Gutter

by K'wan

  At some point, Monifa had entered the room. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was her. The scent was embedded in his brain. She placed a hand on his shoulder and before he could stop it, he placed a hand over hers. There was so much still unsaid between them. That would have to wait for another time. Seeing his uncle laid out like that only made him conscious of one thing: revenge.

  “I STILL don’t see why we didn’t kill him. I mean, that’s what you do, right? Murder?” Miguel asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t get cute, muthafucka. I know what I’m doing,” Major Blood said coldly. “It like I told him: he’s a messenger. That whole snatch and grab wasn’t about dropping no bodies. They’ll be enough of that soon enough. I wanted to see what kind of niggaz I’m up against, so I’ll know how to move.”

  “Yeah, but by not killing shorty, he’s gonna tip Gutter off that someone is after him,” Tito added.

  “You think Gutter doesn’t know he has enemies?” Major Blood lit a cigarette. “He’s gonna chalk this shit up to Bloods tripping.”

  “I’ve seen that kid hanging around Gutter. He not gonna like the fact that we touched one of his young boys. He’s gonna ride hard on the hood,” Miguel said.

  “Well, that’s something we won’t have to worry about any time soon.” Major blew smoke in his face. “Gutter has his hands full at the moment. Now on to the next order of business; what do we know about this Satin bitch?”

  “After she whacked her brother, they shipped her off to the nut-house.” Tito shrugged.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Get on that. Next”-Major counted off on his fingers-“divide and conquer. We got anybody posted up on that side of the fence?”

  “Yeah, a lil nigga that’s got a hard-on for Gutter,” Miguel recalled.

  “Set up a meeting with him. He’s gonna play an important part in all this.”

  “And what about Pop Top?” Tito asked. “He’s Gutter’s new general.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard stories about that kid,” Major recalled. “Supposed to be a real animal.” He faked fear. “Fuck that nigga too. When the time comes, we’ll do him up real special.”

  GUTTER STOOD on the front porch taking in the California night air. Though there was a slight chill to it that night he could still smell the faint traces of salt carried from the Pacific Ocean. Seeing his uncle twisted the way he was had hit him harder than he expected. In Gutter’s eyes, as well as all who came in contact with Gunn, his uncle was invincible. He was a nigga that couldn’t be faded, but someone had faded him. Not long ago he had been in the same predicament, but Cross had resurrected him. Unfortunately for Gunn there was no cursed blood to heal his wounds.

  “Sup, duke?” Danny-Boy stepped out onto the porch.

  “Chilling, man. I’m just trying to get my head together,” Gutter told him.

  “How’s ya uncle?”

  “He all fucked-up, cuz. Them slobs did him in,” Gutter said, trying not to get too emotional.

  Danny placed a hand on Gutter’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “We gonna make this shit right, man. These West Coast cats is gonna see what this East Coast swagger is all about.”

  “Spoken like a true protégé of the Soladine family.” Tears came out, sipping a forty ounce. “How you be, my nigga?” Tears asked Gutter.

  Gutter shrugged. “I’m a’ight. It just fucked me up seeing him like that.”

  “You ain’t the only nigga feeling some type of way about this, G. The hood is demanding blood.”

  “I hear niggaz is nut’n up over this?”

  “Yeah, these lil muthafuckas is bust’n ass left and right, screaming it’s for the homey. The funny thing is that most of them are too young to even know who the fuck Gunn is. All they know is that an O.G. got touched and that’s a good-enough reason to pop off. C.R.A.S.H been kicking red and blue asses because of all this damn heat these lil ones are bringing down. Then when you got niggaz like Blue Bird instigating it really doesn’t help.”

  “I was surprised to see him inside. I thought sure someone would’ve killed his ass by now,” Gutter half joked.

  “Nah, bald-headed son of a bitch has got more lives than a fucking alley cat.”

  “Fuck the both of you niggaz, out here talking ’bout me like I ain’t got ears.” Blue Bird staggered onto the porch, which was now beginning to get crowded.

  “Go ’head wit that shit, Blue. You know you stay starting some shit,” Tears told him.

  “Man, I don’t never start the drama, but I can sure as hell finish it,” Blue Bird said, making the shape of a gun with his fingers. “Fuck is y’all standing around looking all sad and shit for?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed we’re in the midst of a tragedy,” Gutter said seriously.

  “Aw, I’m just fucking wit you, cuz.” Blue Bird draped his arm around Gutter, causing him to frown at the potent stench of alcohol coming off him. “Look, we all fucked-up about what happened to Gunn, but this shit is gonna get handled. These young boys is out here putting in much work.”

  “These fools is dumping on everything moving, but we still ain’t no closer to finding the shooter,” Tears reminded him.

  “In due time, my nigga. Say, in the meantime the home boys is having a set over in Twenty-first in the beach. Let’s mash over there and get cracking wit ’em.”

  “I ain’t really up for no party,” Gutter said.

  “Come on, G, stop acting like that. Sitting around here sulking ain’t gonna change Gunn’s situation. We might as well go on and have a few drinks and shoot the shit.” Seeing Gutter’s reluctance Blue Bird pressed the issue. “Dude, it’s been over two years since you’ve been home and it would really pick the homeys’ spirits up to see the living legend. We’ll stay for an hour then you can go back to your pouting.”

  Gutter thought on it for a minute. He really wanted to be with his family, but Blue Bird had a point. Sitting around the house wouldn’t do much to change Gunn’s condition. Besides it had been awhile since he had seen the old crew and Danny would need some downtime to prepare him for the heap of shit that was about to be thrown into his lap.

  “Fuck it.” He finally gave in. “One hour and I’m up.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Blue Bird clapped him on the back. “We’re gonna get faded and fuck wit some bitches, just like old times.”

  Blue Bird stepped off the porch, followed by Tears and then Danny. Gutter hesitated for a minute before stepping off. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Monifa watching from the living-room window. He gave a half smile to which she responded by closing the curtains.

  “Just like old times,” he mumbled to himself before joining the group.

  chapter 11

  WHEN THEY reached Twenty-first Street there were cars lining both sides of the block. People staggered up and down the sidewalk drinking and carrying on as if it wasn’t a residential block. Tears navigated the big truck through the traffic and parked on someone’s front lawn. No sooner than they got out of the car, their ears registered a series of whistles, the Crip call. Within seconds they could see shapes moving in and out of the shadows. Even in the darkness their weapons could be seen in hand. Danny tensed up, but Gutter got out as if he hadn’t even noticed the armed men.

  “Where you from, homey?” one of the men asked Gutter, having never seen him before. Gutter just looked at him as if he was stupid. “Nigga, you hear me talking to you?”

  “Put that muthafucking strap away before you get your little ass killed, Dion!” Blue Bird snapped, climbing from the backseat next to Danny.

  “Aw, I ain’t know he was with you, Blue,” Dion said, tucking the small revolver back into his pocket. “I ain’t never seen homey so I ain’t know if he was friend or foe, you know how muthafuckas be out here tripping.”

  “Cuz, ain’t you up on what’s happening? This is Gutter, Gunn’s nephew,” Blue Bird informed him.

  “Gutter?” Another one of
the armed men stepped up.

  “The same Gutter who put the work in on that pig from narcotics?” Dion asked.

  “Don’t go believing everything you hear, cuz. I don’t know nothing about no cop getting killed,” Gutter said, brushing through the crowd.

  “Hold on, man. I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Dion said, catching up to Gutter. “It’s just that you’re a legend around these parts.”

  “I ain’t nothing but a soldier, just like everybody else,” Gutter said modestly.

  “You hear this muthafucka?” Blue Bird joined them on the front lawn. “You sound like you’re accepting a Grammy or some shit.”

  “Dude, they said you rallied over two thousand troops in New York,” a nameless cat wearing a blue lumber jacket said.

  “More like two hundred,” Gutter informed him.

  “Man, you can tell your war stories later. Let’s go on in here; I got someone I want you to meet.” Blue Bird pulled Gutter into the house.

  The inside of the house was just as packed as the outside. There must’ve been at least a hundred or so of the homeys from different sets getting their party on. The smell of weed and PCP made the air almost impossible to breathe without catching a contact. The sounds of the old Partna Duce cut, “That’s My Partna,” blasted through the tower speakers that were placed in each corner, causing the china cabinet to rattle.

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna though! Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna!” Blue Bird sang along with the chorus, throwing up Hoover, and bumping through the crowd. Gutter followed closely behind, occasionally nodding to the few heads he knew and ignoring the rest. For a few minutes he was able to survey the crowd anonymously until some fool holding a bullhorn shouted, “Big welcome home shout to Gutter from Harlem!” The whole crowd went crazy, throwing up their respective sets and shouting their blocks. It seemed like everyone was trying to bulldoze their way over to him and shake his hand. In a strange way he felt like a celebrity. The only things stopping him from being mauled were the combined efforts of Blue Bird and Tears.

  “Damn, these muthafuckas act like you a rapper or something!” Danny shouted over the noise.

  Gutter brushed him off, but he couldn’t front like he wasn’t flattered by the reception. His crew in New York always showed him love, but it wasn’t like this. California was his birthplace, the epicenter of all that he was. People feared the men and women gathered that night, but among the wolves, he was home.

  “Who’s the dumb muthafucka coming ’round here causing shit at my party?” a raspy voice came from their left. The speaker was a man of about twenty-six or seven, with skin the color of olive leaves. He was wearing a tank top and denim shorts. There was a blue bandanna tied around his neck, just above the short gold necklace he had taken to wearing. His hair was cornrowed on a slant and tied at the ends with blue and white beads.

  “Jynx, what it is!” Blue Bird spread his arms.

  Though Jynx appeared to be nothing more than a lanky juvenile, he was one of the most feared men in Southern California. Jynx, like Lou-Loc, was a contract killer, and also like Lou-Loc, it was tragedy that brought him into the fold.

  Jynx’s brother had been a high roller, seeing major paper off the weed trade in Southern Cali. One night a group of Bounty Hunter Bloods broke into their home searching for drugs and money. When they didn’t find anything in the house they shot his brother and slit young Jynx’s throat, leaving him to die. Jynx lived through the ordeal, but the cut left a nasty scar and caused some damage to his vocal cords. When he was able to get up and around he went on one of the most talked about killing sprees on the West Coast. It was said that more than a half dozen Bounty Hunters died by his hands, and as a result Jynx was placed on their most wanted list, to be killed on sight.

  “I should’ve known.” Jynx embraced him. “Blue, why you always gotta break up some shit?”

  “Man, I ain’t come here tripping. I brought somebody here to see you, man. I know you know Gutter from Harlem?” He nodded to the man standing behind him.

  Jynx squinted at the bearded man standing beside Blue Bird. “Gutter? Blue, you been smoking that shit you selling? That nigga bought the farm in New York.”

  “So I keep hearing,” Gutter said.

  “On the turf, this is Gutter,” Blue Bird said.

  “So you’re Kenyatta Soladine?” Jynx said, continuing his examination. The unwavering green eyes were more than proof enough of his lineage. “Homey, we never met but I owe you.” Jynx shook his hand. Seeing the confused look on Gutter’s face Jynx went on to explain. “A few years ago that cop O’Leary murdered a little boy and left him strung up in the hood. The little boy was my cousin and the last blood relative I had left in the world. You settled that score up for me, cuz. Thanks.”

  Gutter just nodded, but he didn’t accept credit for the murder. “It was fucked up the way they did the little homey. O’Leary got what he had coming.”

  “Listen, I heard what happened to your uncle and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Crip, Blood, Chicano, whoever did this is going down. You’ve got my word on that. Anything you need, just ask.”

  “Thanks,” Gutter said.

  “Enough of this sap shit, where the fuck is the drinks?” Blue Bird asked.

  “Spoken like the lush that you are.” Jynx laughed, motioning for the men to follow him to the makeshift bar area. To get to where the drinks were being poured they had to pass a small bathroom, just off from the kitchen. When they got within spitting distance of it a pungent odor assaulted all of their nostrils. Each man in the group made a disgusted face, but it was Jynx who vocalized his displeasure.

  “Who the fuck is in here trying to kill my plants?!” he barked, banging on the bathroom door.

  “Stall me out, cuz. That Carl’s Jr. I had earlier is running through a nigga!” someone shouted from the other side.

  “Damn, cuz, put some water on that shit or something.” Blue Bird put his two cents in it.

  “Stinking-ass nigga.” Jynx gave the door another kick and proceeded to the kitchen.

  Inside the kitchen the air was a little less smoky, due to the back door being propped open. The counters were lined with various brands of liquor and a few half empty bottles of soda and juice. Tears bypassed the liquor and headed to the far corner where there was a tall garbage can filled to the brim with forty ounces. He opened an ice-cold Old English and took a long sip.

  “Damn, thirsty, were you?” Blue Bird teased.

  “Fuck you, nigga.” Tears wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Them squares be having a nigga dehydrated.”

  “That and the fact that they’ll kill you is why you need to quit smoking,” Jynx said, firing up a blunt.

  “Look who’s talking,” Tears shot back.

  “This here is for my glaucoma, fool,” Jynx joked, exhaling the smoke. “Y’all niggaz go on and get right. The yak over there and we got that Crip-notic on ice.”

  “Say, man, where you hiding all the bitches?” Blue Bird asked, pouring himself a healthy shot of Hennessy.

  “Shit, take your pick.” Jynx nodded toward a group of young women who were talking to some guys in the doorway. “Wit all these hood rat bitches running ’round here, somebody’ll give your ugly ass some pussy.”

  “Fuck you, Jynx. If you wasn’t my boy I’d blast yo ass,” Blue Bird joked.

  “Friendship ain’t got nothing to do with it, Blue.” He pulled up his tank top and exposed the butt of a very large.45. “You fools help yaselves to whatever you want.” He grabbed a light-skinned girl that had been walking past and pulled her close. “I’m ’bout to get into some grown shit.” Jynx swaggered toward the bedrooms.

  Gutter laughed at Jynx’s antics and went back to observing the party. Blue Bird had slipped off to the backyard with a freak, and Danny was ogling the scantily clad women like he was ready to catch a charge. The music was jumping and everyone was having a good time.

  “Fuck it,” he said, grabbing a forty out of the bucke
t and leading his troops out into the throng of people. Gutter and his team drank the best liquor and smoked the best weed well into the A.M. before deciding to mash back to the pad. The crowd embraced Gutter like he was family, though most of them had never even met him. Everybody wanted to be close to the legend. Two big booty Mexican chicks were trying to get Gutter and Danny to join in on a freak show, but Gutter declined for them. Danny was tight, but he’d get over it. For as much as Gutter wanted to stay and freak off he knew he couldn’t-there was killing to be done.

  chapter 12

  WHEN GUTTER woke up the next morning it felt like he had just gone to sleep. Tears was supposed to drop them off at the hotel, but Blue Bird’s greedy ass insisted on stopping at Jack in the Box, where they bumped into some more of the homeys and ended up smoking two more blunts. The sun was damn near up when they finally got back to Westwood.

  After showering, Gutter dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The bulletproof vest he had gotten from Tears would bulge a bit, but it was better than getting caught slipping. When he removed the contents of the black box resting on his bed he couldn’t help but laugh. Inside the box was a Glock and two clips, but not just any Glock, the very same Glock he used to keep at Monifa’s. He wondered if it was his ex’s idea of a joke, or some ironic reminder of the past he had left behind.

  The hotel phone caused Gutter to jump. The front desk informed him that there was someone waiting for him in the lobby. He had no idea who it might be because he didn’t tolerate unannounced guests. After ringing Danny, Gutter tucked his strap in his pants and headed for the hotel lobby.

  “AIN’T THIS a bitch?” Gutter beamed as he stepped off the elevator and greeted the mystery visitor. He had been ready to come through the lobby shooting until he saw the smiling face of his old friend.

  There stood Snake Eyes in all his glory. He was decked out in a blue, striped, Nautica polo. His jeans were starched and creased, cuffed over his white Nikes. His hair was faded almost perfectly into his smooth brown skin. Standing there in a pair of wire-framed glasses Snake Eyes looked every bit of the egghead lawyer that he was. He had become such a square peg over the years that you almost forgot that he was once a killer and dope peddler. The little boy from 102nd and Hoover had done okay for himself.