by K'wan
“You must be out ya fucking mind.” He slapped her hand away. “You just as grimy as ya sister was. I slide with you, and I’ll probably wake up with a pistol to my head. Get out my face!”
Marisol sucked her teeth and walked away. She knew she was playing herself by being out there like that, but what choice did she really have? Her boyfriend had lost his position at the firm for drug abuse, then he up and left her to move back with his family. She found herself out on her ass and broke. The fall from diva to dopehead was a short but hard one. She started out snorting with her boo in the high-class circles then ended up stalking a fix on the block like the rest of the fiends. The sick part of her addicted brain told her that the actions of her sister Martina had cast a black shadow over her family.
The downhill spiral began when Lou-Loc was murdered. Though she knew her sister was hurt over the loss of her meal ticket she never thought she would take it to the extremes she did. Martina couldn’t accept the fact that Lou-Loc didn’t want her so she concocted a plan to punish him. Though Marisol and Lou-Loc had never seen eye to eye she still didn’t believe he should’ve been murdered, especially like that. After his death Martina was found dead. The police still had no clues as to exactly what had happened, but Marisol knew. The devil she had served for so long had come back to swallow her. It was just too bad that she had set him on everyone else’s heels in the process.
Marisol wiped the long tear from her cheek that the stroll down memory lane had left her and moved deeper into the trenches to see who else she might be able to offer her services to for a blast.
“YO, YOU twisted that faggot, son!” Danny squealed. “That boy head exploded like boom! Yo, I think a piece of his brain was stuck on the window.”
“Danny, anybody ever tell you that you talk too much?” Gutter asked, lighting the blunt that was hanging from his mouth.
“It’s blue, cuz. I was just trying to give you your props. You pushed son’s wig back. That shit was dope!”
“Let me tell you something.” Gutter turned on him. “Ain’t nothing glorious about murder. Blood don’t wash off, lil nigga. You ever shot somebody?”
“Nah, but I would,” Danny quickly shot back.
“But the point is, you haven’t. You ain’t never seen death up close and personal. Baby boy, you don’t know what kind of demons haunt me everyday of my life. You’re a good soldier, Danny, but don’t be so quick to sell your soul for stripes.” Gutter leaned back in his seat and busied himself looking out the window.
Danny felt kind of foolish being chastised by his mentor. All he was trying to do was give it up to Gutter on his flawless execution of Supreme, but he ended up getting flipped on. Everyone doubted him because he was young, but Danny was eager to prove just how ’bout it he was. When his time came, he would surely step to the plate. Danny dropped Gutter off in front of his building and drove off into the night.
When Gutter got into the duplex, he noticed that the light was still on in the study. He had hoped to come in and wash the gun smoke from his body, then ease into the bed with his lady. Unfortunately, Sharell was still up. He walked into the makeshift office and greeted his lady.
“Sup, boo,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Hey, Ken”-she patted him on the leg-“I left dinner in the oven for you.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said, turning to leave the room.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is blue. How’s Satin?”
“Still the same.” She shrugged. “The nurse said she’s up and down, but no major changes. She’s putting on some weight though. Probably all that medication they’re giving her. My heart really goes out to her. Lord knows I’d probably lose it if something were to ever happen to you.”
“You ain’t gotta worry about that. I ain’t going nowhere,” he assured her.
“That’s easy to say, Ken, but no one can foresee God’s plan.”
“I don’t know about God’s plan, but I know about my plan. I’m gonna be here to be a father to my child and a husband to my lady.”
“Not if you keep running like you do, Ken.”
“Don’t start this shit again, Sharell.” He massaged his temples.
“The truth is the light,” she said, turning her chair around to face him. “You can say what you want, but ain’t no good gonna come from the way you’re living. The devil is always busy, Kenyatta. More often than not he uses troubled souls like you to do his will. The Lord says-”
“Man, miss me with that ‘the Lord says’ shit,” Gutter snapped. “The Lord ain’t said a muthafucking thing when my partner got blasted. His ass was silent as the grave.”
“Kenyatta Soladine, don’t you be in here blaspheming,” she warned. “It was a terrible thing that happened to Lou-Loc. I loved him like family and didn’t nobody cry harder than I did at the funeral. That still doesn’t change the fact that it was the Lord that brought you back to me. I prayed by your bedside everyday and he let you come out of your coma. You should be thankful for that.”
“Oh, I’m thankful, but not to the Lord. He ain’t have shit to do with me getting up out that bed,” Gutter said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He sighed. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’m going to bed,” Gutter turned and walked out of the room.
Sharell felt like crying, but she promised herself she wouldn’t. She and Gutter had the same argument more times than she cared to recount. With each passing day, he seemed to become more and more obsessed with his mission. Sharell knew Gutter was a good man at heart, but she was hardly a fool. Every time she read about a gang-related shooting, she knew just who was behind it.
Gutter had the homeys putting in overtime on the streets of New York. No matter how much blood was spilled, his thirst never seemed to be sated. It had gotten to the point where her friends from church refused to be seen publicly with her. They feared that her man’s reputation would land them in a cross fire. Regardless of his wrongs, she loved him and would stick by him no matter the outcome.
HAWK LEANED against his car, watching while Ruby punished a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Even before he had gotten her phone call, he knew about Supreme’s murder. In the streets, news traveled fast. No one really understood why Ruby was taking his death so hard, but Hawk understood. He was one of the few people that knew about their secret love affair.
“I want him dead!” Ruby said in between sobs. “Gutter has finally crossed the line!”
“Ruby, calm down,” Hawk said in an even tone. “We’re all upset about what happened to Supreme, but drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to bring him back. I need your head to be clear so you can command your troops. Get it together.”
“Fuck that,” she slurred. “This shit is war. Y’all can keep playing with these crab niggaz, but I’m taking it to ’em. He’s going down.”
“What’re you gonna do, march into Harlem and single-handedly take the whole set?” he questioned.
“If I have to. That nigga should’ve been put down a long time ago. Y’all kept playing with it and look what happened. We lost three set leaders and God knows how many soldiers. We gotta do something, Hawk.”
“Something has already been done, Ruby. This problem with Gutter is officially out of our hands. We’ll be getting some outside help from the West.”
“Just what we need, some Cali clowns coming out here trying to tell us what to do.” She guzzled her bottle.
“This clown comes highly recommended,” Hawk said, taking the bottle away from her.
“I don’t even give a fuck no more.” She slumped against the car. “I just want him dead.”
“Soon, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”
IT SEEMED like Gutter had just gone to sleep when he heard his cell ringing on the nightstand. He grumbled something in Arabic under his breath as he reached for the phone. It was four o’clock in the morning and he wondered who the hell could
be calling him from a 310 area code.
“Hello?” he rasped.
“Kenyatta?” the caller asked.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Ken, it’s Rahshida,” the woman replied. Rahshida was his aunt who lived in Watts.
“Auntie, it’s one in the morning out there. Everything okay?” he asked, sitting up.
“Ken, oh God, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
“Rahshida, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Gunn. He’s been shot!”
Gutter almost dropped the phone. As if things couldn’t get any worse. Big Gunn was like the surrogate father for all of the lil homeys on the set back home. It was because of him and his tutelage Gutter and Lou-Loc were able to come up through the ranks. He taught them what banging was really all about. In their eyes Gunn was invincible, now his aunt was on the phone telling him he’d been wounded.
“Kenyatta, are you still there?” Rahshida cried.
“Yeah, I’m here. How is he?”
“Not good. They’re saying he might not make it. Oh, Ken, he was just going to the store and some Swans rolled up on him. They just started-”
“Don’t even say no more over the phone,” he cut her off. “I’m catching the next flight out.” With that, he ended the call.
“EVERYTHING OKAY?” Sharell asked in a sleep-laden voice.
“Yeah, go back to sleep,” he replied, sliding out of bed.
Sharell was about to call out to him, but didn’t. Whatever had stirred her man at this hour had to be of the utmost importance, but he would tell her when he was ready. Sharell tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. The early-morning phone call rattled her, but it was her visit with Satin that was nagging at her.
She was used to the wordless visits, but there was something different about Satin physically that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She had some sick days she needed to use anyhow so she decided to make another trip to see Satin the following day.
AFTER MAKING himself a drink, Gutter stepped out onto his balcony and lit a blunt. The news of his uncle’s shooting was unexpected and ill-timed. There was a full-scale war raging in New York so he couldn’t really afford to dip out, but his family came first. Taking a deep drag off the blunt, he looked out at the water.
It had been more than two years since Gutter had last walked in the California sunshine. He always knew he’d return, but not under these circumstances. Nearly his entire family was Crip’d out, but Big Gunn banged the hardest. Now that he was out of commission, the weight of restoring order would fall on Gutter.
He thought about Sharell and how the situation would affect her. She didn’t really know his family, but she had love for them off the strength of him. When he broke the news of Gunn’s shooting and his trip back home, she was sure to insist on going. It would be a tooth-and-nail fight when he told her no, but it was for the best. Gang life in New York was harsh, but nothing compared to the escalating feud in California. Los Angeles was truly the land of the heartless.
Gunn was an O.G. Touching him was a blatant sign of disrespect and justice would have to be dispatched swiftly to save face. There was no doubt that the homeys were going to loc up and he would be smack-dab in the middle. He had already put Sharell through enough and wouldn’t subject her to that. As the weed numbed his physical, his mind began to make preparations for the events to come.
THE PRIVATE room at the facility was completely dark and quiet. The only sound that could be heard on the floor was the small television that played in the nurse’s station. The duty nurse and one of the orderlies watched a sitcom and drank beer, waiting for the end of their boring shift.
Satin tossed and turned fitfully, but she did not awaken. The unannounced visitor crept silently into her room as he always did. A chain hung from his belt, but made no sound as he moved across the tiled floor. The visitor looked down at the girl’s sleeping form and wondered what she saw when she slept. The visitor reached out to touch her, but withdrew when she stirred. On more than one occasion he thought about intervening, but Satin’s injury wasn’t a physical one. For all of his gifts, there was nothing he could do about a broken heart.
“If only he’d taken the bargain,” the visitor whispered.
The floor nurse thought she heard voices coming from Satin’s room so she went to investigate. Cautiously, she entered Satin’s room sweeping her flashlight back and forth. The room was empty save for the young girl who occupied it.
chapter 5
“WE’VE BEEN waiting here for forty-five minutes,” Eddie complained.
“Shut up, man.” Tito waved him off.
“Eddie’s right,” Miguel added from the backseat. “The flight landed twenty minutes ago, and the guy still hasn’t shown. We don’t even know who we’re looking for.”
“Please believe we’ll know Major when we see him,” Tito assured him. “Y’all just chill.” Tito leaned back and lit a cigarette. He too shared their impatience, but that didn’t change the fact that he had been ordered to pick up their guest. A council had been called to deal with the recent Crip insurgents and the murder of El Diablo, who had been a respected East Coast general. This suited Tito just fine. He wanted everyone who could connect him with the double cross to disappear anyhow.
Cisco had recruited Tito to double-cross El Diablo. He was to make it so the old L.C. leader was found with dirty guns in his car and get sent off to jail. During the set up, things went wrong. El Diablo ended up getting smoked by his crazy-ass sister before the police could get to him. The bonus was that one of their greatest adversaries ended up getting clipped in the process. It seemed like a fair exchange. The only problem was, Cisco got whacked right after and the L.C. was thrown into disarray before he could make good on any of his promises. Instead of the promotion Cisco had assured him of, Tito found himself starving with the rest of the set.
A knock on the rear window startled the trio. They turned as one and saw a man standing beside the car. He was a stocky yellow cat who wore his hair parted into quarters, with four thick braids crowning his face. Dressed in a red leather varsity jacket and construction-colored Timberlands he didn’t look like much, but a smart man knew that you never judge a book by its cover.
“Holy shit!” Miguel gasped.
“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asked, being new to the click.
“Major Blood,” Tito said with a slight edge to his voice.
“Right on the money.” The stranger smirked. “The real Major Blood, homey. Tito”-he glared at the young Latino-“I hear you been out here embarrassing my name?”
Drayton, or Major Blood as he was called, was one of the meanest cats you could ever have the misfortune of going against. He was born and raised in California, in a one-story stucco home off Piru Street. His father was a wayward Mexican, whom he had only met once, and his mother was a home girl, claiming the 900 block Bloods.
Just about everyone in the hood was either a Blood, or a supporter. It was usually what block you lived on that determined which side you chose, if any. Maria had always been attracted to the hard-ass street thugs, so when she and her parents moved to a Blood hood, it seemed only natural that she threw her lot in with them.
Her parents were always warning her against the gangs and the violence that came with their lifestyle, but it was hard to monitor the comings and goings of a wild young girl, and work three jobs between them. Maria’s older sister Essie was reserved and obedient, but Maria was wild. Even when they forbade her to hang with the local gangsters, she would just sneak off every chance she could. This eventually led to her period standing her up, six months after her fifteenth birthday.
Her parents were irate. Her father would’ve beaten her to death had it not been for her mother’s interference. They were disappointed with her, but they didn’t cast her to the streets. Six and a half months later, she gave birth to Drayton.
A girl so young could never fully understand the burdens of parenthood, which is wh
at happened with Maria. She eventually grew tired and frustrated with having her wings clipped at sixteen. She began going off and staying out later and later, putting the baby off on her parents. Her mother eventually had to quit her jobs to stay home with the child.
Drayton grew up watching his mother’s antics as well as the violence and absorbed it. A child’s mind is so very like a sponge in those early years, taking in whatever it comes into contact with. Drayton had the full “red” print on how to bang accordingly, but it wasn’t until he was about five that his life would be defined.
On a rare night, Drayton had accompanied his mother and a group of her friends to a local fair. The only reason she had him along was because her parents had flat-out refused to babysit. Reluctantly, she took her son to the fair, and as it turned out had a pretty nice time. The home boys adored him and were very generous in showering him with popcorn and candy till his stomach hurt. He got on the makeshift rides, while they smoked pot and drank Old English.
As the day wound down the group made to leave the park. On the way out, one of Maria’s people got into it with a group of Hoover Crips over an incident that was at least six months old. The beef was broken up when the sheriffs and their dogs started to bully their way toward the altercation. The two groups parted with violent glares and threats. One young man in particular radiated an especially menacing vibe.
His hazy green eyes looked down on young Drayton and studied him for what felt like an eternity then broke off. A cold chill ran down the child’s back, even as the big man stormed away.
The new excitement, mixed with the weed and drinks, sent everyone into a fit of laughter. The Bloods poked their chests out and traded stories about what they would’ve done if the sheriff hadn’t come. They weren’t worried, because they had “straps” in the car, which was parked right outside the fairgrounds. The group of Crips walked in the other direction, deeper into the fair. Maria held the seat up, and Drayton hopped into the back of the Chevy.
