by K'wan
Pop-Top came out of the restroom and spotted Snake Eyes in the doorway of the funeral home speaking with a man he had never seen before. From the way he was dressed in a black leather duster and motorcycle boots Pop-Top knew he wasn’t a part of the set. As he approached Snake Eyes and the man hurriedly finished their conversation and the man walked out.
“Who was that?” Pop-Top asked.
“Nobody for you to stress over, cuz.” Snake Eyes told him and walked back inside.
Pop-Top’s curiosity got the best of him and he stepped out into the cool night air to see if he could get a better look at the man, but there wasn’t a living soul on the streets. It was as if the man had vanished, and with him, whatever secret he and Snake Eyes shared.
*
A little further north in the intensive care unit of Harlem Hospital Gutter was still laid up. To the doctors and everyone else who came to visit him, he seemed to still be in a catatonic state but what they couldn’t see is that his brain was working overtime.
In his mind’s eye he replayed his attempted assassination over and over. He could see himself walking down the street focused on his scratch-off and the shadows begin to close around him. He knew what would come next, but was powerless to stop the slug that tore into his side. Glass rained on him as he collapsed on the floor, clutching his side and praying for it to be done with. For as much as he wanted to just lye on the ground and die, this wasn’t how the story was to play out.
As his body relived his attempted execution his teeth clamped down so hard that he almost punctured the breathing tube. Small fires exploded all over his body as the wounds flared in accordance to how they’d been received. It seemed like it had gone on forever, but slowly the cool darkness was starting to return and take the pain with it. His mind drifted like a blade of grass on a soft spring breeze, as the mental reel in his head reset itself and prepared to play the movie again but this time it wouldn’t play until the end.
Gutter’s eyes snapped open so fast that he lost several lashes to the crust that had been building in the corners of his eyes. His whole body felt like it had been set on fire, but he was too weak to do anything but flap around like a wounded fish. He would have rather suffered a dozen of his violent dreams rather than deal with the pain of being awake. He tried to raise his head, but a powerful hand covered his moth and nose, cutting off his air.
“If you scream, you die, those are the rules,” a distorted voice warned. Gutter’s vision was still blurry, but he could make out the shape of the speaker’s face and a set of menacing green eyes, not the money green of his own, but more like raw jade. “Do you understand?” the speaker pressed, applying more pressure to Gutter’s face. Gutter was finally able to manage a weak nod. “Good,” the speaker said, removing his hand from Gutter’s mouth. “We haven’t much time so be still while I work,” he removed Gutter’s breathing tube.
“Who?” Gutter croaked, just below a whisper. His tongue felt like sand paper and each breath he took threatened to collapse his dry throat.
“When the medication works its way out of your system it’ll come to you, but right now we’ve got business between us. Raising your from this bed settles a debt between and old friend and myself as well as ensuring that the enemies of my brother will die. Lou-Loc is dead and so is Diablo and I think we both know who orchestrated it.”
“Cisco,” Gutter was becoming more alert.
A half smile spread across the speaker’s face. “He didn’t have the nuts to handle his own dirt so he got other people to do it for him, but I trust Cisco’s time is about up.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I’m gonna kill that mutha fucka,” Gutter wheezed, trying to get up. He had made it into a sitting position before he collapsed back on the bed. Fire shot up through his spine and smoldered at the base of his neck.
“You won’t be doing much of anything in the condition you’re in, which is where I come in. Before its all said and done you’re gonna do more killing than you’ll be able to handle, but not before you’re healed. Our enemies will still be there waiting for Crip justice, I’ll see to that. All we have to do is come to an understanding.”
“What’s your deal, man, what you want from me?” Gutter asked, his voice getting some of its bass back.
“Blood,” the speaker said simply. “I want you to rally your army, Gang Lord. Gather up your minions and wash the streets of Harlem in the blood of your enemies. That is the price for your life. Do you think you can handle that?”
“To settle the score for my home boy I’d gladly march into hell.” Gutter said seriously.
“Good, because that’s what you’re about to do.” The speaker laughed, injecting red fluid into Gutter’s I.V. As soon as the liquid hit Gutter’s bloodstream it felt like his veins caught fire.
“Nigga did you poison me?” Gutter grasped at the I.V. but the speaker held him still.
“Nah, but you’ll wish I had when you realize what you just signed up for.” The speaker shook his head and started for the door.
“At least tell me who you are?” Gutter called after him.
He slowed and looked back at Gutter. “I don’t recall what my mother named me, but these days I’m called The Cross.”
CHAPTER 26
The seasons changed and made way for the summer; it was back to business as usual. Cisco was especially feeling himself. After the death of El Diablo, he took over as leader of LC Blood. For the most part his plan had gone off without a hitch, but it still didn’t play out quite like he’d planned it. Cisco had Tito place two guns in El Diablo’s Cadillac that had been used in a series of unsolved murders. The original plan was for the police to find the guns in the vehicle and charge El Diablo with the murders, but Satin snapping and killing the old bastard had changed the outcome. Still, El Diablo was gone and Cisco was now the new king so it was a victory none the less.
With Lou-Loc dead, and Gutter being a vegetable, Harlem Crip was coming apart at the seams. Pop Top found that inheriting the mantle of leadership was one thing, but holding onto it was something else all together. Harlem Crip was now little more than the pack of different sets that it was before the unification, all vying for dominance. It was chaos and Cisco loved it. He figured even if Gutter were to one day wake up from his coma, he would be little more than an invalid hardly capable or restoring the gang to its former glory. LC Blood was once again at the top of the food chain.
Cisco stood on the sidelines of the West 4th basketball court sipping his bottle of water. He liked to come down to West 4th to watch the different kinds of people come and go. At this particular moment, he had an eye on this fine little black nurse, pushing a man in a wheelchair. The man seemed to be in a nod, with his bathrobe and dark sunglasses. He wore a large brimmed hat to shade him from the sun. The nurse was a nice little cinnamon thing with an ass that just called his name.
“Hey, mami.” He said trying to sound cool.
“Hey yourself.” She responded.
“What’s up wit you, ma? It’s a beautiful day and you’re stuck pushing a wheelchair?”
“Yea, it’s a drag, but I gotta pay my bills.”
“Ma, I could pay your bills plus give you multiple orgasms.”
“You must be some kinda big man, huh?” She said seductively.
“I’m the biggest man. The name is Cisco, supreme general of LC Blood.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you. They say you’re that nigga,” She said excitedly
“Nah, I’m that Spic, but what’s the difference?”
“Oh, you all that?”
“And then some. Why don’t you ditch the cripple, and come back to my spot?”
“Sure, I’m wit it,” the man in the wheelchair said, shocking Cisco. Moving swiftly the man in the wheelchair pulled a butcher’s knife from his robe and plunged it into Cisco’s gut. He thrusts the knife in and out of Cisco almost a dozen times before finally letting him fall to the floor. Cisco lay on the floor bleeding, looking up a
t the man in the wheelchair as he stood up. When the man removed his sunglasses Cisco recognized those green eyes. It was Gutter.
Gutter wiped the tears from his eyes and knelt beside Cisco with the bloody knife. “You took my brother’s life, so it is with great pleasure that I snatch yours, you rat fuck,” Gutter plunged the knife into Cisco’s chest, shattering his breastbone and spearing his heart. He continued to put his weight on the knife until Cisco’s life expired.
Gutter left the knife in Cisco’s chest and wiped his hand on the robe, which he peeled off and tossed into the wheel chair. With tears in his eyes he looked to the heavens and spoke to his friend. “All scores are settled, my nigga, and that’s on Harlem.”
Sharell moved beside him and looped her arm around Gutter’s waist. “It’s over now, baby.”
Gutter looked at his lady lovingly and kissed her softly on the lips. “Nah, this ain’t over. I’m just getting started.”
EPILOGUE
It was 9pm when Martina walked into her apartment with her newborn son. The kids were with her sister, so it was just her and the baby. She put the baby in the basinet, and stripped down to her panties and bra. It had been a few months since Lou-Loc was murdered, but she still thought of him. If only she hadn’t called him that day, he might still be alive. Though he may have lived there was no doubt in her mind that he would still be with Martina. Lou-Loc loved her in a way that he would never love Martina and that was obvious to everyone. For as sad as Martina was at how it played out, at least she was ten grand richer for it.
Within minutes the baby was asleep so she decided to take a quick shower. Grabbing a towel she headed into the bathroom and set the water. The hot water spraying from the custom showerhead felt like heaven compared to the lukewarm drip from the shower in her hospital room. She stepped out of the shower and wiped the mirror with her hand to admire the body she hadn’t seen in nine months. After she had given birth the baby weight seemed to shed instantly and she was ready to get back to the game. She would miss Lou-Loc dearly, but a ghost couldn’t pay her bills so she needed to find herself another sponsor.
As she was checking her reflection she saw something move behind her. Martina spun and strained her eyes trying to peer through the steam. “Whose there?”
“Death has come to pay a call on you,” a familiar voice spoke from the steam.
Martina found herself staring into a pair of sinister green eyes through the steam. The eyes moved towards her and a face she thought she would never see again materialized in front of her. “Gutter,” she gasped.
“What’s the matter, ain’t you happy to see me?” Gutter taunted her, stalking forward.
Terrified, Martina stumbled backward and had to brace herself on the sink to keep from falling. “This can’t be. They told me you were dead.”
“And they told me you loved my brother, but I guess the fact that we’re standing here like this proves you can’t believe everything you hear, huh?” Gutter raised his pistol.
“Please don’t,” Martina whimpered.
“Any sympathy I might’ve had for yo tramp ass died with my homie, bitch. When you meet up with Cisco in hell tell him he forgot these,” Gutter shot Martina twice in the face. He didn’t even wait for the body to hit the floor before he left the bathroom.
In the next room Cross was standing over the basinet tickling Martina’s baby and smiling. “Is it done?” he asked Gutter without bothering to look up from the baby.
“Yeah, that bitch is dead as a doornail.” Gutter came to stand beside Cross.
“You did what you had to do gang lord. Her death was a necessary one just as it will be with the others. Blood is the price for the gift I have given you, always remember that.”
“Don’t worry Cross, you’re gonna be swimming in more blood than you know what to do with once me and my people touch them streets.”
“So what are you gonna do about the kid?” Cross nodded towards the baby.
Gutter stared into the basinet. Instead of seeing an innocent child all he saw was Martina and the hate he would carry for her for the rest of his days. “Fuck that lil nigga. I got Brims to murder.” Gutter said and left the apartment.
It was three days before Martina’s sister found her corpse in the bathroom. The stench of the rotting form was so putrid that the first officer on the scene lost his lunch. The only clues to what had taken place were, a bloody cross smeared on the wall, and an empty basinet.
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