by K'wan
“My brother,” Gutter said, embracing him.
It had been years since he had last embraced his crime partner. The last time they had been in each other’s company Gutter had been lying in a pool of his own blood, fighting for his life. Snake Eyes had come to his rescue, laying down the would-be executioners. Back when Snake Eyes was still putting in work he, Gutter, and Lou-Loc had been as thick as thieves, but their lives had gone in different directions. Snake Eyes now did his fighting through the judicial system and Gutter was still putting in work for the turf.
“What that be like, my nigga?” Snake Eyes struck a mock-thug pose.
“You know it’s Harlem-Hoover all day and then some.” Gutter threw up one set then the other.
“You mean Hoover-Harlem.” Snake Eyes threw them up in reverse. An elderly couple that was checking into the hotel gave them a disgusted look, but kept about their business. “Man, I ain’t seen your monkey-ass ever since, baby boy!”
“Shit, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here now. Dawg, I never got to really thank you about-”
“Man, knock that shit off.” Snake Eyes waved off his thanks. “Family does for family; you know how we do it. What it is, home boy?” Snake Eyes addressed Danny, who was staring at him curiously.
“Harlem,” Danny said proudly.
“Danny”-Gutter draped his arm around the young man-“this is my homey, Snake Eyes.”
“Yeah, I heard of you.” Danny smiled. “You ’bout ya shit, huh?”
“That was a long time ago,” Snake said evenly. “I have a law practice in Miami now, dealing with a select few clients. I do a lot of wills and trusts for the homeys out here too.”
“Bet that’s profitable,” Danny joked.
“Unfortunately.”
“So, what the hell you doing here?” Gutter interjected.
“I heard you flew into town last night, so I came to check you.” Snake Eyes informed him.
“You should’ve come by the spot. It was enough niggaz in there.”
“Nah.” Snake shifted his weight on the cane. “You know I don’t rock with just anybody. Besides, I ain’t really wanna let niggaz know I was in the town just yet.”
“You see something that I don’t?” asked Gutter.
“We’ll talk about it on the way,” Snake said, heading for the door.
“Where we going?” Gutter questioned.
“Carson. I got some things I want to bounce off you. Besides, I got somebody who I think you’ll wanna talk to.”
“And who the fuck might that be?”
“Just come on,” Snake Eyes urged.
“SO, WHAT’S your take on this, Snake?” Gutter asked from the backseat.
“Honestly, I ain’t come up with much more than y’all did,” Snake Eyes admitted. “I made some phone calls and probed into a few people, but don’t have much to go on. There’s a bunch of rumors, but nothing solid.”
“I heard that some Mad Swans rode down on him, but I ain’t confirmed nothing yet.” Gutter stroked his thick beard.
“Interesting.” Snake rubbed his chin. “I did some legal work for B-Boy. You know Blood, he was claiming the Gardens before them niggaz chased him up out and he started sucking Swan dick. He ain’t denying that slobs did the shooting, but he put it on the hood that his people were clean of the killing.”
“Somebody’s ass is lying and I’m tired of chasing my fucking tail about it. What are the big homeys talking about in the way of payback?” Gutter asked.
“Nothing yet,” Snake Eyes replied. “Nobody wants an all-out war over some knuckleheads tripping, you know how it is.”
“The fuck I do. I know that somebody gonna taste steel over popping my uncle. I don’t give a fuck if I gotta mash on every nigga in every hood to flush that wormy muthafucka out. It’s on a cracking!” Gutter declared.
“I see getting dropped off on heaven’s door hasn’t quenched that thirst of yours.” Snake Eyes commented.
“Don’t start that shit, man. I get enough of it from Anwar.”
“Wise young dude.”
“Fuck you, nigga. This ain’t about me and my business in New York. This is about some slobs touching my uncle, and these old muthafuckas who govern us playing United Nations out this bitch.”
“This shit with Gunn has ruffled quite a few feathers, but all the right moves need to be made to fix it. The old heads is having a hard enough time containing the fighting that’s kicked off since the shit happened. Man, these lil niggaz is out here breaking fool, making the hood all hot and shit. The G’s are just trying to keep the peace.” Snake Eyes said.
“I hear you, Snake, but I’m a warlord. I don’t know nothing ’bout that peace shit. My uncle is a shell of the man I knew, and even if he does live through the injuries, he’ll never be the same. Someone has got to answer for this. A debt is a debt.”
Snake Eyes could’ve argued the point with Gutter until the following summer, but the result would be the same. Trying to change the subject he asked, “How’s Sharell?”
“Man, she’s getting big as hell. I don’t know if she’s having a baby or a damn elephant.” Gutter smiled, thinking about his boo, but the smile quickly faded when his mind went back to Satin.
“Everything all right with the baby?” Snake Eyes asked with concern in his voice.
“Oh, everything is cool with Sharell, but it’s Satin I’m worried about.” Gutter gave him the short version of what he’d learned from Sharell.
“Muthafucka.” Snake Eyes shook his head. “Pregnant? Gutter, why didn’t one of you call me? Dawg, I gotta get the ball rolling to get her out.” Snake Eyes said, pulling out his two-way and scrolling through the numbers.
“Man, you know the laws don’t work in favor of the blacks. They’d have you tied up in red tape for God only knows how long, not to mention the fact that the girl has got that murder beef still hanging over her head. Nah, we need to get her out ASAP, but ain’t no need to trip because I got somebody on the job already.”
“Who?” Snake Eyes asked.
Gutter’s cell going off drew his attention. He glanced at the caller ID screen and smiled when he saw the 347 area code. Before flipping his phone open, he looked to his friend and said, “You don’t even wanna know.”
CARSON WAS a small city situated on the border between L.A. and Compton. It was composed mostly of Samoans and Filipinos, but also hosted a Latino and black population. Though a seemingly quiet town its location and the large mall in its center made it a rest haven for gangs. Since its construction it had been contested territory between the Crips and Bloods. Over the last few years the East Coast Crips had been the controlling faction.
Snake Eyes piloted the Regal down Carson Avenue and banked a left onto Dominguez. About a half mile down they turned into the mall parking lot. The large IKEA sign loomed overhead like an open invitation. The morning sun was still beaming in full effect, so the lot was filled almost to capacity. Snake Eyes parked the car near the edge of the lot and killed the engine.
“Nigga, we got planning to do and you wanna shop?” Danny asked.
“Danny, shut up, please.” Gutter eased out, and joined Snake Eyes. “What’s this all about, Snake?”
“I’ll explain it to you as we walk,” Snake said, cutting across the grass leading to a small walkway. They followed a long wall, which served as the divider between the mall parking lot and a grungy-looking suburb. Below the level on which they stood was a basketball court, which had a crowd of young men gathered in the center. Apparently, two of them were squaring off over a dispute.
“Snake, where are we going, man?” Gutter asked, following him down the stairs.
“Like I told you before we left, there’s someone here who I think you might like to see,” Snake Eyes continued. “It’s a cousin of yours flew in to be with the big homey in his time of need.”
“Snake, I got a lot of cousins in town. What’s so special about this one?”
“Just watch,” Snake Eyes sa
id, leading them toward the crowd.
When they had almost reached the crowd of spectators, one of them branched off and moved to join the trio. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, sporting a blue Dickies suit and short cornrows.
“Sup, cuz,” Marv greeted them.
Snake Eyes shook the young man’s hand. “What’s going on over here?”
“Shit, De Shawn is going head up with the lil homey from Suicide. He tried to punk the lil nigga, but shorty is getting ’em up like a true G.”
Gutter and Snake Eyes followed Marv to the circle, where onlookers watched the fight and took bets. In the center were two combatants. Both were breathing hard, but neither was ready to give. The dark-skinned combatant had a busted lip and a bruise was beginning to form under his eye. The light-skinned combatant also sported a bruised face, and his nose didn’t seem to wanna quit bleeding.
The light-skinned one shot out a right, which the dark-skinned one feinted and then launched a powerful left. The blow connected, but didn’t drop him. The two men circled each other like angry dogs, every so often throwing a punch. The light-skinned boy outweighed the dark-skinned one, but couldn’t intimidate him.
Growing impatient, the light-skinned one shot out of his corner throwing combinations. The dark-skinned one deflected most of the blows, but still took shots to his chest and head. He staggered back, seemingly ready to drop. The light-skinned one decided to take advantage of the opportunity and move in for the kill.
“Who’s the lil nigga there, Snake?” Gutter asked curiously.
“You mean, you really don’t know?” Snake asked, surprised.
“Nah, cuz. Should I?”
“I would think so. Y’all share the same genes.”
De Shawn came at the dark-skinned boy with an overhand right, trying to knock his head off. The dark-skinned boy waited until the last moment and moved out of the way. The momentum of the swing took De Shawn off balance. When he tried to right himself, the dark-skinned one came in raining blows to the back of his head. De Shawn swayed but didn’t fall. He feebly tried to mount a defense, but a well-placed haymaker ended the fight. He was out cold.
“Suicide, bitch!” The dark-skinned boy bellowed, planting his foot on his opponent’s chest.
The crowd erupted into cheers and patted him on the back as he was steered through the mob. Outside the ring, he was greeted by the man whom he knew to be Snake Eyes and two others he didn’t know. He stared at the bearded man and tried to place his face. Seeing this familiar face staring at him made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the way the man was looking at him, but the way he looked. The young boy had smooth dark skin and their eyes were almost the same shade of green, but he couldn’t think where he knew him from.
“Sup, Snake,” the dark-skinned boy addressed Snake Eyes, but never took his eyes off Gutter.
“Sup, lil nigga. I see y’all fools out here banging on each other.” Snake Eyes gave him dap.
“Fuck this nigga.” The dark-skinned boy spat blood on the floor. “Bitch nigga trying to put shit on Suicide, so I had to school ’em out.” The young man paused for a minute and then turned to Gutter. “Sup, cuz, we know each other or something? Where you from?”
“Say what?” Gutter asked, surprised.
“Watch yo mouth, Lil Gunn,” Snake cut in. “That ain’t no way to talk to your family.”
“Gunn?” Gutter said with recognition finally setting in. The reason the young man looked so familiar was because Gutter had been there the day his mother had given birth to him.
Tariq “Lil Gunn” Soladine was the child of Big Gunn and a woman named Stacia, who originally hailed from Watts. Back when Big Gunn was on a come-up, Stacia had been his ride-or-die bitch. She loaded the guns and he dropped Brims with them. She knew Gunn was on his way to being a ghetto superstar, and wanted her piece of the pie. Everything was gravy until she got pregnant with Tariq. Stacia felt that since she was now Gunn’s baby mama that she had papers on him. She began trying to press Gunn to marry her and square up in a big house. Gunn, being married to the streets, wasn’t trying to hear it. Eventually, she absconded with the child and moved to San Francisco. She claimed it was to keep them safe from the violence Gunn was bringing to their doorstep, but most people felt it was done to spite Gunn for not marrying her. He saw the child from time to time, but other than the checks he sent once a month, they really had no contact.
“I’ll be damned. Lil ass Tariq!” Gutter said in disbelief.
“Snake, who is this nigga?” Lil Gunn asked, not really making the connection.
Snake Eyes smiled. “This is your cousin, Gutter.”
Lil Gunn looked Gutter up and down, and his face began to soften. “No shit?”
“Come here, lil muthafucka.” Gutter embraced him. “Man, I ain’t seen you since you was about eight or nine years old.”
“Cuz, I heard you got smoked out in New York!” Lil Gunn said excitedly.
“Don’t believe rumors, fam. I took a shitload of lead from some stunting ass Brims, but can’t no bullet kill a Soladine,” Gutter joked.
“I’m glad to see a real Crip among us.” Lil Gunn shot a glance over his shoulder. “My old man is taking his last breaths and these niggaz ain’t trying to do shit but get faded and talk about shooting muthafuckas. If you ask me, the only thing these busters is shooting is their mouths.”
“Not everybody is built like us, little cousin.” Gutter stroked his beard.
“I know that’s right, man. But I ain’t tripping. My big cousin Gutter is home and these faggot-ass oh-las better run for cover. Man, your name is ringing all over the Coast. Yo shit is the stuff of legends. With you and me together, we gonna ride on every Brim hood in retaliation for my dad.” Lil Gunn tried to hide the pain in his voice, but Gutter caught it.
“All in due time, cousin.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “For now, let’s get you cleaned up and us reacquainted.”
chapter 13
“YOU GOT that info I asked you for, poppy?” Major Blood asked Tito as he entered the hotel suite.
Tito reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Major Blood a folded piece of paper. Tito narrated as his superior read the printout. “My home girl tracked that down for me. The top is a job address for Gutter’s girl, Sharell.”
Major nodded as he looked over the sheet. “Bet I got a lil nigga I can put on Sharell’s case and see what pops off. I’m just gonna have him watch her for now, but when I lower the curtain, I’m gonna do it real ugly on Gutter’s bitch. What about that turncoat ho, Satin?”
“The address on the bottom is the hospital where she’s locked up,” Tito told him. “I still don’t see what you want with her though. The girl can’t even wipe her own ass.”
Major nodded. “Ain’t your job to wonder, T. You just handle your end of this; I got the Satin situation from here. In the meantime rally the troops and let’s get ready to mash out, Blood. It’s time we made our presences felt.”
POP TOP sat in the emergency room of Harlem Hospital flanked by China, B. T., and Hollywood. The staff shot funny glances at the ragtag bunch, to which they responded by throwing up their sets or middle fingers. Though several people had complained to security about the noise they were making, no one dared ask them to leave. As much business as they brought the hospital, they were given ambassadors’ status.
C-style came from the back where Rob was being treated for his injuries wearing a grim look. She was dressed in sweatpants and a white V neck. Her hair was wrapped and pinned under the powder-blue scarf she wore. When they had called her she was already in bed, so she just jumped in her sweats without bothering to primp. Her eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, but she didn’t seem too broken up.
“What they say?” Pop Top asked.
“He took a hell of a beating.” She sighed. “They blackened his eye, and he’ll look like Jimmie Walker for a while, but he’ll live.”
“Did he get into a fight or so
mething after I left him?” Hollywood asked.
“That’s the thing, he said he got snatched up,” she explained. “Supposedly, some of them niggaz from the other side rolled up and tossed him into a car.”
“If he was kidnapped, why didn’t they ask for a ransom?” China questioned.
“I was getting to that,” C-style said. “He said they wanted him to take a message back to Gutter. ‘It’s a wrap for Harlem.’”
“These niggaz got nerve,” Hollywood said, picking his tooth with a manicured pinky nail. “Trying to tell my dude how to do what he do. You’d think that after we laid down damn near an entire set that they’d finally realize that we ain’t to be fucked with.”
“Them niggaz knew he was with us, and they fucked him up anyway. They outta pocket.” B. T. shook his head.
“Yo, they fucked him up real bad, fellas. What’re we gonna do?” C-style asked.
“Okay, okay.” Pop Top stood up. “The last time I checked, I was running Harlem. We gonna handle these niggaz who touched our brother. They’re gonna learn the hard way how we play.”
“Maybe we should call Gutter?” China asked.
“Nah, we ain’t gonna do that,” Top said quickly. “I can handle this shit. Was Rob able to ID anybody?”
“Yeah, Tito from L.C. and some other dudes. He said he’d never seen them around before so maybe it was a joint effort,” C-style told him.
“Fuck ’em all then,” Pop Top declared. “Snake-ass muthafucka, we should’ve killed his ass years ago. But you know what; I got a trick for that bean-eating muthafucka. They wanna touch our fam, we gonna touch their pockets.” Everyone looked at him curiously, but he didn’t elaborate. Pop Top was always secretive when it came to murder, as everyone should be.
