by K'wan
The next few seconds would be embedded in his mind until the end of his days. He could remember his mother, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, laughing at a joke someone told. Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion. Those same eyes he had seen at the fair were approaching from the rear. His bulky form was hunched over and moving swiftly. It was just like the army movies he had watched with his grandfather, he recalled. Everyone in the group was smiling, but the man wore a mask of pure hatred.
The tipsy group noticed him just as he was pulling a long revolver from beneath his blue sweatshirt. Bottles fell from hands and joints were abandoned as everyone tried to find cover. Drayton saw the man’s lips moving, but he couldn’t make out all the words. The two he did catch would be his newfound purpose in life. “Hoover, nigga!” the man shouted. Then came the blood.
The revolver barked over and over, trying to touch everyone assembled. Some made it under cover, while others weren’t so lucky. Maria fell in the latter. Her face had gone from a smile to a mask of terror. She was halfway in the car when the bullet exited her heart, and struck the seat right next to Drayton. Blood stained his face and clothes, but he didn’t seem to notice. All he saw was his mother’s cold, dead eyes.
The police rushed to the scene, but as usual, the shooter had already vanished. There were several injuries throughout the group, but only one fatality. At the funeral, his father showed up to pay his respects, but if he had knowledge that he had sired Drayton, he didn’t show it. The lean mirror double of him looked the boy over once and disappeared. That was the last time they ever saw each other. Drayton would spend more than enough time in and out of foster care, while his grandparents fought the system for him. When they finally did get him home permanently, the seeds had already been planted.
Drayton began his career early and quickly excelled at it. He had been around gang-banging since infancy, so it was a part of who he was. He tried his hands at drugs and a few other hustles, but found that his real strength was in murder. Drayton didn’t have the patience to stand around and sling stones. He wanted his money long and fast, and that didn’t seem quick enough for him. Drayton capitalized on the one thing he had carried with him since early. Hate.
Murder came easy to him. It was a gift of sorts. Drayton would find new and innovative ways to kill his victims. Whatever his methods, they were always very bloody. As his calling card, he would leave the bloody clothes of his victims on the doorsteps of their families or crews. This is what got him the nickname Major Blood.
The thirty-something-year-old had been putting in work since he was old enough to get “quoted,” a real live career banger. He was an iron-willed killer with a pack of wild young dawgz that wanted to be just like him, the most promising student being Young Reckless, his aunt Essie’s only child. Just as Major had been poisoned, he passed it off to his little cousin. After a while he got his kicks from just kicking back and watching Reckless smash shit. It was around that time that Tito had adopted the nickname Lil Major Blood. It was a name that until recently he had held down with valor.
“One of you niggaz get my shit,” Major said, walking around to the passenger’s side. He stood on the curb waiting for Eddie to get out, but Eddie just stared defiantly. “You gonna move or what?”
“What for? There’s room in the back,” Eddie pointed out.
“See, I can already tell you New York niggaz got the game twisted.” Major Blood smirked. “Where’s the respect for seniority?”
“Blood, I don’t even know you. These niggaz say you supposed to be official, but what kinda credentials you come with?”
“Okay, tell you what”-Major’s arm shot out in midsentence. He snapped his elbow and caught Eddie in the nose with the back of his hand. Eddie’s head bounced off the headrest and his hands covered his face.
Major snatched the door open, and pulled Eddie out. “Get yo ass out.” He shoved him and Eddie slunk out of the car and climbed into the backseat. Without being asked, Miguel got Major Blood’s bag. Major pushed the passenger seat back to where it would be on Eddie’s knees and relaxed. He stuck his hand down into his underwear and pulled out an ounce of sticky green. Without looking, he tossed it into the backseat.
“Roll that,” he ordered. “Tito, drive this muthafucka before I catch a case.”
INOP ON Seventh Avenue was as crowded as usual. It was only eleven thirty, but people filled the booths as well as stood in line trying to fill their bellies and seeing who was out. The wait time was twenty minutes, but Gutter and his crew were seated as soon as they entered. Hollywood was fucking the hostess. The men climbed into the booth and placed their orders. When the waitress had gone, they got down to business.
“That’s some heavy shit, cuz,” Hollywood said from the corner. “How bad is he hit up?”
“I don’t know yet.” Gutter tugged at his beard. He had run a comb through it before hitting the streets, but it still made him look like a wild-ass mountaineer. “My aunt just told me that some Brims dumped on him. Shit!”
“Man, Gunn is a stand-up dude. That was some bold shit them busters pulled, but they gonna catch it. I’m rolling wit you, cuz,” Pop Top declared.
“Nah.” Gutter shut him down. “I ain’t going to war; I’m going to see my fam. When I get the story, this shit is gonna get handled. In the meantime we keep up the effort over here. They call themselves Bloods, so make ’em bleed!”
“You know I got you faded all day, my nigga,” Pop Top assured him.
“True indeed.” Gutter nodded. “Now, y’all know them niggaz is gonna be out for blood behind what happened with Supreme so move smart about it and be on constant alert. No cowboy shit, just tactical hits. If these muthafuckas even look like they wanna frog up, put the love on ’em.” Gutter crumbled his napkin for emphasis.
“You know we gonna keep it funky out here while you’re gone,” Danny assured him.
“You’re coming with me,” Gutter announced to everyone’s surprise, including Danny. “We about to step off into some heavy shit and I don’t know who I can still trust out there other than my family and Snake Eyes.”
“Aw shit, I might even get a chance to put it on one of them West Coast niggaz,” Danny joked.
Gutter looked at him seriously. “Danny, this ain’t no game. We about to step into a war-torn city, where these little niggaz ain’t got a problem caving your fucking melon in just for the stripes.”
Danny sucked his teeth.
“You better listen to what the homey is telling you. Think about it like a trip to the Holy Land, nigga,” Pop Top added.
“If my uncle dies you’re likely to see more gunplay than you’re ready for,” Gutter said seriously.
chapter 6
HAWK STEPPED into the lobby of the W Hotel and gave a casual glance around. He had been to a few of their hotels and compared to the rest, the Lexington Avenue location didn’t measure up. Still, he wasn’t a guest, he was only there to handle business so he wouldn’t have to endure it long. With him were Tito from L.C., and Hawk’s guard dogs, Red and Shotta. The two men looked like day and night, with one being tall and slightly chubby, while the other was almost pitch-black and sported long dreads. For as odd a pair as they appeared to be, they were both very handy with the steel.
Hawk was a man of high standing in most underworld circles so it was rare that he ever had to unleash the two, but when they killed they did it well. That was before Gutter. With the way he had things popping in New York, Shotta and Red found themselves with their hands full. Gutter didn’t discriminate against rank when it came to taking out his enemies, which Hawk had a feeling was part of the reason he was down at the W that afternoon. A very important, and very dangerous, associate of his gang was visiting New York City and that meant trouble for anything blue.
As soon as he got the word that Major Blood would be visiting the city he knew something major was about to go down. His instructions were to act as a liaison while Major Blood was in the city, but he hadn
’t been told what the mission was. Adjusting the bulge under his butter-soft, red leather jacket, Hawk led the way into the elevator.
They got off on the sixth floor and filed down the carpeted hallway. Even if they didn’t know what room Major was in, the unmistakable sounds of N.W.A. would’ve led the way. Hawk motioned for Shotta and Red to hang in the hall while he knocked on the door. The music dropped to a respectable level, and he could hear people shuffling around in the room. When the door opened a thick cloud of marijuana smoke floated into the hall.
The girl who opened the door was a shapely Puerto Rican. Her thick thighs pressed against her light blue Lady Encyes. She took her colorful fingers and brushed a strand of feathered blond hair from her face as she looked them over. Without waiting to be invited in, Hawk stepped into the hotel living room. Sitting across the room was Major Blood.
Major was sitting on the floor with his back against the love seat and his head resting on the inner thigh of a big-breasted girl, with heresy skin. She was pulling a comb through his long silky hair, finishing up the last two braids. Major Blood looked up at Hawk with lazy eyes, smoke billowing from his mouth to his nose in two tiny jets. Resting against the crease of his tan Dickies was a chrome 9.
“My nigga, Hawk,” Major greeted him, his face smiling but his tone flat. “I know you ain’t bring ya goons with you to see lil old me? We Blood, homey, I ain’t no threat to you.”
“Nah, it ain’t like that. We got some other business to handle when we leave here, but I ain’t want them in here while we talked,” Hawk lied, hoping Major Blood didn’t see through it. “Welcome to New York, Blood.” Hawk pounded his fist. “Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the airport, but I’m sure you’ve been making out okay.”
“I’ve been keeping myself occupied.” Major patted the chocolate girl’s thigh. “Ladies, go in the back for a sec. I gotta talk to my dawg.” The girls went into the sleeping area, closing the door behind them and turning up the television. “Now, down to business; I hear you niggaz got a crab infestation you can’t handle?”
“That’s not totally accurate,” Hawk said, pulling up a wooden chair. “We’ve just been having some difficulties with a pocket of Crips in Harlem.”
“I don’t call getting most of your team greased, difficulties. Word is, Harlem dusted damn near all of L.C. and is making short work of the rest of you muthafuckas too. That sounds like a problem to me, hommes.”
“With all due respect, Major, you ain’t from out here, so you really don’t know what’s up.”
“Well”-Major sat upright-“with all due respect, Hawk, my O.G.s say y’all losing face out here and they ain’t feeling that.” Major Blood got to his feet and walked over to where Hawk was sitting. “Don’t trip, man.” He draped his arms around Hawk, causing him to tense up. “The old heads know you get down, Hawk, so you’re good money, baby. Now, it’s these little bastards y’all got flagging that’s becoming a problem. No disrespect, but you guys are looking like a bunch of pussies to the niggaz back home, repping this.” He tugged at the red belt that was looped through his Dickies.
Hawk got up out of the chair and positioned himself so that his back was to the wall. “What do you want me to say? Niggaz die every day, all over the world. Sometimes we get one up on them, some times they get one up on us. That’s how this shit has always gone. Gang-banging ain’t gonna change, fam,” Hawk defended.
Major Blood stared at Hawk long enough to make him uncomfortable before responding. “See, that’s the kind of half-ass thinking that’s got your monkey-asses in a sling now. Hawk”-Major took the seat Hawk had just vacated-“you of all people know this shit y’all putting down ain’t what we come from. I mean, we all criminal muthafuckas at the end of the day, but there was a time where the people who lived in our neighborhoods were off-limits. We didn’t prey on our own, we protected them and smashed on the rest. We made long paper and made sure that niggaz knew they couldn’t come through our hoods tripping. Fuck is New York promoting? Purse snatching and cutting civilians for stripes? Them fruits don’t come off no tree that I know of. Show me one muthafucka other than you and maybe Tito that’s banging accordingly.”
Hawk was usually the one giving the homeys lectures on Blood etiquette, so Major flipping the script had him tight, but he held his composure as best he could. “Man, we’re working with what we got in New York City, Blood. This ain’t California so the same rules don’t apply. It ain’t a problem with Crips; it’s a problem with Harlem. Gutter is on some bullshit.”
“And that’s just why I’m here,” Major Blood rocked the wooden chair back on two legs. “My orders are real simple, homey: Harlem Crip is getting shut down. I need any information you got on them fools. Sets… numbers… the works. I’ll take care of the rest, you think you can handle that?”
“I’ll have somebody get it to you,” Hawk assured him.
“I need anything you got on Diablo’s murderer too.”
“His sister killed him, Blood,” Tito spoke up for the first time.
“I don’t give a fuck who killed him. He was one of ours. Fuck is it when our generals can get they shit pushed and nobody do nothing? On everything, I always fill my contracts. As far as I’m concerned she’s a Judas and wasn’t fit to share the same womb as a down-ass damu like Diablo. That bitch is going to sleep, Blood.”
Tito cringed at the ice in Major Blood’s voice. He could understand bringing it to Gutter and his lot, but why bother with Satin? She had lost her sanity as a result of the shooting and surely couldn’t be a threat to anyone but herself. Tito would stand with his people when it came time to ride on Gutter, but he would have no part in Satin’s execution.
SHARELL THUMBED through her outfits trying to pick something comfortable to wear for her trip to see Satin. She could still fit into some of her stuff, but the babyweight limited her choices.
She was still a bit upset at Gutter for planning to fly out without her, but she understood where he was coming from. A respected member of the Hoover Crips had been shot and the shit was definitely going to hit the fan. Gutter had no way to tell exactly what the situation was and he didn’t want Sharell to get caught up if things went sour. Still, she didn’t know how she felt about Gutter running off into God only knew what.
Gutter had always lived his life like two people. This was one of the only similarities that he shared with Lou-Loc, other than both being down for the set. One side was the light, where he was Kenyatta, the loving husband and father. The other side was the darkness, where he murdered and ordered men murdered. He chose to keep her in the light.
Sharell might’ve been a churchgirl, but she wasn’t a twit. She knew that Gutter had bathed in a river of sin, yet she stood by him. She was his woman, and it was only right. For the most part, she knew there was good in him, but he showed it less and less as the need for revenge grew. Still, she prayed for his salvation.
Sharell quietly reflected on how things would be with Gutter being all the way in California, while she was stuck in New York. She knew he had a life before her and wondered if he would pick up where he left off? Maybe there was some old flame awaiting his return with open arms. Would she be the one to console him?
She was thinking nonsense. Even suggesting that Gutter was going off to some secret rendezvous as his uncle lay mortally wounded was selfish on her part. If she spent his time away conjuring scenarios she would surely drive herself crazy. What she needed to do was get herself on the road to go see about Satin.
Her soul was wounded in ways beyond what no woman should endure. To be sentenced to a lifetime of sorrow seemed a fate worse than death. Sharell wondered what Satin now saw in her mind’s eye. Was she aware? Or in some far-off place that existed only in her mind?
When she finally finished dressing and stepped outside her building, the sun blared mercilessly down on her. Throwing on her Chanel shades, she continued on to her car. Mohammad was at his usual post, sitting in his Maxima thumbing through one of the several
newspapers that he devoured each morning. He was a youthful-looking man with copper skin and a beard that hung slightly longer than Gutter’s but was far more kept. He smiled politely at her then went back to reading.
Since the conflict, Gutter insisted that she be under constant guard. One of the homeys had occupied the job in the beginning, but that turned out to be a disaster. Mohammad was one of Anwar’s. He was always with her when Gutter wasn’t around and sometimes when he was. Other than the fact that he greeted her in the mornings, she never knew he was there. He didn’t talk to her and he never revealed his exact location. He only made direct contact with her when necessary. Mohammad was the equivalent of having your own personal ghost.
Sharell walked to her car, which was parked a few spaces up, and got behind the wheel. She checked herself over in the mirror and pulled into traffic. Mohammad followed shortly behind her.
SATIN SAT at the foot of a waterfall, looking at her reflection on the surface of the water. Her hair hung down to her shoulders, but had begun to frizz from the light drizzle that was sprinkling her. Her face was as beautiful as it has always been. There were no dark circles around her eyes and her cheeks still held a youthful glow. Running her hand through the water, she waited as she always had.
A figure approached from the direction in which the sun was setting, she couldn’t see his face due to the glare, not that she needed to. She’d know him anywhere. He approached, with his hair neatly braided and his khakis heavily creased. His brown face smiled at her lovingly as he occupied the patch of grass next to her.
“Lou-Loc,” she whispered, to which he gave her his infamous smile. His face was still as smooth as it had been before the shooting.
“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice being little more than the hum of a mosquito’s wings, but she was able to hear him perfectly. His breath smelled of the sweetest flowers, with a hint of tilled earth. When she laid her hand against his cheek it felt warm, not the cold flesh of a dead man. Every rational part of Satin’s mind told her that he was dead and that the man sitting beside her couldn’t be her forever lover, but when she pressed her body against his it seemed very real.
