by K'wan
“I can tell by that stupid-ass look on your face that you’ve heard of me,” Major said, “but we ain’t here to discuss my résumé, crab.”
“You a long way from home to be talking all crazy, my dude. What the fuck do you want in my city?” Pop Top glared at him.
Major chuckled. “Your city? Knock it off, home boy. Everybody knows Gutter is holding sway ’round here. You just a crazy muthafucka who’s looking for a purpose. Now, let’s get back to business. There’re some people that’re hella pissed by this little war you lowlife muthafuckas got going on out here. Y’all killed one of ours and we took one of yours, but you couldn’t leave it at that, could you? Nah, y’all wanna press your luck, and act like this don’t mean nothing.” He raised his right arm, exposing the red five-pointed star tattooed on his forearm.
“Nigga, get to the point,” Pop Top insisted.
In a motion that was almost too fast for Pop Top to catch, Major Blood produced a pistol and put it to his enemy’s head. “You’re doing a lot of talking for a nigga that could be a memory in a matter of seconds.”
“I ain’t scared to die. If it’s my time, be done with it,” Pop Top said defiantly. Had this been anyone else Major Blood would’ve taken it as just a tough guy act, but he knew what time it was with Pop Top. He was a straight rider and really didn’t give a fuck if he lived or died as long as it was in service to the set.
Major lowered his gun and eyed Pop Top curiously. “You really are crazy, ain’t you? Look here, man. I’m gonna make this shit short and sweet. It’s over. You understand? You know who I am, so you can guess what the fuck I was sent here to do. But see, I ain’t a complete asshole, so I’m gonna give you a sporting chance. Shut it down, or I shut y’all down.”
“So, you think you’re just gonna walk in and make us close up shop?” Pop Top asked with a grin.
“You must not be hearing me?” Major Blood leaned in to whisper. “I ain’t Cisco, nigga. I’ll kill you and everything you love. I don’t give a fuck about you, me, or anything else, that’s why I’m the best at what I do. This is your first and only warning. And just in case you think I’m fucking around.” He motioned toward the men in the car.
Miguel got out, followed by Tito and Eddie. Tito trained the shotgun on Pop Top, while his two cohorts went to the trunk. They popped it open and struggled to remove a large rolled-up carpet. They carried it to the sidewalk and dropped it between the two men. Eddie leaned in and cut the rope that held it in a roll.
“I think this belonged to y’all.” Major kicked the carpet open, exposing B. T.’s corpse. His face was bruised, and his neck was splayed open like a gutted fish. “Don’t feel bad though. He was a fucking snake. Your comrade has been feeding us information for the last couple of months. Seems that my associates made him a deal, but I can’t stand a fucking rat, so I changed the agreement. Food for thought, Blood.” Major strode casually back to the car, followed by his henchmen.
When the car was well away from the block, Pop Top began breathing again. He had come within a hair of losing his life, and escaped through the grace of God. He looked from B. T.’s body to the receding taillights of the car and wondered what he was going to tell Gutter.
“WHAT’S THE matter, honey?” Rahshida asked as Monifa stormed across the kitchen.
“Nothing, Rah, I’m good.” She grabbed a Corona from the fridge and plopped down on the wooden chair, across the table from where Rahshida was sitting.
“Monifa, you hardly drink and I’ve never seen you do it before sundown so I know something is bothering you, what’s up?” Monifa didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes told the story. “It’s Kenyatta, isn’t it?”
Monifa sucked her teeth. “Fuck Gutter.”
Rahshida shook her head. “Monifa, why do you keep doing it to yourself? I watched you go through the motions when he left, and just when the wounds finally start to heal you wanna pick at the scab.”
“I don’t know why I keep doing it to myself, Rah. I tried to tell myself that I could handle him being here and that the old feelings are gone, but no sooner than he gets me alone I go to pieces.” She took a light sip of the beer and made a face. “Am I stupid or what?”
“You’re not stupid, Mo, just a young girl in love,” Rahshida told her. “Baby, I know how you feel about my nephew, but you gotta let it go. He’s a different man than you knew, with a different life.”
“Yeah, a life with his New York bitch.”
Rahshida narrowed her eyes. “Monifa, that isn’t called for. You know you’re bigger than that.”
“Rah, I feel like I fell and bumped my head for the way I’m allowing myself to feel about Gutter, especially after the way he dissed me. There’s something about him that I just can’t seem to let go.”
Rahshida propped her elbows on the table. “For as much of a good man that I know my nephew is, or wants to be, he isn’t ready to let go of his mistress… the set. I pray that he’s grown up enough to do right by that girl, but at the end of the day he’s gonna do what he wants. Monifa, that’s my nephew and I love him no matter what, but he’s still a Soladine man, and the only woman he’ll ever give his heart to totally is the street.” Rahshida nodded outside, to where Gutter was congregating with the homeys. “Let that train go, baby.”
There was so much truth in Rahshida’s words that Monifa only felt stupider for the way she was carrying on. She knew Gutter had a new life and a new woman, but what about old promises? It was clear that that chapter of their life was at an end, but it wasn’t yet closed.
chapter 17
GUTTER’S NIGHT was spent very fitfully trying to sleep. After the heated word exchange, he had retired to one of the upstairs bedrooms. After firing up blunt after blunt of chronic, he fell asleep. During his rest he was plagued with terrible nightmares. It was the same death scene that had played out for his comrade, except he was the one being fired on. It seemed so real, that he thought he even felt the bullets tearing through his skin.
It seemed as if he had only been asleep for a little while when he was awakened by a commotion downstairs. He was irritated about the noise breaking his rest, but grateful for it awakening him from the nightmare. He made his way down the stairs and found a group of spectators crowded around the back door. After elbowing his way through the crowd, he was surprised by what he saw.
Tears, Danny, and Snake Eyes stood among some of the other homeys in a semicircle. In the center of the circle Rahkim and Blue Bird were going head up. Blue Bird was a skilled boxer, but Rahkim was a straight animal. For every blow Blue Bird landed, Rahkim hit him with two. Seeing that exchanging punches was getting him nowhere, Blue Bird changed his strategy.
He rushed Rahkim, trying to scoop him up from the waist, which proved to be his undoing. He was heavier and stronger than Rahkim, so he had no problem getting him off the ground. The only problem was, every time he tried to lift him, Rahkim rained punches on his exposed face. Several vicious blows brought him to one knee. Rahkim hauled his leg back and kicked Blue Bird in the jaw. It was a clean knockout.
“Tears, gimme ya strap!” Rahkim demanded.
“Hold on, cuz,” Tears protested.
“Fuck that shit, I’m ’bout to smoke this dumb muthafucka!”
“Rahkim, what the hell are you doing?” Rahshida cut through the crowd, and stood between her brother and Blue Bird.
“Rah, mind your business. This ain’t got nothing to do with you,” he warned.
“The hell it doesn’t. Our brother is up in there fighting for his life, and you’re out here about to murder a man in his yard. Hasn’t there been enough violence?”
“Rah, this greaseball muthafucka took our nephew, Gunn’s baby boy, on a fucking hit. The shit is all over the hood and the goddamn news!” he explained.
“Oh, my… Tariq, bring your ass here. Now!” she shouted.
“Sup.” He stepped from the crowd with his head down.
“Are you crazy!” She slapped him across his face, shocking
everyone especially him. “Why would you let someone talk you into such foolishness? Haven’t you learned anything from what has brought us here?” She shook his arm.
“Yeah.” He jerked away. “I learned a lot of niggaz talk about gangsta shit and codes, but most of ’em is bitches. Some Brims fired on my daddy, and I fired on some Brims. Fuck them niggaz!”
“Watch your mouth, Gunn,” Gutter interjected. “Rah is telling you right. Blue Bird had no right to take you roll’n. Who y’all dump on?”
“Some busters.” Lil Gunn shrugged. “Blue said they was Swans, so we blasted them niggaz. I think one of them was named Shorty.”
“Shorty?” Snake Eyes rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I know that cat. A real loudmouth that’s always itching for a beef. If they didn’t ride on them, somebody would’ve.”
“That don’t change the fact that this nigga was wrong.” Rahkim nodded toward Blue Bird, who was finally beginning to stir.
“Fucking dummies, both of you,” Gutter said. “Who else was down with this lil G ride?”
“It was just me, Blue, and Charlie. We lost him in the battle,” Lil Gunn said sadly.
“Police are supposed to have found the body and linked him to the Crips.” Rahkim added.
“There’s gonna be a shit storm behind this,” Snake Eyes shook his head.
“Who the fuck you telling? This is the reason why this had to be handled with finesse,” Gutter reminded them. “The last thing we need is the LAPD laying their pressure game down on us. It’ll make setting this shit right that much harder.”
Danny added, “Man, y’all got so many sets and gangs out this muthafucka, you really think the police is gonna be looking at y’all in particular?”
“I’m sure of it,” Snake Eyes said. “Like I told you before, this shit is politics. Even though they wear badges, the LAPD is a gang, same as ours. They know what’s going down in the streets, and who it’s going down with. The Bloods are rumored to have shot Big Gunn, and they found Charlie’s body at the scene. Even though he’s with Grape Street, he’s connected to us. It’s only a matter of time before they start snatching Grapes and Hoovers, ’cause we allies for the moment. They’ll be poking around here soon enough and that could be bad business for some of us.” He glanced at Gutter, remembering the murder they had both played a part in.
Before they could ponder it further, one of the nurses attending Big Gunn appeared in the doorway. She was a motherly looking Mexican woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Her face was sullen and blood spatter stained the front of her uniform. Tears twinkled in her eyes, as she motioned for the Soladines to come with her. Once she had led them into the living room, she began speaking.
“It’s Mr. Gunn,” she sobbed with a heavy accent.
“What’s wrong?” Rah asked frantically.
“We thought we had stabilized him, but he started hemorrhaging internally.”
“Move!” Gutter barked, rushing past her.
“Wait!” she called after him, but Gutter kept going.
When he got to the bedroom where Gunn was being kept, he heard orders being barked and metal scraping. Ignoring the nurse and his aunt who were both following closely behind him, Gutter barged into the room. When he stepped through the threshold, a lump formed in his throat.
Doc Holliday was a homey, who had pulled his way through the sludge of the ghetto and had graduated from medical school. He worked at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Pasadena, as a resident. Big Gunn had schooled him to the game back in the day, so he was more than willing to take some time off to tend his former mentor in his time of need.
Doc Holliday stood over Gunn’s bed in a bloody lab coat, working expertly trying to stop the bleeding. Sweat ran from his forehead into his eye, which one of the attending nurses wiped. He tried a variation of clamps and stitches, but the bleeding just seemed to continue. It wasn’t looking good for Gunn.
“Doc, what the fuck is going on?” Gutter approached.
“Gutter, not now,” he said, applying pressure to one of the wounds. “I’m trying to save your uncle. Get these people out of here and let me work!”
Reluctantly, Gutter led the entourage from the room and back into the hallway. Everyone looked nervous, but none more so than Lil Gunn. You could see tears in the corner of his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow them to fall. Gutter placed an arm around him and led the youngster into the living room. He tried to convince him that his father would be okay, but he didn’t know if it was more to set the youngster’s mind at ease or his own.
Blue Bird had been helped outside, and held ice wrapped in a cloth against his face. Stacia had appeared from where ever she was and taken up a seat in the living room. In her hand, she held a glass of wine, which she kept swirling between sips. Monifa stood in the corner, dressed in jeans and a tank top. She looked sorrowfully at Gutter, but didn’t approach. The rest of the homeys stood around, trying not to look terrified.
After what seemed like an eternity, Doc appeared in the living room. His scrubs looked as if they had been painted red. Removing his glasses, he looked out over the inquiring faces. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. When he couldn’t hold it any longer, the tears came.
“Nooooo!” Stacia screamed before collapsing to the ground.
DOC FOUGHT as hard as he could for his mentor, but in the end his injuries proved to be too severe. He might not have been able to prevent his death, but he pumped him so full of drugs that it was painless. It was the least he could do for the man who had literally kept him alive during his stint with the Hoover Crips. When his contact from the mortuary arrived to take the body away, he slipped him a wad of hundred dollar bills, and thanked him for the role he played.
Everyone took the loss of Big Gunn hard, but his son appeared to be hurt the worst. He overturned furniture, and cursed the rival set, while his family looked on. Rahkim made to stop him, but Gutter held his uncle back. The boy needed to let it out, and if this was his way, then so be it. Stacia cried and carried on, between freshening her drinks. For all the bullshit she talked, she still loved Gunn. Everyone except the immediate family and closest friends were asked to leave the house.
Gutter tried to hold it together, but it was too much. With tear-filled eyes, he threw his cell phone against the wall, shattering it. All of the Soladines were close, but he and Gunn shared a special bond. When his father died, his middle brother stepped up and made sure that his nephew was prepared to deal with the ugly world that awaited him.
Rah and the women sobbed as they lit candles around a makeshift altar supporting a picture of Big Gunn in the yard at San Quentin. The sun was just beginning to rise in the eastern sky, blanketing the yard in an orange glow. Rahkim stepped into the backyard, followed by the men who were left in attendance. Danny, Tears, Snake Eyes, and Doc hung back while Rahkim led his family to the front. Three prayer rugs were placed on the grass, which Gutter, Lil Gunn, and he knelt upon. With tears streaking all their cheeks, they made Saullat and asked that Allah accept Big Gunn into his bosom.
chapter 18
BY THE time Gutter rose from prayer, his knees ached and he had trouble walking from the lack of blood flow for so many hours. He bypassed everyone who was gathered in the living room and made his way upstairs to the bedroom. The women cried and sobbed over Gunn’s loss, while the men cursed and vowed revenge against their sworn enemies. None of this moved Gutter. Though he knew he was supposed to be sad he couldn’t find it inside himself, only the cold darkness that came before the storm.
Somewhere along the way he had managed to grab a bottle of vodka. It wasn’t normally his drink of choice, but it would do. He took a long swig, letting the sting cleanse his insides. It felt like a small fire had started in his chest, but it still didn’t help the coldness in his heart. All he wanted was to be alone and reflect on the man who had meant so much to him over the years. With Gunn’s passing Gutter had lost more than an uncle. He’d lost a father, friend, mentor, and icon.
A sof
t knocking snapped Gutter out of his daze. Ignoring it, he took another deep swig of the bottle and stared blankly out the window. Instead of the intruder taking the hint and going away, he heard the door creak open. Gutter was about to flip over the invasion of his privacy, but the words stuck in his throat when he saw Monifa standing there.
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she said sheepishly.
“It’s all good,” he told her, taking another drink. From the way her eyes were puffy and red he could tell she had been crying. Monifa and Gunn were very close when he was alive.
“I was just trying to get some space to clear my head. I can go somewhere else.” She started back the way she’d come.
“Nah, you ain’t gotta bounce, Mo,” he told her. “Come on in,” he beckoned, patting the space on the bed next to him. She gave him a weak smile and sat down. For a minute there was an awkward silence, neither really knowing what to say to the other, but it was Monifa who broke it.
“So, how ya doing?” she asked, looking at the worn carpet.
“Shit, I’m fucked-up. We just lost the most stand-up nigga ever to claim a set,” he said emotionally.
“Yeah, I’m gonna miss the shit outta Big Gunn, that was my folk. Remember when he let us hold his Bonneville to drive out to Disneyland?” she recalled.
“Do I? Man, that muthafucka broke smooth down halfway there. I thought I was gonna catch a heatstroke waiting for Rahshida to come pick us up off the side of the highway.”
“I remember. You was mad as hell because you got motor oil on your Magic Johnson jersey trying to be Mr. Mechanic.” She giggled.
