by K'wan
Gutter craned his neck to face her. “Monifa, I-” his words were swallowed when she placed her mouth over his. Monifa kissed him deep and passionately, and he returned it. They stroked each other’s faces, and for just a few seconds everything was as it had been. The moment was shortlived as they heard a series of whistles coming from the house, followed by Tears appearing in the doorway.
“What the fuck is going on, cuz?” Gutter asked, ready to answer the war call.
“The sentries bagged a slob creeping through,” Tears said, lumbering down the stairs, tossing Gutter a pistol as he passed. The homeys were hot on his heels.
“Is he still alive?” Gutter asked no one in particular.
Rahkim pulled the slide on the sawed-off pump, “For the moment.”
Gutter looked from the jogging forms of Rahkim and Criminal to Monifa. Her eyes pleaded with him not to follow, but she knew better. Gutter was a soldier, and thus had to be in the trenches. When she nodded in understanding he took off after his comrades.
BY THE time the trio had made it to the end of the block, Mad Man and Lil Blue Bird were coming their way. Both the youngsters were dressed in dark sweatshirts and jeans. The young men were wearing the confident smiles of game hunters that had just bagged a prize. Walking between them was a soldier that Gutter recognized from the other side.
Pudgy was a portly young man, with a round face and thick neck. He was a highly respected member of the Mad Swans, who had spilled his fair share of blood over the years. Usually when a set was planning a raid they used cannon fodder as scouts. They would never send a soldier of Pudgy’s value for fear of losing him. Gutter wondered why they had chosen him, but his curiosity would soon be satisfied.
“We caught this nigga creeping, cuz,” Mad Man lisped. A few years prior he had had his two front teeth knocked out by some cops, so he whistled a little when he spoke.
“Yeah, old boy was riding in a mean Benz,” Lil Blue added.
“Punk-ass slob.” Rahkim raised the sawed-off. “My brother ain’t even cold yet and you got the nerve to show your stinking face round here. Y’all little niggaz move so I can peel this bitch!”
“Easy, Unc.” Gutter stepped between Rahkim and Pudgy. “Pudge, I know you ain’t got a death wish, so I assume you got a good reason for being here? Start talking before these hammers do.” Gutter motioned toward his heavily armed entourage.
Pudgy was clearly as nervous as a rabbit in a pit of vipers, but he tried to steady his voice when he spoke. “Listen, man, I didn’t wanna come here to die, but they said it would be a show of good faith.”
“Who the fuck is they?” Criminal asked.
“The homeys from Swan, Trik wants to meet with you guys.”
“Fuck Swan!” Rahkim raged, stepping around Gutter and placing the sawed-off to Pudgy’s large stomach. “You niggaz killed my brother, ain’t shit to talk about.”
Pudgy fought to control his bowels. When the homeys gave him his mission, he told them that he’d wanted no part of it. The Soladines were a wild lot and there was no reasoning with them. Still, Trik had insisted he do it. It was either that or be tried as a traitor. Now, Pudgy found himself about to be executed for trying to do his duty. His only hope would be to reason with the more sensible member of the clan.
“Gutter, man, tell dude to stall me out,” he pleaded.
“And why the fuck should I?” Gutter glared at Pudgy. “Swans shot my uncle and y’all knew he wasn’t riding no more. Fuck you and your whole set. Mad Man, Lil Blue, take this faggot somewhere and waste him. When you’re done, dump his body in Swan hood.”
“Wait, man!” Pudgy pleaded, as the youngsters grabbed hold of him. “We didn’t hit Gunn.”
“Yeah, so who the fuck put the work in on my uncle, Santa Claus? Don’t change the fact that a fuck nigga in a red suit did it.”
“Gutter.” Pudgy tried to compose himself. “Please, just meet with Trik. He can clear this whole mess up.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rahkim said. “Trik is probably just trying to lure us out. Let’s smoke this muthafucka for the big homey, nephew.”
“It ain’t like that, man,” Pudgy insisted. “Trik just wants to bring an end to all this shit. On my kids, we ain’t lay hands on yo people.”
Gutter mulled it over for a few. Though Trik was quite a few years older than him, Gutter knew what he was about. Back in the day Trik had the reputation of being one of the most savage niggaz in the hood. If he wanted to get at the Soladines he wouldn’t have sent a messenger, he would’ve come in with an army. But for as savage as Trik was, he was one of the few niggaz left who respected the old codes.
“Okay, we’ll meet with Trik,” Gutter agreed. Rahkim started to protest, but Gutter waved him silent. “When and where?”
Pudgy visibly relaxed. “Trik said y’all could meet at the Beverly Center.”
“Fuck that nigga, who say he get to pick where the fuck we meet? Them ol ho-ass niggaz probably got something cooked up over that way.”
“Dawg, I wouldn’t play wit y’all or my life like that, Trik ain’t plotting,” Pudgy tried to convince Gutter.
“Nah, cuz, I’m wit my uncle on this one. We pick the spot or it don’t happen.” Gutter thought on it for a minute. “That Beverly Center shit is out; we’ll meet in the Beach… the old church on Fourth.”
“Okay, man, you got that. I’ll go tell him.” Pudgy made to leave, but Gutter stopped him.
“Hold on, cuz. I’m reasonable, not stupid. Call Trik and tell him. Your ass is staying here. Mad Man, Lil Blue”-Gutter turned to the youths-“take this fool somewhere and sit on him until you hear from us.” He turned back to Pudgy. “If this does turn out to be some funny shit, I’m gonna let my niggaz take turns fucking you up. Then I’m gonna cut your throat from ear to ear.”
Pudgy didn’t know Gutter that well, but he knew from the young man’s reputation that he was serious. Trik seemed sincere about his intentions, but Pudgy hadn’t been willing to bet his life on it. Now it seemed that he didn’t have a choice in the matter.
AFTER PUDGY placed the phone call to Trik, he was escorted to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Gutter, followed by Criminal and Rahkim, made his way back to the house. Rahkim complained the whole time, saying how they should’ve just blasted Pudgy, and Gutter did his best to ignore him. He knew that they could keep killing Bloods from now until the end of the year, but there was no guarantee that they’d be any closer to catching Gunn’s killer. He would meet with Trik to see if his words held any truth, but if they didn’t, he’d be another dead slob.
When they reached the house Monifa was still standing on the porch where he had left her. At first she appeared rattled, but once she noticed they had all come back in one piece she relaxed. She knew better than to ask Gutter what had happened in front of Rahkim and Criminal, so she stored it away for later. She informed him that she had to make a run, and she’d be back in a little while. After kissing him on the cheek, she got in her car and pulled off.
Gutter had been in the house for about fifteen minutes when Snake Eyes came in. The young attorney’s cane clicked against the hardwood floor as he crossed the foyer into the living room. Though his limp had improved over the years, he still sometimes depended on the walking stick for balance. After speaking to everyone, he made his way to the backyard where Gutter was sitting on a lawn chair talking to Criminal.
“What up, Harlem?” Snake Eyes dapped him.
“Ain’t shit, we got a lead on Gunn’s killer so we gonna mash in a few.” Gutter filled him in.
“Well, you’re gonna have to fill me in because I got something a little more pressing to holla at you about.” Snake Eyes took Gutter gently by the arm and steered him out of earshot of everyone else. “I got a call from Sharell today, she says she’s been trying to call you, but keeps getting the voice mail.”
“I kinda smashed my phone. I’ll call her when I get in the house. Is everything okay?” Gutter asked.
�
��Yeah, she was ecstatic actually. Satin is at your house,” Snake Eyes told him. Gutter just smiled. “G, you wanna explain to me how you were able to get her released from the hospital?”
“Trust me, cuz, you don’t even wanna know, loc. But check, they say Trik from Swan wanna jaw about who bust on Unc.”
Snake Eyes raised his eyebrows. “Straight up?” he asked, momentarily forgetting about the fugitive.
“Square biz, homey. He say he got some information on who popped him up and he wanna meet with me.”
“You think he trying to plot?” Snake asked.
“Man, if he don’t play fair Ima let Criminal and them niggaz break that power saw in on Pudgy’s fat ass.”
“Shit, I’m rolling with y’all,” Snake Eyes declared. He had a fire in his eyes that Gutter hadn’t seen in quite a few years.
“Nah, Snake. It might get ugly, and you’re too valuable to get caught up in some bullshit,” Gutter explained.
“You can’t cut me outta this one,” Snake Eyes insisted. “Big Gunn was always looking out for me, and I want to see his killer brought to justice, hood justice.”
Gutter couldn’t even argue the fact that Snake Eyes had a very valid point. Of all his comrades, Snake Eyes had been the closest to Gunn. Not only did he school him to the streets, but he was the main reason why Snake Eyes didn’t fall under the sword after the O’Leary murder.
There were several gang factions, Crip and Blood, that didn’t appreciate the heat the cop killers had brought down on them. Lou-Loc and Gutter were safely tucked away on the East Coast, but Snake Eyes had remained in California to finish school. A few cats thought about getting at him, or maybe even turning him in to call the dogs off, but Gunn made it very clear that if anything happened to Snake Eyes, the hand of death would fall on the offender. So, with Gunn as his guardian angel, Snake Eyes was able to finish school and pass the bar. Though his main legal practice was based in Miami, he made frequent trips to L.A., where he did consulting out of a small office downtown, off Central Avenue.
“A’ight then,” Gutter agreed. “But you keep your ass out of the fire if it gets hot, Snake.”
“Man, stop acting like we ain’t come up under the same knuckles.” Snake Eyes waved him off.
“Now, when we go through there we ain’t gonna roll deep, but we gonna bring muscle and insurance. Criminal”-he turned to the youngster-“round up two or three of your best shooters, I got something I need y’all little niggaz to do.”
“All day, cuz,” Criminal said with vigor.
“Snake.” Gutter turned to his longtime friend. “Walk with me, counselor. We’ve got plans to lay and enemies to blast.”
“SPEAK ON it,” Major Blood said into his cell phone. He listened for a minute as his little cousin Reckless brought him up to speed on what was popping on the west.
“Yeah, they snatched his fat ass out in Torrence,” Reckless said. Major could hear the mirth in his voice. “Trik is trying to smooth things over with them sucka-ass niggaz, you want me to go see him?” the young boy asked, eager to lay something down for the cause.
Major Blood thought on it for a minute. “Nah, let that Jheri curl-wearing muthafucka breathe for now. Once I take care of shit out here, we can put the second phase of our plan in motion. Just lay low until it’s time to mash niggaz out.”
“You got that, big homey. So when we gonna move on the old heads?” Reckless asked. He hated missing out on all the killing he was sure his cousin was putting down on the East Coast.
“In due time, Blood, for right now you just keep your eyes and ears open,” Major told him.
“A’ight then, see about me.” Reckless ended the call.
Major sat, processing what he had just learned. He wished he could be there to see the look on Gutter’s face when the mystery finally unfolded, but it would have to wait. There were things that he still had to put in order before his plan could come full circle. The UBN could fool themselves into believing they were running the show, but when the smoke cleared Major Blood would show them all who was really in power.
chapter 23
DANN AND Tears walked into the garage of the Soladine house to find it overrun with soldiers. Men sat on crates or leaned against walls, chatting. The fact that they were all armed told them that something was up. In the center of the mix were Gutter, Snake Eyes, and Criminal. Snake Eyes was leaning in whispering to Gutter, who was loading an AK-47.
“Damn, it looks like Kuwait in this piece,” Danny said, handing Gutter the box containing his new cell phone.
Tears gave all the men dap and leaned against the workbench, which held a variety of firearms. “Looks like you niggaz is fixing to ride?”
“We are,” Criminal said. Seeing the confused looks on Danny’s and Tear’s faces Criminal went on to rundown what Pudgy had told him.
“You think these niggaz is on the level?” Tears asked, taking a Mac 11 from the workbench, and checking the clip.
“We’ll know in a little while,” Snake Eyes said, popping a clip in a 9 and reaching for the next weapon to load. “We’re meeting them niggaz in Long Beach.”
Danny picked up a shotgun and cocked it. “Now, this is what I’m talking about.”
Criminal twisted his brown face in disgust. “Homey, put that strap down before you hurt somebody. This ain’t no fucking game, so be cool.”
“Come on, man. You act like I ain’t gangsta with mine.” Danny puffed up.
Criminal studied his East Coast cousin for a minute before responding. “Trip this, cuz; it’s easy to sike ya self up to ride on a nigga, but sometimes the coin flips and you can wind up on the other side of the pistol.” He raised his shirt so Danny could see the darkened lumps from healed-over gunshot wounds. “My nigga if I don’t know nothing else I know you die the way you live and I plan on going all the way with it.” Criminal brandished a long pistol.
Danny held Criminal’s gaze, but the lifeless eyes staring back at him swept a phantom wind across the back of his neck. “I can respect that, homey. Look, all I’m saying is that if my homey Gutter is riding into a dangerous situation, I’m going too.”
“It’s cool,” Gutter spoke up. He looked at his protégé seriously and asked, “So you really trying to ride the train?”
Danny stared at Gutter and said, “All day. One thing you always told me was that the set came before anything. If you ’bout to sit wit the devil then you might as well get me a chair.”
Gutter held out his fist. “Solid, little brother.”
“Harlem gangsta to the death, big homey,” Danny declared loud enough for everyone to hear, and pounded Gutter’s fist.
MAJOR BLOOD sat motionless in the armchair of his hotel room. Though he wasn’t ranting, as Miguel thought he’d be, the rage in his eyes was apparent. Resting on his lap was a copy of the Daily News. Within its pages two articles caught Major Blood’s eye. The first was about two men killed in a gangland shooting. J. B. and Steve had been good soldiers, but at the end of the day they were expendable. What pissed him off about reading of their deaths was the fact that his warning to Pop Top had been ignored. Steps would have to be taken to show Harlem that he meant business.
The most interesting article was about a woman who had been found dead at a Connecticut mental institution. The ironic part about it was that it wasn’t Satin. The woman who had been killed was supposed to have been in another room, but somehow ended up in Satin’s bed that night. Ms. Angelino had vanished and neither the staff nor the authorities had a clue as to where she’d gone. Major Blood crumbled the newspaper and tossed it into the corner.
“That’s some crazy shit, blood,” Miguel said. “What do you think happened to the bitch?”
“How the fuck would I know,” Major snapped. He had a perfect record as far as contract kills went and Satin had just screwed it up. When he found out who had helped her to escape he vowed that they’ll die slower than she will.
“Something has gotta be done, man,” Eddie added. “Pop
Top waxed Vlad and Pook then he had at least five of ours in Brooklyn murked. If we let those fuckers get away with killing them cats it ain’t gonna look good on us.”
Major turned his cold stare to Eddie. “You know what, you have a knack for pointing out the obvious, you silly muthafucka. Next time I’ll break your jaw instead of your nose, maybe then you won’t say such stupid shit.”
Eddie touched his swollen nose, and sucked his teeth. He hadn’t known Major that long, but he already couldn’t stand him.
“Kick back, Eddie,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “So, what we gonna do now, Major?” he addressed his namesake.
“We start hacking away at the limbs of Harlem Crip until it’s time to take the head,” Major told him. “I’m ’bout to call my little nigga B-High and tell him it’s time to start leaking muthafuckas. Maybe he can get the point across better than I can,” he said with a wicked edge to his voice.
“Man, you keep talking ’bout this lil nigga, but how come don’t none of us know him, I assume he Blood?” Eddie asked, which got him a stupid look from Major Blood. “Be cool, nigga, the only reason I asked is because I don’t know his moniker, what’s the skinny on him?”
“Ain’t no skinny, that’s my nigga from the way. Solid-ass soldier,” Major said, not wanting to go into B-High’s shaky history. “Man, we can play twenty-one questions later, y’all go do whatever you gotta do for the day because tonight we riding to the strip joint.”
“Yeah, I could go for that. Fuck a few of them fine-ass black bitches or something tonight.” Miguel rubbed his hands together.
Major Blood looked at him as if Miguel was as dim-witted as Eddie. “Man, we ain’t going to catch no bitches, we going to catch some cases.”
“What’s the plan, Blood?” Tito asked.
