stove when the shooting started burned. An attractive Latino woman stood in the doorway of the kitchen chanting something Gutter couldn’t make out, while a child wailed somewhere in the distance. Mo-Mo tried to run across the living room, but Rahkim kicked him roughly in the ass, sending him bouncing off the wooden steps and onto the carpet.

“Man, why you fucking wit us!” Mo-Mo yelled. He was in so much pain that he couldn’t even roll for his pistol, which had slid across the room when he bounced off the steps.

“Cuz y’all fucked wit my family,” Gutter shot back, moving to where Mo-Mo was laid out.

“Blood, Gunn drew first blood!” Mo-Mo tried to explain.

“And we’re gonna draw the last,” Rahkim interrupted. “Now die with some fucking dignity!” There was a thunderous roar, but it hadn’t come from Rahkim’s gun. He looked at his nephew quizzically, as if he’d just realized the seriousness of what they were about to do. There was a neat hole in the center of his forehead that had just started to leak blood down his cheek. Rahkim opened his mouth to say something, but there was only the sound of him hitting the floor face first.

“No!” Gutter howled, rushing to his uncle’s side. Rahkim flapped around on the floor like a wounded fish. The blood had now begun to squirt from his head, soaking into the carpet below, while Gutter looked on in horror. Rahkim’s karma had come back around to collect on the debt. No longer able to see his uncle suffer, he finished him with a heart shot. Rahkim Soladine had taken his last ride.

THE MEN who rushed the house were young… the oldest couldn’t have been more than eighteen. They were armed with sticks, bats, and a variety of small-caliber handguns. They had no idea what was going on inside the Drayton residence but they knew that some Crips had invaded their neighborhood, which was reason enough to rush head-on into danger.

Jynx leaned over in the lawn chair and waited for the first victim to step into view. He wore a hard face, but his eyes weren’t those of a killer. He was just a young man willing to live or die in service to his set, and Jynx was all too willing to treat him to the latter. The boy didn’t even have time to scream as the top of his head came off.

Danny’s heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure everyone on the block could hear it. When Jynx licked off the mob scattered, but they were still advancing on the house. Sweat ran freely down his face, and his palms were so slick that it’s a miracle that the shotgun didn’t jump out of his hands. A chubby cat armed with a hunting rifle came creeping from the yard of the next house. His were the eyes of a killer. “Kill or be killed, baby boy,” he could hear Gutter telling him. Blinking a bead of sweat out of his eye, Danny caught his first body.

HAD IT not been for quick reflexes, Gutter would’ve gotten hit when Reckless darted out from the back room, firing blind as he hit the stairs. He was a man cornered and would fight until his last breath, but that was fine by Gutter. He wanted him to fight before he made his child a bastard. Drawing Big Gunn’s.44 he took off after Reckless.

By the time Gutter made it to the bottom of the stairs, Reckless was just hitting a landing. He fired a shot, hitting his rival high in the back. Reckless staggered forward, but the railing kept him from falling down. Gutter licked a second shot, but Reckless was off down the hall. When Gutter cleared the second-floor landing, he played the wall and peeked around the corner before jetting into the line of fire.

Reckless’s jog had slowed to a shamble, bouncing him from wall to wall like a drunk. The sheet he’d been clutching to his chest to stop the bleeding got tangled with his legs and he fell to one knee. Firing the gun blindly over his shoulder, Reckless staggered into a bedroom. A wicked smile crept across Gutter’s lips as he knew he had his prey cornered.

“Time to die, pussy,” Gutter said, moving toward the bedroom. Playing the wall, he inched along it and peeked inside. Reckless had his back to the door, frantically fumbling with the window, his spent pistol lying on the floor a few feet away.

“This for my family, nigga!” Gutter roared, cutting loose with the.44. The next few moments went in slow motion, but would forever be etched into his mind. The bullet seemed to move like a slow trickle, but its screech was like the wailing of one thousand police sirens. It was then that Reckless turned to meet his end and Gutter felt his soul shift. The thing he’d been clutching to his chest wasn’t for the bleeding at all… it was his son.

“LOOKS LIKE they came out in full force, huh?” Tears joked, weaving the car left to right down Lime Street. There was a knot of people consisting of angry young men and people trying to be nosey forming a wedge in the middle of the street. On the other side he could see someone bucking a shotgun from the porch.

“Then let’s turn this shit into a mass murder,” Blue Bird said, sliding the AR from the backseat. After chambering one of the missilelike bullets, he sat on the driver’s side window and leaned over the top of the car, bracing the AR against the roof. “Hoover!” he bellowed before scattering the crowd with a barrage of missile-sized bullets. The fortunate bounced off the hood of the car, but the unfortunate would have closed casket funerals.

When Danny spotted the car breaking the crowd he immediately moved to fire on it. Had it not been for him recognizing the silhouette of Blue Bird’s enormous head he would’ve hit the car up.

“Hold your fire, lil nigga!” Blue Bird shouted as he climbed out of the car. “Damn, y’all tore shit up out here.” Blue Bird surveyed the damage.

Danny ignored Blue Bird’s comment. “Jynx is hit, man, and Rah is dead.”

“Hell nah, not my fucking folks!” Blue Bird’s face saddened. For a minute it looked like he would fall over, but Tears helped him to right his self.

“Man, we need to wrap this shit up. With all this gunfire and things I doubt if Mad Man and Lil Blue can keep the police outta here but so long,” Tears said.

“Get Jynx to the whip. I’m ’bout to check on Gutter,” Danny said, disappearing into the house before anyone could protest.

HAD IT not been for the wall behind him, Gutter would’ve landed flat on his back. It felt like someone was squeezing his windpipe, only allowing air through in spurts. His body trembled uncontrollably as he whispered, “No,” over and over. All the rage and hate he had carried in his heart when he entered the house drained away and was replaced by great sorrow as he surveyed the damage he’d wrought.

Reckless was slumped against the wall, just below the window. His eyes were vacant and half of his throat was missing from where the.44 slug hit him. On one side of him lay the pistol that had clicked empty and on the other side, still wrapped in the sheet, was his son.

It was at that moment that Gutter realized that he’d gone too far. Totally forgetting all else he rushed to the child. He was screaming his lungs out and splattered with blood, but from what Gutter could tell he hadn’t been hit. Looking at the dead man and his son and thinking of his own impending delivery made him ill. Hugging the child to his chest, he gave thanks that the boy was unharmed.

There was the sound of movement coming from behind him, but by the time Gutter turned around to see what it was he was deafened by the roar of a shotgun. The woman who had been screaming in the kitchen slammed against the bedroom door with Mo-Mo’s abandoned pistol in her upraised hand. She tried to right herself, but a second blast splintered the door and sent her flying into the dresser behind it. Gutter looked up in total shock as Danny came into the bedroom holding the smoking shotgun.

Danny moved over to the woman’s broken body and nudged her with his foot. He looked over at Gutter who was just staring at him in disbelief and simply said, “She was gonna pop you, man. I had to shoot the bitch. Tears and them is outside, cuz. We gotta dip.”

Gutter looked from the monster he’d created to the young life he’d almost snubbed and let out a heavy sigh. When he’d set out, Reckless had been little more than another enemy to be executed, but the child in his arms changed the dynamics of that. By his own hands another black baby would have to grow up without his parents and within the hell of God only knew what kind of foster care system. When Reckless’s child came of age would he be the one to cut Gutter down while he held his own child over a twenty-year debt?

Anwar’s question rang in his head: “Are you killing for vengeance, or is it something deeper than that?” Gutter had killed enough people to avenge just about every homey he’d lost on the set so why was he still killing? Because it was natural to him. Death and rebellion had been the constant in his family… the glue that bound them so to speak. Would this be the legacy he’d pass on to his own seed? No. Gutter’s would not be a child of war.

Cali was his home… his place of birth, but he would be glad when he was away from it. He would go home to his wife, his heart, and work on being a better husband and a good father to his unborn. Once Major Blood was either dead or out of his city, Gutter was handing the set over to Pop Top. He had built an army, but found himself no longer willing to pay the price that came with being a general. Pop Top had long coveted his position and as far as Gutter was concerned he was welcome to it.

He took a moment to wipe as much of the blood from the boy as he could with the sheet before placing him on the bed, propping pillows on either side so he wouldn’t roll off. Gutter whispered soft blessings over him and hoped that the police wouldn’t take too long to get there.

chapter 39

SHARELL SAT on a plastic lawn chair in the backyard, trying to relax, but it wasn’t working. Gutter had surprised her with the dream house they’d always wanted, but the circumstances surrounding her being there are what had her on edge. In all the years she’d known Gutter he’d been gang-related, but he never brought it home to her. His street life was kept in the streets, but they should’ve known it’d only be a matter of time before the two worlds collided.

It had all happened so fast that she hadn’t fully had a chance to process it. She had just known that she and Satin were living their last night when that man had them at gunpoint, but through the grace of God she was able to get to her equalizer. She felt bad about shooting that boy, but he was lucky she didn’t finish his ass for punching her in the face. Her jaw was swollen and bruised, but in time the wound would heal. What troubled her was that two more young men were dead.

Just thinking about Mohammad made her sad. When Sharif had taken him she was sure that Mohammad was dead, but there was hope in Sharif’s eyes. Even if he was still hanging on, the amount of blood Mohammad had lost would’ve surely sealed his fate before they could get him medical attention. She would never forget his act of selflessness and would keep Mohammad in her prayers.

“You okay?” Satin asked, coming out into the backyard, carrying a platter with two teacups and a kettle on it.

“I should be asking you that.” Sharell smiled. “Satin, you should be resting, not trying to mother me; I get enough of that from Gutter.”

“It’s okay.” Satin took the chair next to hers and sat the platter on the ground between them. “I’m just trying to get back into the swing of life. Besides, you’re eating for two.” She reached out and touched Sharell’s stomach.

“I’m not the only one.” Sharell pointed at Satin’s stomach. “Looks like we’ll be fat and ugly together.”

“Yeah,” Satin said weakly, and rubbed her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

Satin shook her head. “I don’t know. When Lou-Loc was killed I felt like my will to live died with him. I wanted to curl up into my mind and never come out, and then I find out about this.” She gestured toward her stomach. “The same man who gave me a reason to die turns around and gives me a reason to live.”

Sharell smiled at her. “Lou-Loc was always trying to help people; even in death he’s proved that.”

Satin lowered her head for a minute. When she looked back up to Sharell there were tears in her eyes. “I miss him so much, Sharell, that it hurts.”

“I know, baby.” She patted her hand. “Lord knows that men like Lou-Loc are a blessing, but at the same time the lifestyles we lead always hold consequences. He lived by the gun and so it was by the gun that he died. We will all miss him, but thanks to your love his legacy will live on.”

“You ladies, okay?” Pop Top stuck his head out the sliding glass doors. He and Hollywood had arrived that morning.

“We’re good, Pop Top, thank you,” Sharell told him.

“A’ight, let me know if you need anything.” He smiled and disappeared back into the house. Gutter had sent him to relieve Anwar and his men from guard duty. The young Prince offered to leave some of his soldiers at the house, but Pop Top assured him that he and Hollywood would be okay without them.

“That one gives me the creeps,” Satin told Sharell, thinking how every time he smiled it reminded her of a crocodile before it yanked some unsuspecting prey under the water.

“Pop Top is kind of crazy, but he’s a loyal soldier. If he wasn’t Gutter wouldn’t have even sent him.”

“Speaking of which, when is he due back?”

Sharell looked at her watch. “Sometime tonight. He, Danny, and his nephew are supposed to be flying back after the funeral but they might have to catch a later flight because something else came up.” She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Gutter a few hours prior when he notified her that Rahkim had been murdered. He didn’t offer any details, but Sharell had an idea of what had happened.

“That man has been through so much, I don’t know how he holds up under it all,” Satin voiced.

“Gutter is a warrior. For as many times as I thought the Lord was going to call him home he’s still with me.”

“That’s love.”

“Not love so much, Satin, as God’s will. For as fucked-up a person as Gutter may seem to be, he’s here for a purpose, this I’m sure of. It’s gonna take some time, but he’ll find his way. We’re gonna see to that because we’re family and family looks out for family, right?”

Satin smiled. “Right.”

“Now, let me go in here and see what we’re gonna have for dinner. If we leave it up to Pop Top or Hollywood we’ll be eating from the cat kitchen.” Sharell got up and went into the house, leaving Satin to contemplate the rest of her new life.

“EVERYTHING A’IGHT?” Hollywood asked Pop Top, who had just come in from checking on the ladies.

“Yeah, they having a tea party or some shit.” He flopped on the couch. “You got any more of that purp on you?”

“You know that, fam. I stopped through five-six before I shot out.” Hollywood produced a White Owl from his pants pocket and a fifty sack. He tossed the cigar to Pop Top and proceeded to break the sticky weed up on a magazine.

“Fuck is up wit you and these White Owls, you don’t smoke Dutches no more?” Pop Top teased him.

“Man, you know the proper way to smoke piff is in a White Owl,” Hollywood informed him. “Say man, when are the rest of the homeys getting here?”

“I don’t know, sometime this afternoon. What, you scared or something?” Pop Top joked.

“Never that, but I thought this was the rally point? Ain’t too much of a rally if it’s just us two.”

“Young Wood, you don’t need no army to win a war. All you need is two or three niggaz down to ride and a few of these.” He held up a chrome pistol. “Now hurry up wit the bud, I’m ready to get high.” Pop Top reclined in the chair, cracking the blunt over a paper bag. There would be a rally in Long Island, but not the kind Hollywood’s bitch ass was expecting.

THAT MORNING was a slow one in Harlem. The normally active streets of Harlem were still and quiet. Between the police and the escalating gang feud, people had made themselves scarce. Bruticus was dead, along with Young Rob and China. C-style was nowhere to be found and Pop Top had disappeared to Long Island. He’d tried to persuade High Side to come along, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. Being that there was no one on the streets they were wide-open for him. At his usual post, on a crate in front of the bodega on 142nd and Lenox, High Side watched the traffic for a potential sale and the ever-present police.

“Young Side, what it is?” Don B. asked, ambling up to the corner. Don B. was a former hustler who had turned rapper-CEO. Back then, before the events in Hood Rat, Still Hood, or Section 8, Big Dawg Entertainment was still a fledgling company with Don B. as its only act. But little did either of them know at the time that Big Dawg would not only grow into a multimillion-dollar label, but it would be in the center of a controversy surrounding several murders.

“Don, what da deal my nigga.” High Side slapped him five. “I’m surprised to see you on the streets of Harlem. I thought you moved to Switzerland or some shit since you a rapper now,” High Side teased him.

Don B. wiped his nose with his thumb. “Switzerland is my summer home, young’n, Harlem is my kingdom. Speaking of niggaz getting ghost, I’m surprised to see you out here.”

“I’m on my grind, fam, you know how I do.”

“I hear that, but the way I hear it Harlem has been having some problems. They say that Gutter is done and it’s about to be a new day.” Don B. said smugly. He had never had much love for Gutter or his blue-clad soldiers.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Don. Harlem is still as strong as ever. But fuck the socializing, what you need?”

Don B. smiled, knowing that he had plucked High Side’s nerves. “I need an ounce of that Barney.”

“Is that right? What’s the matter, them Spanish niggaz up the hill ain’t taking your money no more?” High Side asked.

“Son, my money is universal but my man ain’t around right now, so I gotta settle for the shit y’all slinging.”

“I hear that hot shit, cuz.”

“Watch that cuz shit, High Side. You already know I ride under the five.”

“But yo ass is spending money under the six,” High Side pointed out.

“Whatever, duke. You got what I need or what?”

“We always got that, but you gotta give me few ticks for an ounce, homey,” High Side told him, pulling out his cell to bleep his man.

“Fuck kinda drug dealer is you where the customers gotta wait? Nigga, when I was out here we had it clicking twenty-four seven.”

“Well, you ain’t on the block no more. Lou-Loc and them niggaz ran all the tampons outta Harlem.” High Side said it in a joking manner, but there was a taunting undertone to his voice. Don B. was a Blood, but that wasn’t the reason High Side hated him; he hated Don B. because he’d managed to put the hood behind him and make something of himself. In Don B. he saw two things that he would never become: legitimate and successful.

In a rare show of anger Don B. removed his sunglasses and glared down at High Side. “First of all, little nigga, can’t nobody run me outta nowhere. And second of all, before Lou-Loc and Gutter came on the scene, you and Pop Top was two bum-ass niggaz begging for somebody to give you a pack to pump. Don’t try to play me, son.”

“Times have changed, baby boy, and a nigga all grown up.” High Side flashed his burner.

Don B. wasn’t a sucker, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how cats like High Side were on it. A hating muthafucka didn’t need much of a reason to try and kill you. “I hear you talking, fam. Tell you what, why don’t I come back in about twenty minutes to pick that up.”

“Yeah, why don’t you do that,” High Side said as he watched Don B. walk away. He knew good and well that Don B. wasn’t coming back and he didn’t care. He might’ve passed up five hundred dollars on the sale, but at least he got to chump Don B. He couldn’t wait to tell the homeys.

High Side’s attention was drawn from Don B. when a Black Lincoln rolled to the curb. The Senegalese taxi driver kept his eyes straight ahead while the tinted back window rolled down a bit. High Side was about to go for his gun until he saw the pretty Latino girl’s face in the back. “How do we get to Harlem Hospital?” she asked in deep, yet sultry voice.

He smiled and got off the crate to get a better look at the girl, neglecting to pick up his gun. “Yeah, baby. Just keep going down Lenox and you’ll run right into it.” When High Side raised his arm to point, he saw a swift movement behind the girl. By the time he realized what was about to go down the bullet had passed through his armpit and out his shoulder. Soon the pain would come, but right then the fear and adrenaline made him numb. Spinning on his heels, High Side took off down Lenox Avenue.

“Move, bitch!” Major Blood snarled, crawling over the Spanish girl’s lap and spilling awkwardly to the sidewalk. High Side had a good head start, but he was a wounded animal with a predator on his trail.

High Side could have won the hundred-yard dash for the way he bolted down Lenox. He had made it to 140th before the cigarettes and the damage to his arm kicked in. He went from a full-out sprint to a jog, seeming to get slower every few yards. Normally there was always a police presence uptown, but when he needed them they were nowhere to be found. As he darted out into the street and a car put him in orbit he wished he’d listened to Pop Top and had went to Long Island. By that time his arm had gone completely numb so when he landed on it he didn’t feel much, but when his head bounced off the concrete the world swam.

High Side found himself in a pretty place. The prettiest green buds sprouted from the streetlights, which had become giant Dutch Masters. He was admiring a cognac waterfall, contemplating a drink, when another sharp blow brought him back to the real world. When his vision cleared he found himself staring at what looked like a yellow-skinned devil.

Major Blood yanked High Side to his feet by the front of his shirt. “Y’all should’ve listened when I told you to shut it down.”

High Side swayed like a rag doll in Major Blood’s grasp. “Fuck you, chili bean. Pop Top is gonna smoke your ass for this!” he spat.

Major Blood sneered at him. “How the fuck do you think I knew where to find you?” he lied.

Hearing of his friend’s betrayal gave High Side renewed strength. He thrashed about, trying to shake Major Blood off, and only when he was slapped viciously across the face did he go still again. “I’ll see you in hell!” High Side literally spat at Major Blood. A line of bloody phlegm ran down the side of Major’s face, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“More than likely,” Major admitted, shoving High Side roughly to the ground. On that once quiet morning, on the corner of 140th and Lenox Avenue, Major Blood divorced High Side’s brain from his skull.

LATER THAT afternoon the police responded to a report about a car that had been stripped and left on 96th between West End and Broadway, partially blocking a bus stop. When they opened the trunk they discovered the remains of an immigrant cab driver and a pretty Latino girl. Both wore bullet holes over their eyes.

chapter 40

BY THE time Gutter, Danny, and Tears made it back to Torrance Bit was mid-morning. The normally blue California sky was gray and threatening to storm. There was a line of cars parked in front of the house, while homeys were posted on the porch, all waiting to roll to the ceremony for Big Gunn. Among them was Snake Eyes, who had a worried expression his face.

“What’s good, homey?” Gutter greeted his longtime friend.

“Yo.” Snake Eyes tossed him a folded newspaper. “Y’all fools made the morning news.”

Gutter flipped the paper open and was shocked to see a picture of the bullet-riddled Drayton home on the front page. The two-page write-up told of how an alleged gang member-drug dealer and his girlfriend were executed in their Compton home, in front of their infant son. Initially, the police believed it was a drug deal gone wrong because they found large quantities of cocaine in the basement, but an unnamed source, who was said to have heavy ties in the gang community, claimed it was a revenge killing. The young couple was dead when the police got there, but the boy was taken to a local hospital where he was treated for cuts and bruises, and was now in the custody of social services. Gutter didn’t need to read anymore, because he’d already seen that movie.

“Police are crawling all over the hood,” Snake Eyes continued. “They already rushed the house on Hoover and came by my office on Central. Malika told them that I was away on family business and couldn’t be reached, but she doesn’t think they bought it,” he said, thinking of the conversation with Lou-Loc’s baby sister, who was home on break from college and working in the law office. “Shit is getting real hot, real fast.”

Gutter shook his head, just before tossing the paper into the trash. “Growing up in the hood,” he quoted. If Gutter noticed the look Snake Eyes was giving him he gave no indication of it. “Where’s everybody at?”

“Gutter!” Lil Gunn yelled, running down the porch steps. He threw his arms around his cousin and squeezed. “I knew you wouldn’t let it ride,” he whispered into Gutter’s chest.

“That can’t be that fool-hearted nephew of mine could it?” Rahshida appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a long black dress, which tickled her ankles and a head covering. “The devil is not welcomed into my brother’s house!” she snarled, taking measured steps down the porch. Gutter had seen his aunt angry before, but the fire that burned in her eyes that morning made him take a step back.

“Auntie-” he began, but a vicious slap cut his words off.

“There is nothing you can say to me right now, Kenyatta, that will calm my rage,” she almost hissed. “Eighteen and twenty, Kenyatta, that’s how old they were. Babies with a baby.”

“Auntie, they were enemies,” Gutter whispered.

“Why, because those fools’ ass-rags, or because the street signs say so? Kenyatta, you didn’t just kill enemies last night, you killed children… black children.”

“I didn’t think-” he began but she cut him off again, this time with words.

“Y’all never do, Kenyatta. I’m from the turf too, so I know full well what this war is about, but it’s still bullshit. Since we’ve been in this country you and my fool-ass brothers have forgotten that this is not how we were raised. Life is the most precious of gifts, but you don’t honor it, you abuse and take it. Let a little black girl get killed across the ocean and y’all quiet, but if somebody get killed in the hood and y’all out for blood. Don’t any of you fool-ass boys get it? The war y’all are fighting ain’t ours.” She gestured at everyone assembled.

“Kenyatta”-she touched his face lovingly-“when Gunn is laid to rest, I want you out of California.” Gutter tried to speak, but she raised her hand for silence. “It’s not that you’re not welcomed here, Ken. This is your home and you know that, but the longer you stay the worse it’s gonna get. Y’all killed people while there was a baby in the house. If the Brims don’t kill you, the police sure as hell will!”

“I’m a soldier, Rahshida, you know that. For every one of mine they take, I’ll take three of theirs.” Gutter wasn’t boasting, just stating a fact.

“See, that’s the foolishness I’m talking about. Y’all kill them and they kill y’all, it’s a never-ending cycle. In less than a week I’ve lost both of my brothers and almost my faith, because of this thing going on in the streets and I don’t want that for you, or Tariq.” She draped her arm around Lil Gunn.

“It ain’t, Auntie,” he said.

She tried to smile, but didn’t have the strength. “Go home and be the man my brother raised you to be. Be a good father to your child and a mentor to Tariq. We’re all we have left, Ken, the last surviving members of a once proud clan.”

“Rahshida, the limo is ready to go,” Monifa interrupted. Rahshida hugged her nephews and made her way to the black stretch Escalade. Monifa lingered momentarily, casting cold eyes on Gutter.

“What?” he asked, matching her glare.

“Nothing, I’m just trying to figure out where it all went wrong, Gutter?” she told him. “As I stand here looking into your eyes, the eyes that were always so beautiful to me, I find myself wondering where the life has gone? What happened to the boy I used to love?”

“He grew up to become the man that America hates,” he said. His tone was sharp, but not quite hostile. “I’ve been to the grave and back Monifa and even on the other side we’re still niggers. This world ain’t got a lot of love for me, and I ain’t big on it. Whatever happens happens.”

She shook her head. “That sounds real intelligent for somebody that’s about to be a father. What you trying to say, that it don’t matter if you’re here for your child or not?”

“Girl, you tripping, me blasting on muthafuckas ain’t gonna affect my seed. I’m always gonna be around for mine and can’t nobody change that,” he said proudly.

“I’m sure Reckless said the same thing before y’all killed him,” she pointed out. “You know, when you used to talk about being a Crip, you did so with such a sense of passion that people couldn’t help but to follow you. But as I got older I began to see it for what it was. Gutter, you ain’t no great liberator of the Crip movement, you’re a killer like the rest of them.”

“You got some fucking nerve, coming out here trying to drop jewels on me, Mo, real talk. Yeah, I’m a killer and I accept that. But how many bodies you got under your belt?”

“I’ve never killed anybody, Gutter,” she defended herself.

“Is that right?” He raised an eyebrow. “You sitting here tripping off me blasting muthafuckas, but how many of them pistols have you loaded for me?” She was silent so he continued, “So you see, I ain’t the only one with blood on their hands.” It was a low blow, but she cast the first stone.

“Fuck you, Gutter, I don’t know what I ever saw in you!” she hissed, breaking her promise to herself as the first tears hit her cheeks.

“You saw greatness,” he continued. “You saw a nigga from the ghetto that was determined to make it out of the ghetto, by any means necessary.”

“You’re a fraud, Kenyatta Soladine. You let the set corrupt everything we… you used to stand for.” She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. He leaned in so close that she could see spittle flying as he spoke.

“Everybody wanna blame the set for what I’ve become but what I didn’t realize until last night was that the monster has always lived here.” He pounded his chest. “Long before I smoked my first enemy, I was a fucking abomination… death is a part of me. Mo, it ain’t no secret that I was born into this life, but never forget that this life does not define me!”

She broke away from him and took a step back. As she stared at him that loving fire that used to burn between them dwindled to a smolder. If she hadn’t been convinced before, she knew then that their era had truly come and gone.

“I gotta go, Rah is waiting for me.” Monifa turned to head for the limo, but his voice gave her pause.

“Will you come say goodbye to me at the airport?” For a minute he thought she was going to stop, but it was only a break in her stride. They had already said their goodbyes and Gutter knew it, but he just wanted to be sure before he closed his heart off to her.

FIFTEEN MINUTES later Gutter had reemerged from the house, trading in his sweatshirt and jeans for a beautiful three-piece, charcoal-gray suit. He could’ve rode in the limo with his family, but just then he wasn’t feeling much like family, he was feeling like a wolf and needed to be among his pack.

“If it’s one thing I can say is that you Soladine niggaz clean up pretty nice,” Stacia cracked from the bottom of the porch steps. She was dressed in a tasteful skirt and blazer set, her eyes surprisingly clear.

“I thought you pushed out with the rest of the fam?” Gutter said, hugging her.

“Nah, you know yo peoples is Holy Rollers and I’m trying to smoke a joint before the ceremony. Set it out, I know y’all got that,” she joked.

“Fo sho.” Gutter smiled. For the next few moments Stacia was quiet. He could tell there was something on her mind, but she struggled to find the words. “Sup, Stace?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just thinking about my baby’s daddy and how much I’m gonna miss him,” she admitted.

“Shit, you and everybody else in the hood,” Gutter said.

“But not like I will, Kenyatta,” Stacia told him. In all the years Gutter had known her it was the first time she’d ever called him by his government. “Me and your uncle might’ve fought like cats and dogs, but Big Gunn was my first love. You see this figure”-she ran her hands down her sides. It wasn’t a seductive gesture, more of a visual aid-“I had to love that muthafucka to let him put a baby in me. But that was a long time ago.”

“My uncle was crazy about you too. Remember how mad he used to get whenever you stepped out with your girls?” Gutter recalled. Stacia had been one of the baddest bitches on the set in her day and Gunn was a nut over her.

“Yeah, he was a fool about this.” Her face brightened. “If a nigga even looked at me too hard, Gunn was ready to go to the pistols.”

“I guess it runs in the family,” Gutter joked. Stacia smiled but her face darkened a bit. “What’s really on your mind, Stacia?” he pressed.

“Listen… I’m sorry about what happened to Rahkim. He was a fool, but I still loved him like a brother.”

“Rahkim went out like a warrior,” Gutter said, trying to push the visions of his mercy killing from his head. “It was an honorable death.”

“Honorable? Baby boy, ain’t no honor in getting your shit pushed in,” Stacia told him. “Rahkim was just a shade over thirty, with no kids. The only thing to mark his passing will be the mural somebody paints for him in the hood. I can’t really see the honor in that.”

“Here we go again with this shit.” Gutter sighed.

“Oh, nah, I ain’t wait around to preach to you. Now, I’m sad for that baby having to grow up without his parents, but my baby gotta grow up without one of his. My biggest regret was that it was Reckless y’all killed instead of Major. But I’m sure that problem is gonna work itself out before too long.” She stared at him and he just nodded. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you. Not necessarily for killing them children, but for keeping my child from becoming a murderer. Lord knows if y’all hadn’t rode on them busters, Tariq was gonna get ahold of a gun and do something stupid.”

“Come on, Stacia, you know I ain’t trying to let Lil Gunn get caught up in this shit,” Gutter assured her.

“I know that, Gutter. You think if I didn’t I’d let you take my only child clear across the ocean? Rahshida was down with the game, but her heart wasn’t in it like ours. I know how strong the devil’s call is, so I understand a little better. Gutter, I know who you are and what you represent, but I also know that you’re a good young dude. Tariq needs a strong male figure in his life to save him from what’s waiting behind door number two.” She motioned toward the men gathered at Gutter’s back. “Gutter, my soul died with Gunn and all I got left is my heart.” She pointed at Lil Gunn. “Just promise me you’ll show him a better way.”

“I’ll do my best, Stacia,” he said.

“When it comes to mine, your best ain’t good enough. I need to know that I’m doing the right thing by letting Tariq go back east with you. If I’m sending my son to join your army then I might as well let him stay here and die with me. I need you to give me your word that you won’t let him fall into this hell?”

“On my uncle, Stacia. Lil Gunn ain’t gonna get swept up in this bullshit,” Gutter vowed.

“Then it’s settled. When you fly back to New York his little ass will be on the plane with you. Remember now, Gutter, you promised to take care of my boy.”

“I got you,” he assured her. In less than twenty-four hours he’d been backed into taking two oaths, and still hadn’t come up with a solid plan to deal with Major Blood. Just thinking of the killer who waited for him on the other side of the ocean made him wonder if he’d truly be able to honor his promises.

chapter 41

TITO HAD once considered himself one of the most down Bloods in New York, but in under a year he had crossed two set leaders into being murdered. El Diablo’s death had been business, but Hawk getting off’d was something he hadn’t planned on. A shit storm was sure to come when word got out that Major Blood had assassinated him. Major wasn’t pressed. He was a master strategist with a killer’s mentality with a general who knew the lay of the land and its power structure. Thus Tito became his reluctant right arm.

“T, how long we gonna circle this muthafucka?” Eddie asked from behind the wheel of the car.

“Until he pokes his fucking head out so I can blow it off,” Tito snapped, showing signs of the strain he was under. Major Blood had successfully kicked off a civil war within a war. Not only were they now fighting Harlem Crips, but there was skirmishes breaking out among the Blood sets throughout the five boroughs. With Hawk dead and the governing body seriously crippled, it didn’t take long for things to start falling apart. When the dust finally settled Major Blood planned to rebuild the structure. Gentrification, he called it.

Until that morning everything had been going relatively smooth… but then the phone call had come in. It seemed that someone had rocked his cousin Reckless, cancelling his flight to New York. He and his girlfriend were found shot to death, and their son left an orphan. Tito expected Major to go nuts over the news considering how close he knew the cousins were, but Major Blood didn’t. His eyes took on a glint that neither he nor Eddie could bear to look at directly when he simply said, “It ends,” and started popping cats.

Bruticus was dead, and Pop Top had vanished so the lane was wide-open and Major Blood had taken full advantage. High Side was the first to get it, but he was nowhere near the last. For the better part of the day they had been stealing cars and picking off Crip soldiers. So far they’d shot at or killed at least half a dozen men since and that number promised to triple before it was all said and done.

When Major said he did his homework he wasn’t lying. Not only did he know who the key players in Harlem Crip were, but he was also able to uncover where Gutter got his drugs. The heroin he sold came from the Al Mukalla and touching them was a suicide run, but he got his coke and haze from the Heights. There was a big head Dominican kid named Rico who had been hitting Gutter off for the last year and a half. It was time to bring an end to their partnership.

“There that nigga go right there.” Eddie pointed toward a group of men who were filing out of a Spanish restaurant, with a chick who was slightly familiar. His mark was a slim kid with dark skin who wore his hair in a throwback, curly fade. He was laughing at something one of the young ladies with their group had said. He wouldn’t be smiling in a minute, Tito thought to himself, checking the magazine in the compact machine gun resting on his lap.

“Let me out right here, then go lay in the block until I come around the corner,” Tito ordered before slipping out of the car.

“SO THIS is what it’s come to, mommy?” Rico asked, almost sounding sad.

“Yeah, Rico, I’m done,” she said. “I can’t take this shit no more, so I’m gonna fall back for a while.”

“You and your click have made me a lot of money, ma, especially you. Shit, you flip more weed for me than most of these niggaz do coke.”

“Yeah, it was sweet, but all good things come to an end. I mean, I’m sure the arrangement you have with Gutter is still in good standing, but I ain’t fucking around.”

“Gutter.” He shook his head. “It seems like he’s more focused on war than money these days.”

“You know how it is.” She shrugged. “But listen, I’m about to get up outta here. I’ll drop whatever I got leftover off to you tomorrow. It ain’t but a quarter pound or so.”

“I’ll tell you what, drop the money off and keep the weed. Whatever you do with it is on you,” he told her.

“Thanks.” She hugged him.

“You take care of yourself, baby girl.”

“I’ll try.” She broke the embrace. “Let me get going.” She went to step off the curb but froze. If it’s one thing she had learned during her time on the streets it was how to spot a murderer and the man approaching her was just that. She turned to shout a warning to Rico, but it was too late.

The quiet night burst into colors and screams as Tito cut loose with the machine gun. He showed no mercy as both enemies and civilians fell under the hail of bullets. Rico tried to boat, but found that for as fast as he thought he was there was no outrunning a bullet. His bodyguards tried to draw, but were no match for the skilled killer, and fell along with their boss.

C-style hadn’t even realized she was hit until she tried to run and found that her legs didn’t work correctly. There was a red spot just above her left breast that seemed to expand every time she took a breath. She tried to steady herself against the window of the bodega, but the blood made it too slick and she fell. Her mind told her that she needed to escape, but her heart and body told her that there was none. She knew that karma would come back on her for the life she’d taken, but she hadn’t realized how soon and how viciously. C-style would never get to see the world as she had often dreamt of. She would never finish school, and more important she would never get to be a mother to the life that she had no idea was growing in her belly.

HOLLYWOOD SAT at the kitchen table with Pop Top playing Casino and sipping Rémy. They’d just gotten the word about High Side so there was a grimness in the air. Hollywood had been ready to arm up and go after Major Blood and expected Pop Top to feel the same way, but the stand-in general was surprisingly calm over the death of his best friend. He reasoned that the best way to finally put Major Blood down was to formulate a plan and then execute. Until then they were to keep close to Sharell until Gutter flew back that evening.

“Man, I’m ready to waste this muthafucka,” Hollywood said, laying a card down on the table. “It bad enough that he’s killing off our soldiers and shooting up funerals, but then to murk High Side like that… my dude, we need to make a move.”

“Shit, who you telling? Me and High Side came up on free lunch and now he ain’t here no more. Man, when we finally do pop off, I’m gonna stink this nigga personally.” Pop Top downed his glass and slammed it on the table. Though he might not have appeared to be, he was grieving over the loss of his comrade. He’d warned High Side to stay off the streets until it blew over, but as usual he didn’t listen. Now he was another notch on Major Blood’s belt. He hated sitting around on his hands while his people were gunned down in the street, but it was a necessary evil. Once the balance of power was officially shifted over, Major Blood would answer for his crimes.

Just then the doorbell rang, startling them.

“Who the fuck is that?” Hollywood snatched his gun off the table and got to his feet.

“Calm ya scary ass down. It’s probably the pizza I ordered.” Pop Top laughed at him. “I got tired of Sharell having to cook for us so I decided to give her a break. Since you’re up, go get the door, fool.”

“Fuck you, nigga,” Hollywood said, placing his gun back on the table and heading through the kitchen’s swinging door. As he crossed the living room he noticed Sharell standing at the top of the stairs with a worried expression on her face. “Don’t worry, Sharell, I got it.” He went to the door. When he opened it his mouth dropped open.

“Sup, Wood?” Major Blood greeted him before knocking him out.

chapter 42

THE CEREMONY was held at a small mosque in the South Central section of Los Angeles, not far from the university. Normally the burial ceremony would’ve been performed at the house of the deceased, but with the heat and gunplay surrounding Gunn’s passing it was decided that it would be best to do it at an outside location. Besides that it was doubtful that any of the homes owned by the Soladine family would’ve been large enough to accommodate the mourners.

It seemed like most of Southern California turned out to pay their respects to Big Gunn. There were at least a dozen or more different Crip sets in attendance and even a few Bloods had managed to sneak in. The tension ran high, but nobody was tripping. The wire had already been sent out that violence would not be tolerated. Whatever beefs that were active on the streets had no place there, and those who weren’t willing to respect it would be punished accordingly.

The imam who performed the ceremony was a former Crip who was once called Big Droopy, but now went by the name Jamal Ali. He had spilled his fair share of blood as a protégé of Big Gunn’s in the late seventies and early eighties until Gutter’s father helped him find his way. His voice was just as captivating delivering the Salat Ul Janazah as it had been in battle when riding on his enemies.

The room was divided into two sides; comrades and civilians on one side with family and Muslims on the other. The sons and daughters of Allah stood proudly, arms crossed and facing Mecca, praying along with Jamal Ali. Danny was sitting off to the side, chopping it up with Blue Bird and Tears like they were old friends. Looking at him you’d never even know that he’d been party to a mass murder not even twenty-four hours prior.

From the number of women who showed out to mourn Big Gunn, you’d have thought he was a pimp. A few of them tried to cut Stacia dirty looks, but they knew better than to trip. Whether she and Gunn were together or not, she was still Queen Bitch. Rahshida sat down in the front with the rest of the fam. Lil Gunn tried to keep up his tough image, but a blind man could see that he was hurting. Gutter sat quietly in the back, wearing his murder ones, taking it all in.

“You, a’ight, loc?” Snake Eyes asked, sliding closer to Gutter on the wooden bench.

“I’m good,” Gutter told him. “How you doing?”

“Shit, you know I’m fucked-up behind this. I owed Gunn more than I’d ever be able to repay.” Snake Eyes recalled how many times Gunn had kept his ass out of the fire growing up.

“As much as you’ve done for the Soladines I think it’s safe to call it square.” Gutter chuckled softly. “So what now?”

Snake Eyes looked at his watch. “From here, I’m gonna ride with the family to Riverside to place Gunn’s body in the tomb. Tears is gonna take y’all to the airport. How does Lil Gunn feel about cutting out early?”

“I think he’s cool with it.” Gutter spared a glance at his cousin. “We got a lot to do when we hit New York. There are a lot of things I gotta put in order.”

“You going after Major Blood?”

Gutter was silent for a minute. “I guess.”

“You guess? That don’t sound like the warlord I know. You okay?” Snake Eyes asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Snake, since we were little nappy head niggaz trying to look hard on Crenshaw, all I ever wanted was to be a street legend. I’ve got money, power, and an army of dedicated soldiers, everything I’ve strived for, but with all that’s happened and impending fatherhood I ain’t so sure anymore. Is the price worth the prize?”

“Heavy is the crown,” Snake Eyes remarked.

“You ain’t lying about that, brother, but what am I supposed to do? This nigga done killed my uncle; I can’t just let it ride. He touched my family, Snake.”

“And you touched his,” Snake Eyes reminded him. “Loc, don’t nobody wanna see Major Blood put to sleep worse than me for what he did, but think about what you’d be losing by continuing the feud. My nigga, I watched you go through the motions after Lou-Loc died and again when Gunn was killed. Major Blood took one of yours and you wiped out everybody he had left. What if instead of you killing Major, he kills you, then what? Lil Gunn picks up a strap and tries to avenge your death, starting the cycle all over again.”

“So what you saying, I shouldn’t ride for the set?” Gutter asked defensively.

Snake Eyes laughed at Gutter’s quick mood change. “Nah, I ain’t saying that. You put in more work for the set than any nigga, red or blue, in the last ten years. L.C. is done, as are most of your enemies, what you got left to prove? Man, let the soldiers deal with that, you’ve got more important things to attend to.”

“What could be more important than riding for mine?”

“Living for yours.” Snake Eyes jabbed a finger in Gutter’s chest. “For the last few years you’ve had a cause to die for, but now you’ve got something to live for.”

“Snake, you tripping, this don’t sound like the homey that smoked that pig with me and Lou-Loc,” Gutter accused.

“Because I ain’t that nigga no more, I grew up. I got a big house, a fat bank account, and more pussy than I know what to do with; why the fuck would I wanna keep throwing stones at the pen or the grave? Gutter, ain’t a muthafucka living or dead that can question your gangsta or your love for the nation. All blood debts owed have been settled ten times over, except the most expensive one and that’s to your wife and that baby she’s carrying. You ain’t gonna be no good to either of them if you’re dead or in the can.”

“I don’t know if I can just let go like that, Snake. I got a responsibility to the homeys in New York,” Gutter tried to reason.

Snake Eyes scrunched up his face. “Man, you don’t owe nobody a muthafucking thing. You’ve organized one of the most powerful sets, on either coast, and made all them niggaz hood rich. If they can’t maintain without you, then they was some fucking busters to begin with. I love the homeys, Gutter, but I love you more. I’ve already lost one brother because he waited until the eleventh hour to decide he wanted to get out, and I don’t think I could stand to lose another one. Do something with that second chance you’ve been given.”

“I hear you talking, Snake,” Gutter said, mulling over his friend’s words.

“Do more than hear me, Gutter, listen. Take some of that money I’ve been tucking away for you and do something with it.” Snake Eyes stood. “The ceremony will be over soon, so I’m gonna go attend the fam. Listen to your homey, G,” Snake Eyes said over his shoulder as he made his way down the aisle.

THE DOORS to the mosque opened up and people began to file out, some orderly and some not, but all respectful. The LAPD and OSS were posted up across the street trying to be inconspicuous as they snapped pictures. Some of the most notorious gang members in all of California had come to see Gunn off, and they were anxious to match the faces they knew against their extensive database and log the ones they didn’t into new files. It was for this reason that some of the more unsavory characters chose to just send flowers as opposed to attending.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Jamal Ali stepped from the mosque leading the procession. As opposed to a coffin, Gunn was wrapped from head to toe in white linen. Three men on each side wheeled the gurney that held one of the Crip’s greatest heroes. Rahshida brought up the rear, flanked by Stacia and Monifa. Lil Gunn came out shortly after. His face was as hard as ever, but Gutter could tell from his ashen cheeks that he’d been crying, as was his right. Spotting Gutter approaching the quartet, Monifa turned and went in the other direction.

“Hey, Auntie”-Gutter ignored Monifa’s snub and attended to his aunt-“you cool?” He took her hands in his.

“No, but what can we do? My brother is free now,” she said, trying to keep from crying more than she already had.

“That he is,” Gutter said. “Listen, I’m sorry I can’t go with y’all to the vault.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kenyatta, I know how it is.” She glanced across the street at the police and sheriffs. “They’re minding their manners now because they know disrupting the funeral would turn into a riot, but they’re gonna swoop down soon enough. It’s best you not be here when it happens.”

“I know that’s right. Tears is gonna take us to the airport and then come back to the house to join y’all. You need anything before I leave?”

“No, I’m fine, Kenyatta. All I need is some peace of mind.” She sighed. “Nephew, I’m sorry I was so short with you earlier. I’ve just got a lot on me right now. Two funerals in two days is a little more than I’m prepared to deal with.”

“You sure you don’t need me to stay for Rahkim’s ceremony?”

“No, Ken. I don’t want to chance you getting deeper into this than you already are. If the police don’t already know you’re in the city, they will before long. The last thing we need is for them to start playing connect the dots and yours might be an extended stay,” she told him.

“True.” He tugged at his beard. “Well, you know if you need anything I’m just a plane ride away. When all this dies down me and Lil Gunn might fly back out here to check on y’all.”

“Don’t bother, Ken. After we lay Rahkim to rest I’m gonna have Snake Eyes sell our properties out here and I’m leaving L.A.,” she informed him.

“Auntie, if you’re worried about retaliation I can make sure y’all are protected round-the-clock,” he assured her.

“And live like a prisoner in my own home? No thank you. Besides, I’m not leaving because I’m afraid, I’m leaving because I’m tired. Ever since we came to California death has been a constant companion of the Soladines. I need to put this state and all this ugliness behind me.”

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking about traveling for a while. Maybe visit Algiers for a few months and settle somewhere down south when I come back. I haven’t quite made up my mind yet… maybe even take a look around Arizona.”

“Well, if you need anything from me just let me know.”

Rahshida smiled and touched his face. “Kenyatta, all I need you to do is be here for your family. Change the way you’re living so your wife doesn’t feel the kind of heartache I’m feeling right now, nephew.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” He recalled his conversation with Snake Eyes.

“Then maybe you should try listening.”

“I just might,” he said honestly.

“Well, we’ve got a little bit of a drive ahead of us so I’m gonna go now, but you be safe, Kenyatta, and know that Allah loves you.”

“I know now.” He hugged her.

“Take care of my nephew, Kenyatta, and don’t let it take another death to bring us back together.”

“I got you, Auntie,” he said, trying not to break down himself.

Rahshida wiped her eyes and started in the direction of the limo. Gutter looked over and found Monifa staring at him intently. He started to say something to her, but decided against it. They had said their goodbyes already, so there was nothing more to discuss. That chapter of his life was closed and he needed to focus on the new beginning with his wife and family. After saying farewell to the homeys, Gutter, Danny, and Lil Gunn climbed into Tear’s truck and headed for the airport.

chapter 43

THE SKY was incredibly blue that morning, seemingly more so than Gutter had ever remembered seeing it. At that altitude the clouds appeared solid enough to walk on, but it was an illusion, as was the temporary peace Gutter felt looking at them. He knew that once he touched down it was back to business.

The flight home went far smoother than the one into Long Beach, but that all depends on whom you asked. Danny-Boy sat directly behind Gutter, trying his best to put the moves on a buxom flight attendant. Though she smiled, Gutter could sense her uneasiness. The innocent part of Danny that first drew Gutter to him was gone, replaced by the taint of a killer and whether he knew it or not, he wore it on his sleeve.

During the ride to the airport, up until just before takeoff, Lil Gunn bombarded Gutter with questions about New York City and the game. When the plane took to the skies all questions ceased, and a look of panic came over the young man’s face. Gutter was sitting next to Lil Gunn, who was a nervous wreck. Every time the plane lurched he looked as if he was going to be sick. When the Boeing finally bounced roughly on the airstrip he heard his cousin whisper a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t perished in the air. Had he gripped the armrest any tighter it was sure to come off.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice began over the loudspeaker. “We’re now arriving at JFK. The time is four thirty, with the weather being a warm seventy-three degrees. At this time you may power on cell phones and electronics. Once again, thank you for flying JetBlue.”

“I never thought I’d be so fucking happy to see the ground,” Lil Gunn huffed.

“Buck up, lil cuz. You’ll get used to it after a while,” Gutter told him.

“Man, fuck that. I ain’t never getting on a plane again. The next time we hit the West we’re driving and I don’t care how long it takes,” Lil Gunn declared.

Gutter laughed and powered on his cell. The digital screen alerted him that he had five new voice mails and two text messages. The homeys, no doubt, wondering if he made it back yet. They were going to send a convoy to receive him, but Gutter declined, assuring them that he’d get with them later the following evening to discuss plans to deal with Major Blood. On his first night back, he intended to devote himself to making sure Sharell was good. Before he had a chance to check the messages the phone was vibrating.

“Speak,” Gutter answered.

“Kenyatta?” Sharell asked in a shaky voice.

“What’s good, baby? I just touched down. Is everything okay?” he asked. She was silent for a minute. “Sharell, you there?”

“Yeah… how was your flight?”

“It was a’ight, but I think Lil Gunn might’ve shitted his pants,” Gutter joked, but the laugh she gave him was half hearted. “Sharell, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I was just worried. How’d things go in California?”

“Not good, but I’ll explain it all to you when I get out there. Sharell, I need to talk to you. Some things are about to change, but for the better.”

“I need to talk to you too, baby,” she told him, her voice still wavering a bit.

“Sharell, what’s wrong with you? Is Pop Top still there with you,” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, he’s still here, with Hollywood. How soon do you think you can get here?”

“Me, Danny, and Lil Gunn are about to hop in a cab as soon as we grab our bags,” he told her.

“Baby, you’ve been gone for a while and we need to talk about some things,” she tried to choose her words carefully, but her nerves were affecting her thinking. “I need a few minutes alone with you before you get back to business.”

“Sharell, I know you so I know when something is wrong.”

“Gutter, this thing with these people you’re warring with has me scared, please just come out here, Gutter.”

Gutter? Sharell never called him Gutter. Something was off and though he didn’t know what, he intended to find out. “Okay, baby,” he said in a neutral tone. “I’ll send Danny-Boy and Lil Gunn back to Brooklyn to grab some of our personal items. They can meet us in Long Island afterward.”

“Please hurry, Gutter,” she pleaded before the line went dead.

“What the business is, cuz?” Lil Gunn asked, noticing the grim expression on Gutter’s face.

“I don’t know yet. Yo, Danny”-he turned to face his protégé-“I’m gonna get the Charger from the parking lot and I want you and Gunn to hop in a cab to Harlem. Round up the troops and some straps and meet me in Long Island ASAP!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Danny asked, ready to spill more blood.

“I ain’t sure just yet, but I know something is funny. I gotta go check Sharell.”

“Loc, if you’re about to walk into a situation I’m coming with you,” Danny said.

“I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but if something is popping, we’re gonna need more than just the.40 caliber I got stashed in the car. Just get to me as soon as you can,” Gutter said, unbuckling his seat belt and bull-rushing his way down the aisle.

“YOU DID good, baby girl,” Major Blood sneered. He was standing directly across from Sharell. Satin sat in the chair in front of him with a gun pointed at her head. “In a few hours all this will be over. Play your cards right and you might live through it.”

“You think he’s gonna go for it?” Pop Top asked from the kitchen doorway. He was chomping on a turkey sandwich.

“Oh, he’ll go for it. Even if he does suspect something, he ain’t gonna come in here dumping all crazy with his bitch in the house.” Major Blood nodded at Sharell. “You made the right choice, Top. Better to live as a traitor than to die as a martyr.”

“Pop Top, I always knew you was a scandalous muthafucka, but I never figured you for a rat, cocksucker!” Hollywood barked. He was sitting in a wooden chair near the front door.

Pop Top grinned before slapping Hollywood on his bandaged face. “Shut yo pussy ass up, nigga. Fuck you and fuck Gutter. That nigga got our soldiers dying in the streets over his bullshit. I’m trying to bring the glory back.”

“Glory?” Hollywood snickered through bloody lips. “Nigga, not only are you a fucking turncoat, but you’re delusional too. I might die in this house today, but best believe your ass won’t be too far behind. Gutter is gonna waste you, faggot!”

Pop Top went to swing on Hollywood again, but Major Blood stopped him. “Enough of this bullshit, Pop Top. Gutter will be here soon and we’ve got plans to make. Tito,” Major Blood called to his general who had come to join him after the hit on Rico, “everything set up?”

“Yeah, I got a few nigga spread around the house and a lookout on the corner. As soon as Gutter gets here, we’ll know about it,” Tito informed him.

“Excellent. Eddie”-he turned to his other general-“take all three of these bitches down to the basement”-he motioned toward Satin, Sharell, and Hollywood-“and sit on ’em. Anybody get fly, you know what to do.”

“I got you, Blood,” Eddie said, hurrying to do as he was told.

Major beamed at his perfectly laid plan. “Now, all we gotta do is wait for the guest of honor so we can get the party started. I always fill my contracts.”

GUTTER BURNED up the Long Island Expressway like a man possessed. For the last twenty minutes he had been trying to contact his crew with no results. High Side, Bruticus, C-style, nobody was picking up. He even tried to call Pop Top, only to get the voice mail. He tried to tell himself that he was just being paranoid, but in his heart he knew something was wrong. The next call he placed was to Danny, who confirmed what he’d already suspected, knowing Major Blood and how he operated. Bruticus and C-style were dead and Harlem was in chaos, which only confirmed Gutter’s suspicions that a bad situation had gotten considerably worse. Danny, Gunn, and several more homeys from the set were hot on his heels. They were scheduled to arrive moments after Gutter, but he couldn’t wait for them. He had to get to his wife.

Gutter was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he almost missed his exit. He almost caused an accident as he cut across three lanes and took the ramp at twenty miles above the posted speed limit. The Charger fishtailed; through the grace of Allah he managed to get it under control before wrecking.

The Charger moved almost soundlessly through the Long Island streets, ignoring stop signs and traffic signals. It was a miracle that he didn’t get pulled over en route, but he had made it to the house without incident. As he slowed near the house he saw Pop Top’s Ford in the driveway, along with Sharell’s ruined X5. He was so focused on the house that he didn’t even notice the young man sitting in the Lincoln watching him pass by.

Instead of pulling up in the driveway, Gutter parked on the street. He scanned the house for signs of movement, but didn’t see anything. Checking the clip of his.40 caliber, he slid from the car and moved cautiously up the driveway. Placing his ear to the door he couldn’t hear anything, which was strange. Pop Top was a loudmouth by nature, so the eerie silence unnerved him. When he tried the knob he found the door was unlocked, definitely a bad sign. Sliding a bullet into the chamber he walked into the setup.

chapter 44

EDDIE PACED the basement floor nervously. Through the small window he could see Gutter coming up the driveway with a pistol in his hand. Shit was about to get real ugly, real quick.

“Why the long face?” Hollywood taunted from the chair where he was tied. He craned his neck and saw the bottoms of Gutter’s sneakers. “I see death has come calling.”

“You shut you fucking mouth, crab!” Eddie shouted.

“You know it ain’t too late. All you gotta do is cut us loose and I’ll see to it that you don’t catch the same hell your homeys are about to.”

Eddie looked like he was considering it, then his face went hard again. “I ain’t no fucking traitor.”

“Aren’t you? You know the word is out about Hawk getting killed in Harlem. The UBN might not know off top, but ain’t nothing slow about the big homeys. It’s only gonna be a matter of time before they put two and two together and what do you think is gonna happen then?” Hollywood smiled. The whole time he taunted Eddie, he was working on the phone cord that bound him to the chair.

“Shut up!” Eddie snarled in his face.

“What, you put off by a little truth? Eddie, you and I both know that you’re the low man on the pole, and it’s usually the low man who gets it the worst. Major Blood has got you in a whole world of shit that’s gonna blow up in your damn face. Right now, I’m your only chance. You let us go and Harlem will make sure you get to higher ground before the flood. If not, you might as well put that pistol in your mouth and take the easy way out, pussy, because either way you’re done!”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?!” Eddie lashed out and kicked Hollywood’s chair over, which is what he had hoped. The impact cracked the back of the chair and loosened the phone cord that had been binding his arms.

“Hollywood!” Sharell screamed, drawing Eddie’s attention to her.

“Everybody shut the fuck up!” Eddie clutched his temples. When he turned back to Hollywood he was shocked to see that not only had the man managed to free himself, but was charging in his direction.

Eddie tried to raise his gun, but a swipe of Hollywood’s cast sent it flying across the room. Though Eddie considered himself a tough guy, he couldn’t fight worth a damn. Hollywood delivered a crushing blow to the side of Eddie’s head with the cast, knocking him to the ground.

“I told you that ass was done!” Hollywood snarled, slamming the cast into the side of Eddie’s head. He struck him again and again until Eddie lay motionless, with blood pooling beneath his head.

“Y’all all right?” Hollywood attended the ladies, who Eddie hadn’t bothered to tie up.

“I’m good,” Satin told him. “Sharell?” She turned to her friend, who wore a strange expression on her face.

“Something is wrong!” she gasped. There was a gush of fluid and blood spilling from between Sharell’s legs.

“She’s in labor,” Satin said, trying not to panic. “Shit, shit, shit! We gotta get her to a hospital, but how with those guys in the house?”

“No.” Sharell grabbed Satin by the shirt. “Take the Camry and go for help. Hollywood”-she turned to him-“warn Gutter. Don’t let them kill my baby!” she pleaded.

“I got you, Sharell. Just stay here. I won’t let them kill him,” Hollywood vowed, snatching up Eddie’s gun and heading for the stairs.

GUTTER BURST into the house with his gun drawn, expecting the worst, but it was surprisingly quiet. He made his way from the foyer to the living room, eyes scanning for enemies, but instead he found Pop Top, lounging on the sofa watching videos.

“What it is, homey?” Pop Top asked, not bothering to get up.

“Top, what the fuck is going on? Where is Sharell and why the hell is the door open?” He relaxed a bit seeing a friendly face, but was still alert.

“That nigga Hollywood probably forgot to lock it when he left. Why the fuck you acting so paranoid?” Pop Top asked casually. From the angle Pop Top was sitting at, Gutter couldn’t see the gun in his lap.

“Sharell didn’t sound good when she called me, so I thought something had popped off.”

“Man, you know broads be extra when they’re pregnant and missing their man. Put that damn gun away before you shoot a nigga by accident.”

Gutter still felt like something was wrong, but his friend managed to put his mind at ease enough to tuck the gun into his waistband. He was making his way to the living room when the basement door flew open and Hollywood came spilling out, with Satin on his heels.

“Gutter, it’s a setup!” Hollywood screamed, but Pop Top was already spinning on them with his gun drawn.

POP TOP opened fire with the.45, trying to lay everything in his path. He tried to murder Gutter, but Hollywood ended up taking the initial bullet, giving Gutter a fraction of a second to react. Without even thinking he clapped back with his.40, splitting Pop Top’s wig. With the traitor dead, Gutter turned his attention to Hollywood.

“Wood, talk to me?” Gutter cradled his head in his hands.

“I promised her I wouldn’t let them get you,” he coughed, dribbling blood down his chin. “I promised” were Hollywood’s last words before death claimed him.

“Wood?” Gutter shook him. “Hollywood!” he shouted his comrade’s name over and over, but he was gone. “Not another one,” Gutter whispered.

“Oh, God no,” Satin sobbed, startling Gutter.

“Where’s Sharell?” Gutter snapped.

“She’s in the basement… her water broke.”

“I gotta get to her.” Gutter stood.

“No, there’s more of them in the house!”

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth the window behind Gutter shattered. He looked up and saw three men he didn’t recognize barreling down the stairs. Rolling across the living room, Gutter blasted the first invader, sending him spilling down the stairs. Another man pushed open the kitchen door, and was rewarded with a bullet to the chest, sending him flying back the way he came.

“Get out of here!” he barked at Satin, as he laid another man down. The war was on and he had no intentions on taking prisoners.

GUTTER BACKED up, still firing the automatic pistol. It seemed like for every man he dropped three more took his place. The door suddenly imploded as the enemies, who were now surrounding the house, sprayed it. Among them he could see Major Blood, smiling triumphantly. It was a smile Gutter fully intended to wipe off his face.

Hollywood lay on his back staring vacantly at the ceiling. If it weren’t for the quarter-sized hole in his chest, he could’ve passed for someone who was just thinking. The whole time he had been down with Harlem he had pledged his life to the set and his reward was to die young, leaving a beautiful corpse. The house seemed to be swarming with enemies and he would be overrun unless reinforcements arrived soon.

“Just a few more minutes,” he whispered, tearing into his enemies.

chapter 45

SATIN MADE a mad dash through the kitchen, almost slipping in a puddle of blood left by the man Gutter had killed. The house was covered in it. Some were from the enemy, but most of it was from Hollywood, who had died trying to protect them. The dead man, still clutching his gun, stared at her through vacant eyes, while she fumbled through the kitchen drawer for the car keys.

The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and screams of the dead, but she tried not to focus on it. She felt bad abandoning Sharell, but there wasn’t much she could do for her considering all that was going on. Her best was to go for help and hope that Gutter could hold out until she got back. Even though he was waging a losing war, Gutter refused to give up.

After finding the keys, she broke for the garage door. The entire garage was a hot mess. Faint rays of sunshine dotted the automatic gate from the bullet holes that had almost completely shredded it. Paint and other chemicals were leaking all over the place making it almost impossible to breathe. Clasping her hand over her mouth and nose, she made her way over to Gutter’s Camry, which had also been hit up, and prayed it was still operable. God had been good to her that day because it turned over with no problem.

Outside it sounded like the additional guns had joined the fray. Whether they were friend or foe, she had no way to tell. How many more would have to die? she thought. Not being able to hold it back anymore, Satin finally broke down into tears. She had lost everything, her brother, her sanity, and the love of her life. She was tired of being the victim. It would end once and for all she vowed as she threw the car in reverse.

“COME ON, muthafuckas!” Gutter snarled. He fired two more shots at the advancing soldiers and made a dive for the couch. No sooner than he was airborne, a hail of bullets whistled through the house. He had managed to avoid most of them, but a stray caught him in the leg. Gutter crashed awkwardly to the ground, but still managed to clear the couch. Taking a minute to examine his leg he noted that the bullet seemed to have passed through it cleanly. The bum leg would tip the scales against him, as if the battle wasn’t already lopsided, but it didn’t really matter. Kenyatta Soladine was a man who was used to beating the odds.

Gutter refreshed his clip, but that was the last of his ammo. As he crawled to get a better angle on his attacker, he came across the body of Pop Top, the betrayer. He had trusted him with the life of his family and obviously Pop Top’s greed overrode his morality. Not only had he endangered the life of Gutter’s wife and unborn child, but he’d cost Hollywood his own life. Gutter vowed that Hollywood’s death would not be in vain. Summoning every ounce of strength in his body, he grabbed the bottom of the couch and lifted.

TITO CROUCHED behind a recliner, while motioning for the soldiers to keep at it. Bullets tagged the couch where Gutter was hiding, sending cotton and fabric flying all through the air. He knew if he didn’t get Gutter this time, he was a dead man. Major Blood had been clear on that.

“Fuck this,” Tito said, standing with his shotgun raised. The sound in closed quarters was almost deafening, as he let it go over and over, tearing the living room up. When it finally clicked empty, he motioned for his men to hold their fire.

When the smoke cleared, the room looked like a war zone. Everything that could be destroyed was. The walls, the entertainment system, it was all ruined. The couch was coming apart at the seams. Springs and padding jutted out at every angle. Tito knew there was no way Gutter could’ve survived. Suddenly, the couch Gutter had been using for cover flew in their direction. Tito was so busy trying to avoid the flying furniture that he never even saw the bullet coming.

THE CAMRY sent the garage door flying outward drawing the attention of everyone on the lawn. Bullets immediately rained on the Camry, causing Satin to swerve and hit a fire hydrant when she tried to jump the curb. She tried to gun the car forward, but it was caught on the hydrant. Through horrified eyes she watched several of the gunmen take aim and thought of how she had failed her baby.

“HARLEM!” GUTTER shouted, blazing at his enemies. He spotted Tito trying to get out of the way and paid special attention to him. With a jerk of the trigger, he hit Tito twice in the chest, then burst his head like a rotten tomato. The soldiers were so shocked by seeing their general murdered that they paused, giving Gutter enough time to hurl himself through the window.

The picture windows in the front of the house all exploded in a spray of glass and wood. Gutter hit the ground rolling. His ears were ringing and he was dizzy as hell, but his battle instincts took over. He staggered back, firing at any and everyone that he didn’t recognize. The soldiers returned fire, hitting Gutter once in the gut. He fell back, but managed to roll behind the X5 for cover.

He leaned against the SUV, gasping, and trying to plan his next move. Gutter took a moment to assess how badly hurt he really was. His lungs were on fire and his leg had gone totally numb. Surrounded by enemies and on his own he was surely on his way to sit with Allah. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid to leave his wife and unborn child to fend for themselves. Knowing the curtain call when he heard it, Gutter made to take his last stand.

Just as he was about to roll from his hiding place he heard a car speeding in his direction. He peered from behind the tire and saw his truck come jumping the curb. Two more cars followed it, packed with armed and angry homeys. With Danny-Boy leading the charge the tide was suddenly shifted.

Major’s men tried to stand against them, but the Harlem riders had come for blood and wouldn’t be denied. With automatic weapons of all shapes and sizes, they blasted away at the Bloods. Even Gutter managed to muster up the strength to rejoin the firefight. He and his crew cut down anything moving.

Gutter’s attention was drawn by the sound of screeching tires. He looked over and saw his Camry come flying out of the garage. Satin plowed into a cluster of men while they hit the car up from all angles. She had almost cleared the curb when the car smacked into a fire hydrant. Major Blood abandoned the assault on the Crips and turned his attention to Satin.

Gutter screamed and emptied his clip. Most of the shots went wild, but his last one struck Major Blood in his chest, dropping the would-be killer. Ignoring the pain in his leg, Gutter limped across the street, silently praying that Satin was okay. Thankfully she was badly bruised but alive.

“Baby girl, you hurt?” he asked, examining her.

“I think I’m okay,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “You look like hell though.”

“Shit, I’ve been worse. I was in a coma a few months ago, remember?” he joked. “Stay put, ma, we’re gonna get you and Sharell out of here.”

Gutter looked around and surveyed the carnage. The streets were littered with bodies and damaged property. The police were gonna have a shit fit, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Satin was safe and so was her child. That was the important thing at the moment. Gutter was so weary he wanted to collapse. His body ached almost as bad as when he had come out of the coma. Though he was hurt physically, his fatigue came from inside. He had seen enough death over the past few weeks than any ten men would see in a lifetime. Reflecting on all that had transpired he finally understood why Lou-Loc wanted to get out.

The game they had played since children yielded more losses than gains. From New York to California there would be mothers buying suits to bury their children in. He had played the roles of god and devil, destroying the same world his child would have to live in. Death was not a legacy he wanted to leave behind. Now that all scores were settled he was going to hang the game up like Sharell had always urged him to. Until the day he left the world he would be a Crip, but now he would be a father and husband first.

Gutter’s moment of reflection was broken up when he heard someone shout a warning. He looked over and saw a bloodied Major Blood weakly aiming his pistol. He started to dive for cover, but Major wasn’t aiming at him. He was aiming past him, at Satin.

The whole world moved in slow motion. Satin stared vacantly at Major Blood as he applied pressure to the trigger. The muzzle flashed and the bullets seemed to trickle from it. Without even thinking, Gutter made his move. The first bullet hit him in the arm, tearing through the muscles and snapping the bone. He was falling, but the bullet that entered just above his heart kept him standing. Gutter slid down the side of the Camry, leaving a bloody smear across the window.

“No!” Satin screamed as she watched the bullets tear into Gutter. Forcing her door open Satin crawled from the car to where Gutter was laying. She called his name over and over again, but he just stared at her. Blood oozed from Gutter’s nose and mouth, coating Satin’s hands and the front of her blouse. “Not again,” she whispered.

Gunn looked from his cousin to Major, who was smiling through bloodied teeth. Snatching a piece of broken wood from the wreckage of someone’s fence, Gunn marched over to where Major Blood was laid out. He looked down at the man, expecting him to bitch up, but Major Blood laughed.

“I always fill my contracts,” Major Blood croaked.

“And the Soladines never leave debts unsettled. This is for my daddy, bitch!” Using all his might, Gunn plunged the wood into Major’s chest. Using his foot, he pushed the wood deeper into the murderer of his father, squirting blood on his sneaker. Major twitched and died, still wearing that smug-ass grin.

WITH THE help of one of the homeys, Sharell came staggering from the house. She was bloodied and the contractions were kicking her ass, but she needed to get to her man. The sight before her almost made her break down. Gutter was laying on the ground with blood pouring from several holes in his body.

“No!” Sharell shrieked and made her way over to where Gutter was stretched out, surrounded by homeys. They moved aside and allowed Sharell into the circle.

Satin was kneeling over Gutter, crying uncontrollably. When she noticed Sharell she took her hand and they cried together. Even on the brink of death, Gutter tried to soothe her. He touched Sharell’s face, leaving a bloody print on her cheek. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but all that came out was more blood. Gunn barked for one of the men to get an ambulance, while he knelt beside the ladies and Gutter.

“You gonna be all right, cuz,” Gunn sobbed.

Gutter looked at his cousin and shook his head. He wanted to believe him, but he knew his time was at an end. Gutter had always heard stories about what death was like, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what would happen next.

He could feel the numbness starting in his toes and working its way up through his body. He held on to Sharell’s and Satin’s hands, but he could feel his strength fading. Danny-Boy stood over them with tear-filled eyes, while Gunn was rocking back and forth praying.

“Kenyatta Soladine, you better not die and leave me an unwed mother.” Sharell tried to get him to focus, but his eyes were already starting to glaze over. “Kenyatta? Gutter, stay with me!”

Gutter could hear her speaking, but couldn’t make out the words over the roar of the car’s engine. For a minute he thought it might be an ambulance, but he had never seen an ambulance sitting on twenty-inch rims. Gutter turned his head to see who else had come to say their goodbyes, but found that he couldn’t see through the bright light. When his eyes managed to focus, he found himself staring at the most beautiful electric-blue Cadillac, sitting on gold wires.

“Sup, cuz?” he whispered.

Sharell looked over her shoulder to see who he was talking to, but saw nothing. Satin, on the other hand, had an idea when she smelled the tilled earth.

“Give him my love.” Satin kissed Gutter’s hand, which was getting cold.

Lou-Loc was slumped low in the driver’s seat, wearing a white Los Angeles Dodgers cap. He peered out from behind his sunglasses and smiled at Gutter. No words were needed to convey the message. The madness had finally ended and no one else could hurt him. He was free.