GANGLAND

by K'wan

  Roc stepped in the center of the room and bowed from the waist. “Gutter, Lou-Loc, I present to you Prince Anwar Bien Mustaf.”

  When Anwar stepped forward and shook their hands Lou-Loc noticed that his were warm, which put him slightly more at ease, but he would still stay on his toes. If the smell he had picked up when they came in was what he thought it was then there was more to the Al Mukalla than even Gutter would believe.

  Anwar was not at all what they had expected. He appeared to be no more that a teenager, but it was his eyes that told a different story. They were the eyes of a warrior.

  “Thank you for coming,” Anwar said politely. “We have to discuss, but first, may I offer you some refreshments. We have soda, juice, liquor or something a bit more exotic if you wish it,” he gave Lou-Loc a knowing glance when he said this. There was definitely more to Anwar then what met the eye.

  “You got any yak?” Gutter asked greedily.

  “Of course I do. And for you my friend?” Anwar looked at Lou-Loc.

  “Yak is fine,” Lou-Loc said. He didn’t like the game Anwar was playing with him.

  Anwar turned to Roc. “Would you mind, brother?”

  “Your will is mine,” Roc said with a bow. “I’ll return shortly.” With that he was gone.

  Anwar motioned for the two men to join him at the conference table so they could begin the negotiation. “Kenyatta,” he said bowing to Gutter, “when Roc told me of your long standing friendship I asked him why he hadn’t brought you to my attention sooner? How could I deny a member of the Soladine family?”

  “You are familiar with my family?” Gutter asked surprised.

  “Indeed I am. Believe it or not, I owe your grandfather a great debt. When I was a young boy, visiting my family in Afghanistan, the Russians invaded my uncle’s village and it was your grandfather and his men that helped my family get out. Your grandfather was a great man. Even though he was not of our lands, he fought for our people. We were all saddened by his passing, as well as your father’s.”

  “Thank you.” Gutter said with a nod. All was silent for a moment. It was as if the men were paying their respects to the fallen soldiers. Roc came in with the drinks, and took up the seat next to Anwar.

  “Now, to the business at hand,” Anwar broke the silence. “What can the Al Mukalla do for you, gentlemen?”

  “Well, it’s like this,” Gutter started, “it ain’t really what you can do for us, but what we can do for each other. You feel me? “Me and my partner,” he said motioning towards Lou-Loc, “we doing big things in Harlem. We got paper coming in, and we holding shit down. Now things are cool uptown, but the shit is twisted everywhere else so we’re trying to expand to downtown and the lower, but with all the rival sets it’s easier said than done. We’re trying to make this happen without spilling a bucket of blood and bringing the police down on everyone’s head in the process.”

  “And this is to mean what to me?” Anwar asked.

  “Hold on Anwar, I’m getting to that. We heard about your little problem out here with the Bloods jacking your customers and fucking up business.”

  “Very true.” Anwar answered honestly. “People are becoming more and more afraid to come out here. We hold sway within the heart of our turf, but we are stretched very thin along our borders. I see you’ve done your homework, Kenyatta.”

  “Thank you, Anwar.”

  “So, how do you and your bunch propose to help us with our problem?”

  “Glad you asked.” Gutter said with a grin. “We propose an alliance of sorts. Let us set up shop on the Al Mukalla borders. We’ll cut you in for 15% of our gross profits in Brooklyn for the first six months, and10% thereafter. In return, you hit us wit the dope at a discount. This way, your customers are guaranteed safe passage, your borders are covered, and we get to expand. Everybody gets paid. How you love that?”

  Anwar paused for a moment to consider what was being laid out before him. “It sounds good Kenyatta, but I do see a flaw in your plan.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Allowing your people to operate in our area will be looked upon as a slight to the Bloods in the area; some might even see it as us taking sides in your little war. We, Al Mukalla, are what you might call separatists. It is not our way to involve ourselves in outsider feuds. It isn’t that we don’t want to help you; it is quite the opposite actually. It’s just that, this color war is not ours. To involve ourselves in this thing of yours, could cause serious problems. If anything negative were to come of this, it would not go over well with my people.”

  For a long while no one spoke. The Al Mukalla’s refusal to aid Harlem in the feud was something Gutter hadn’t counted on. Gutter knew that if he couldn’t sway Anwar, he would be back to square one.

  “I have a suggestion.” Lou-Loc said, surprising everyone in the room.

  “I’m listening.” Anwar said, leaning forward on his elbows.

  “Tell me something,” Lou-Loc started, “if hostile parties were to initiate violence on Al Mukalla turf, and you handled it, would you be in the wrong?”

  Anwar looked at Lou-Loc puzzled. “Technically no, it is common knowledge amongst all the gang leaders in the area, that we will brook no violations of our set, as you call it.”

  “Well, there’s your solution.” Lou-Loc said sitting back in his chair.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Lou-Loc.” Anwar said flatly.

  “Well, let me break it down to you, Anwar. We’ll keep dealing with the problems in Harlem, that isn’t a problem for us. Now in Brooklyn, we’ll do it like this; we’ll handle the new spots, and the threats to the borders. The Al Mukalla will lend additional muscle, when called for. The best part of it is it’ll all be done anonymous if you’d prefer it that way. Other than me and Gutter, none of the homeboys know about this little meeting. If someone were to discover you’re involvement, it would be as if you were just protecting your turf. No harm, no foul, and we all win.”

  Anwar sat for a moment rubbing his bare chin. A smile crossed his face as he turned his attention to Lou-Loc. “Lou-Loc, you are a snake, and a brilliant strategist. You should be with Al Mukalla, my friend. You could’ve easily been a general in our army back home.”

  “Thank you, Anwar, but the Crips are my army.”

  “So, what it is, Anwar,” Gutter interrupted, “do we do business or what?”

  “So eager,” Anwar said smirking. “First thing’s first. We need a binding agreement between us to make this work”

  “Like a contract?” Gutter asked.

  “Not quite. In olden times pacts were sealed in blood.”

  “So, you want us to prick our fingers or something. I ain’t too fond of nothing red, but I ain’t no punk. Let’s do this.” Gutter said eagerly.

  “I had something different in mind, something to ensure our loyalty to each other in this relationship.”

  Lou-Loc had a bad feeling as to where the conversation was going. “What you talking bout, Anwar?”

  Anwar leaned forward and looked Lou-Loc dead in the eye. “A life for a life. You kill someone for us, and we for you.”

  Gutter breathed a little easier. “Shit, is that all? I was more nervous when I thought you wanted me to cut myself. Nigga, I’m always down for that one-eight-seven. Who you want dead?”

  “A local,” Anwar started, “he runs this little group of five percenters out of Bed Stuy. He and his like are becoming a pain in my ass. Because of certain mutual spiritual beliefs and acquaintances, I can’t strike him down directly so I am forced to call on outside help.”

  “Ain’t nothing,” Gutter said confidently, “I’ll dust his ass myself.”

  “Afraid not,” Anwar interjected, “you are also Muslim, and therefore, it would not be wise for you to embark on such a task. And because of our anonymous relationship, the task cannot be trusted to one of your underlings. I do have a candidate in mind though,” Anwar looked at Lou-Loc.

  There it was. Lou-Loc had killed
quite a few people in his life, but that was before. He had no desire to damn himself anymore than he already was. There was some bullshit about to go down, and he knew it.

  “So,” Anwar said, with a devilish smile, “will you do this thing for us?”

  Lou-Loc wanted to tell Anwar to go fuck himself but he knew how much the alliance meant to Gutter and the Crip organization. Still, he knew there was more to it than Anwar was letting on. “Why me?”

  “You are my brother’s brother. If Kenyatta trusts you, then I trust you. Besides, you are one of the most qualified killers I know of.” This statement caught Lou-Loc off guard. “Don’t look so surprised, St. Louis. I am very familiar with your work. To date, you have sixteen bodies to your credit, two of which were police officers. I know you, Lou-Loc.”

  “What the fuck are you writing a book on my life?” Lou-Loc asked defensively.

  “Not at all, I just make it a point to know all potential threats in every city we operate in. I know quite a bit about you, gang lord,” Anwar smirked.

  This made Lou-Loc’s blood run cold. There was only one person who called him that which made his mind go back to the smell. “Anwar…” Lou-Loc began, but Anwar cut him off.

  “No need worry, your secret is safe.” Anwar assured him. “As a matter of fact, I owe you somewhat of a debt. A few years ago, you killed a Blood called Two Shot. This particular Blood murdered a cousin of mine in a convenience store hold up. You saved me the trouble of having him executed. Now back to the business at hand. If you help us on this I will make it worth your while. There’s thirty thousand cash in it for you, and I will owe you a great debt. I have friends in the publishing industry, who owe me favors and I would gladly convince them to take a look at your work.”

  Anwar knew a lot about Lou-Loc, more than he was comfortable with. When their business was concluded he and Anwar were going to have a one on one conversation. “A’ight, I’ll twist this pussy for you.”

  A broad smile crossed Gutter’s and Anwar’s faces. “My friends,” Anwar said raising his glass, “let us toast to success.”

  Lou-Loc toasted with them but he wasn’t happy about the situation he had allowed himself to be roped into. He was trying to avoid shit and Anwar had just taken a dump in his lap.

  CHAPTER 9

  The sun was setting, and evening was approaching as Lou-Loc made his way through the streets of the East Village with the day’s events weighing heavily on him. Lou-Loc wanted to distance himself from the set, but something was always pulling him back. It was his sincere loyalty to the set that was slitting his own throat. Against his better judgment, he’d accepted the contract from the Al Mukalla, and in return, they would eliminate a certain rival gangster. Lou-Loc would fulfill his end of the bargain, and then he was going to step to Anwar. That kid was playing some serious mind games, and Lou-Loc didn’t like it. He valued his privacy, and people invading that, rubbed him the wrong way. Connected or not, he and Anwar were going to have a chit chat. If need be, he could get it too.

  Lou-Loc pushed those thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the business at hand which was finding out what kind of games Martina was playing. After all that he had gone through with her she must’ve been out of her mind to tip out on him. She thought that she was slicker than a pig in shit, but when it was all said and done Lou-Loc would show her how slick he could be.

  Lou-Loc ducked into a small pub off West 4th street. It was an out of the way spot that was in habited by mostly goths and miscreants, so he stuck out like a sore thumb when he entered. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, side stepped through the crowd and took a seat at a corner booth. When Lou-Loc was finally able to flag down one of the leather garbed waitresses, he ordered a rum and coke. After a few moments, the waitress returned with his drink and sat it on the chalky table in front of him. Lou-Loc gave her his winning smile, and instructed her to keep them coming. The waitress smiled and made her way back to the bar area. Lou-Loc sipped his drink and waited.

  About an hour and three drinks later, he spotted who he was waiting for. The man who entered the bar was surprisingly young looking. In fact, he really didn’t look old enough to be in the bar. Strangely enough, no one bothered to stop him or ask to see his ID. It was as if they didn’t even notice him. The young man must’ve felt Lou-Loc watching him because he turned and stared directly at him from across the room. The stranger held Lou-Loc’s gaze for a moment then continued on to the bar, where he exchanged hushed words with the old bartender. The waitress cut off Lou-Loc’s line of vision when she placed another drink on the table and when she moved the young man was standing there glaring at Lou-Loc.

  His skin was dark and smooth against his high cheek bones. With his emerald green eyes, angular chin, and black trench coat, he looked right at home amongst the gothic crowd. Although he appeared to be no more than a high school student, he carried himself like some one of an earlier time. All of his movements were fluid and easy. Lou-Loc didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by the young man’s presence. Without waiting for an invitation, the stranger sat down with his drink and faced, Lou-Loc.

  “What brings you to this part of town, gang lord?” the man asked in a deep voice that didn’t quite match his appearance.

  Lou-Loc swallowed the last of his watered down drink and sized the stranger up. “I’m looking for a friend,” he responded, “and I am no gang lord, goth boy.”

  “Boy?” the young man laughed. “I’m way older than you, fuck you very much.”

  “Nah, fuck you.” Lou-Loc shot back. When the two men noticed some of the people turning in their direction, they both burst out laughing. As the threat of violence passed, the patrons went back to their drinks.

  “Lou-Loc, you are so fucking dramatic,” the young man said with a smile, showing off the whitest teeth Lou-Loc had ever seen.

  “No more than you are Cross, dressed like something out of the Matrix. When are you gonna retire that ratty old duster?”

  “When you hang up your soldier rag, which will probably be never. You might wanna watch how you talk to me before I kick your ass,” he joked.

  “Cross, I could take you on my worst day.”

  “I doubt it, but that cannon you’re hiding under your shirt might help a little.”

  “Very little,” Lou-Loc shrugged.

  “So,” Cross began, “this isn’t your kind of place so I gotta ask what brings you down here to hobnob with the stiffs? You thinking about coming over to our side?”

  Lou-Loc laughed. “Nah, I enjoy the little things like getting drunk and long walks in the sun so I ain’t ready to give that up just yet. Thanks for offering though. But straight up though, I need a favor. I hate to even come down here and ask you after all you’ve done for me already.”

  Cross waved him off. “Go head with that, Lou-Loc. If anything, I owe you!”

  “You don’t owe me nothing, Cross. That time them cats shot me, you came through for the kid.”

  “Man that was just a scratch. That night you found me, I was in a bad way. You could’ve left me out to fry, but you didn’t and even after that you never gave away my secret, not even to Gutter.”

  “You asked me not to say anything, so I didn’t. I don’t get down like that. Besides, who would’ve believed me?”

  “True. But anyway, how can a child of The Gehenna service the General of Harlem Crip?”

  “I need you to do a little detective work, and if it comes down to it, maybe hit something.”

  Cross picked his beer and pretended to sip from the bottle. “That serious, huh?”

  “It might be.” Lou-Loc said leaning forward, as if some one might over hear their conversation. “It’s Martina.”

  “You want me to kill your girl?” Cross asked, sounding a little more excited than Lou-Loc was comfortable with. It was no secret that Cross had never cared for her.

  “Slow down, Cross. I want you to follow her. I think she might be cheating.”

  “I’m sorry to hear tha
t.” Cross said honestly. “So, what’s the plan? I mean, if she is cheating, how do you want to handle it?”

  “Follow her; see where she goes and who she sees. If she’s seeing someone else, kill him. Her, I’ll deal with. You’ll be paid for your services, and you can do what you want with his body. As an added bonus,” Lou-Loc slid a manila envelope across the table, “those two are suited to your refined taste. You’ll get the locations when the job is done.”

  Cross removed the contents of the envelope and his mouth began to water when he saw the picture inside. “So tender,” he mumbled. “Done deal, Lou-Loc. I’ll get on it tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Lou-Loc said standing to leave. “Oh, and Cross, no harm is to come to Martina. Are we clear on that?”

  “Don’t worry, I wont hurt the lady, but I can’t say the same for her little friend. A slight upon you, is a slight upon me and that my friend is unforgivable.”

  With that last comment, Lou-Loc left the bar. He was quite sure that Cross would carry out his wishes to the very letter. Cross was big on repaying debts, especially those in blood.

  *

  Long after Lou-Loc had gone, Cross continued sitting at the table staring at the pictures that had been in the envelope. There was no doubt in his mind that Martina was up to no good because he had seen her creeping with other men on more than one occasion, but it would’ve broken his friend’s heart if he’d told him so he kept quiet. There had been plenty of nights that he wanted to step from the shadows and bleed Martina, but he knew how much Lou-Loc loved her and wouldn’t hurt him like that, no matter how much he hated Martina.

  It went without saying that Cross was going to make whoever Martina was foolish enough to creep with suffer unimaginably before he killed him, and while he was at it he was going to teach Martina’s trifling ass a lesson once and for all. He had promised Lou-Loc that he wouldn’t kill Martina but never said anything about leaving her totally unharmed. Before it was done she would know the error of her ways.