by K'wan
Major just grinned and said, “To kill as many muthafuckas as we can without getting caught.”
POP TOP paced the storage unit trying to suck the life out of a Newport. The cigarette had already burned almost down to the filter, but it didn’t stop him from taking one last drag before tossing it to the ground and fishing around in his pocket for another one. C-style had just delivered the news of China’s suicide and of all the homeys he seemed to be taking it the hardest.
Though he gave China more grief than anyone else, he was quite fond of the little soldier. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t convinced him to go on the hit then maybe the little boy would still be among them, laughing and rolling the blunts. China was yet another name added to the steadily growing list of casualties.
“Damn, I can’t believe the little nigga off’d himself,” High Side said from the crate he was sitting on.
“Yo, the boy was straight laid out!” C-style said emotionally.
“Fuck,” Pop Top growled, slamming his fist into the wall, rattling the cool metal. “If it ain’t bad enough that this Major Blood nigga is picking us off, now you got niggaz cashing in their own chips.”
“Man, I say we move on these niggaz, son. I don’t like the idea of having to constantly watch my back,” High Side said.
“How we gonna move on them when we don’t know where the fuck to find them? This Major Blood nigga is like HIV, every time he shows up somebody dies,” Hollywood pointed out.
“Dawg, I don’t know how y’all feel, but I say we get low until Gutter comes back. He’ll know how to handle this,” Rob suggested.
“Get low?” Pop Top glared at Rob. “Nigga, this is war, ain’t no getting low. Either you a soldier or a pussy? Which one is it?”
“I ain’t no pussy,” Rob said softly.
“Then stop acting like one.” Pop Top went back to his pacing. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Young Rob, but he was stressed the fuck out. Gutter had entrusted him with the well-being of the set and he was letting the situation with the Bloods get out of control. The local crews were easy enough to deal with, but Major Blood was another story. Whereas the young cats running around New York were wolves, Major Blood was a snake and proving to be more trouble than Pop Top had expected. His rational mind told him to call Gutter, but Pop Top never moved rationally.
“We gotta get a handle on this, cousins,” Pop Top continued. “We’ve fought too hard to get a lock on Harlem to let some out-of-town nigga come through and fuck it up.” He took a minute to light the cigarette dangling between his lips. “I’m gonna put something together to bring an end to this Major Blood nigga, in the meantime y’all just be on point. I want every muthafucka on the set to be armed at all times.”
“That’s how I roll anyway, cuz, you know that.” High Side brandished his pistol. “First nigga come at me sideways is gonna get his muthafucking head popped off.”
“Man, y’all can sit around playing cowboys and Indians, but I’m about to hit the bricks and see about my scratch,” Hollywood said, heading for the door.
“Where the fuck is you going?” Pop Top asked.
“I gotta go meet the boy, Goldie, and open up shop. Pussy ain’t gonna sell itself. Side”-he turned to High Side-“you still coming through later?”
“Hell yeah, nigga. I’m gonna scoop the boy, Kiss, then we’ll push through the spot. I wanna see what you lame muthafuckas is working with anyway,” High Side teased him.
“Fuck you, nigga, just make sure you bring some of that good crack money to spend wit my bitches!” Hollywood shot back before leaving the unit.
“HOW IS she?” Gutter asked.
“She’s still a little out of it from all the drugs they’ve been pumping into her, but other than that she seems fine,” Sharell said into her cell phone, which was cradled between her ear and shoulder. “I still don’t know how he managed to get her out of the hospital.”
“Cross has a way of getting in and out of places most people can’t,” Gutter told her.
“Who is he? I mean, I know he was a friend of Lou-Loc’s, but he ain’t no gangster.”
“You’re right, he ain’t no gangsta,” Gutter said, thinking about the eerie Cross. “But who he is ain’t important right now, baby. What’s important is that Satin is safe.”
Sharell could sense that he was uncomfortable talking about Cross so she let it rest. “So, when do you think you’ll be back?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a day or so. You know we don’t sit on bodies more than forty-eight hours before entering them into the Mosoleum.”
“Kenyatta, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Gunn. I only wish I could’ve been there for the funeral. Please tell Rahshida I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.
“I will, ma, and don’t trip she understands.” He paused as he watched Monifa walk past the kitchen and give him a look.
“Kenyatta, is everything okay?” Sharell asked.
“Yeah, everything is cool. I’m just tripping off my uncle being gone,” he lied.
“Don’t you worry about that, Ken, he’s with the Lord now. You just be strong, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.” His eyes followed Monifa’s every move. He was so engrossed in her that he only half heard Sharell still talking.
“Kenyatta, did you hear me?”
“Sorry, what’d you say?”
“I said I love you,” she repeated.
“Oh, I love you too,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “A’ight, let me go on out here and see about Lil Gunn. I’ll call you later on, okay?”
“A’ight, you do what you gotta do and come back to me in one piece.”
“No doubt, later boo.” He ended the call. He smiled at Monifa, who was watching him intently. Instead of returning the gesture she sucked her teeth and walked out the front door. “Can’t win for losing,” Gutter said as he headed out the back door to the yard.
part III.DOMINO EFFECT
chapter 24
SATIN SAT on the love seat in the plush living room staring out the window at downtown Brooklyn. She thought she had been dreaming that night in the hospital when Cross had come. She was afraid of the dark-skinned man at first, but there was a calming quality to him… almost a familiarity. When she was placed into the back of the darkened van she thought sure that it would be her last ride, but to her surprise he had brought her to Sharell. From what she was able to gather from the conversation he had done it for Lou-Loc. She had no idea what kind of connection the Goth could’ve had with Lou-Loc, but she would look into that afterward. What mattered now was that she was free to raise her child.
“How’re you feeling, Satin?” Sharell descended the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of Bibs and white Air Max. Her stomach looked as if it would burst through the fabric if she moved the wrong way.
Satin smiled up at her. “Considering… yeah, I’m cool.”
Sharell sat on the couch and placed a hand over Satin’s. “Baby, you’ve been through a lot so it’s gonna take some time to heal. And never forget that me and Kenyatta got your back.”
“Gutter,” Satin said out loud, listening to the name that she had heard dozens of times. “It’s funny, because I’ve only heard stories about him and I feel like I’ve known him since forever.”
“You don’t go listening to what people have to say about my Ken, he ain’t that bad,” Sharell joked. “Anyhow, I gotta run out real quick, but I’m coming right back. You sure you don’t wanna come with me and get some air, sugar?”
“Nah, I’m okay, but thanks. I think I’m just gonna stay in and get my head together,” Satin told her.
“Okay, but you know you can’t spend the rest of your days hiding in the house. We still gotta get you to the gynecologist to see about my little niece or nephew, but I wanna speak to Kenyatta and Snake Eyes to see what the legal situation is gonna look like.”
“God, I’ll probably be a fugitive for the rest of my days.” Satin put her head in her hands.
“You don’t go worrying about that, I’m sure Snake Eyes is gonna get the matter cleared up. At the least he can tie it up in so much red tape that the baby will be starting pre-k by the time you go to trial. We didn’t wait this long to get you back, just to have them snatch you away again, Satin. Leave it in the Lord’s hands and everything will be fine.” She hugged her.
“Thank you, Sharell.” Satin squeezed her back. “You hardly know me and you’ve already done so much. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
“Don’t even worry about that, Satin. Lou-Loc was my brother so that makes you my sister. Family will take care of family, baby. Now let me get outta here so I can hurry up and get back.” Sharell stood to leave. “There are some leftovers in the fridge in case you get hungry, but I’m gonna bring some manna back with me when I come. You want me to leave Mohammad here with you while I’m gone?”
Satin recalled the dark-haired man who stood between Sharell and Cross, and how empty his eyes were even in the face of certain death. Being around Cross was frightening, but there wasn’t much comfort with Mohammad either.
“I’ll be cool.” Satin rubbed her arms.
“Okay, well I’ll see you in a few hours. If you need me just call.” Sharell held up her cell phone. Once she was sure that Satin was good she headed out.
When the door locked behind her, Satin curled her legs beneath her on the couch and picked up the remote. It had been so long since she’d watched videos that she hoped she could keep up with the new music scene.
SHARELL STEPPED out of her building, humming a tune with a name she didn’t remember, but it brought her plenty of joy as a child. Mohammad nodded at her passing, but didn’t get out of his car, nor did she expect him to. Though his eyes seemed as alert as ever, she knew that the incident with Cross had disturbed him. After the encounter he opened his mouth to apologize, but Sharell waved him silent.
She hit the remote, popping the locks on her X5, and tossed her purse in the backseat. When she went to climb behind the wheel a cold chill ran up her back. She glanced around cautiously, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary on the block. Shrugging it off as the nervousness that came with harboring a fugitive, Sharell got behind the wheel and started the car.
WHEN B-HIGH raised his face from the armrest, he looked like he’d been given a facial using baking powder. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his limbs were pumped with adrenaline. He tried to clear his nostril, but there was too much cocaine lodged in it. The Spanish cats he scored from were trying to bust his brain wide-open with the sweet white they served up. Reluctantly, he removed a napkin from the floor and blew his nose. He hated to waste good cocaine, but it was better than suffocating himself.
It turned out to be a good thing that the coke got lodged in his nose. Otherwise he might’ve missed Sharell coming out of her building. The powder he’d snorted supercharged his brain and demanded he take her on the spot, but the killer Major Blood had shaped held him in his seat. There were too many people on the block and he doubted if he could even get to her before her shadow popped off. Patience over passion, he told himself.
Sharell wasn’t wearing a uniform so he knew that she wasn’t going to work. It was probably a short run, because Sharell didn’t stray too far from home if it wasn’t work-related, and even when it wasn’t her shadow was forever present.
B-High had gotten a kick out of the standoff between the two men. He was actually about to turn in for the night when he saw Sharell come out of the building, with her bodyguard standing out in the open. Until then he had been little more than a shade that she whispered to when she thought no one was watching. B-High was always watching, just like Major Blood had taught him. He didn’t know what part the disheveled-looking girl played in Major’s plan, but people skulking around in the night were always worth looking into.
From a slumped position in his seat he watched Sharell head toward her car. He’d almost thought she spotted him when she looked around suspiciously. Thankfully, she kept moving. Right after Sharell pulled out, the shadow got on her tail. Sliding from his car he moved to Sharell’s building. It didn’t take much for him to jimmy the lock and slip in. He found a nondescript utility closet and ducked inside. B-High took the small tinfoil package from his pocket. Sharell was sure to be gone for at least a few hours so he decided to party a little while he waited.
chapter 25
HIGH SIDE was lounging in front of the corner store on 142nd and Lenox Avenue, drinking a forty ounce. Periodically he would look up from the newspaper on his lap and scan the block for signs of trouble. Though his friend hadn’t said it, he knew the situation unfolding around Harlem had him rattled. Next to Gutter, Pop Top was the most dangerous cat in Harlem, so if Major Blood had him spooked then they had a serious problem.
Around the corner, inside of the second building, a young man served the fiends that High Side sent his way. When Lou-Loc had divided up the territories this became High Side’s domain. He had occasional trouble with the Blood cats from Seventh, but for the most part they respected him enough not to tread directly on his turf.
“Break ya self, nigga!” Young Rob said, walking up on High Side. He was followed by C-style, and they both looked high as hell.
“Man, you need to quit playing so much. You know we got drama out here, fool. Playing like that can get yo shit pushed back,” High Side told him.
“Nigga stop fronting like you extra G wit it. You’re so caught up in that forty and last night’s basketball scores that you ain’t even on point. What you gonna do if that nigga Major Blood run up on you?”
High Side smiled and lifted the newspaper, exposing the large handgun on his lap. “Put a fucking hole in him.”
“Solid.” Rob gave him dap. “So, what’s the word on the streets?”
High Side shrugged. “Not much. There were a few incidents, but since them Brownsville niggaz put the mash on them two cats, it’s been pretty quiet.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” C-style said. “Since y’all niggaz been banging out the block has been on fire. I can’t even pump my little weed in the hood no more.”
“You wasn’t getting no money anyhow,” Rob joked.
Rob and C-style traded insults, while High Side laughed at both of them. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a car pulling up to the light. It wasn’t unusual as 142nd was a busy block. The strange part about it was the way the female passenger in the backseat was looking at him. It wasn’t a look of recognition, but one of hatred. At the moment the passenger side door swung open, High Side made his move.
High Side sprang to his feet and threw the crate he was sitting on at the car, shattering the windshield. The young man who had been trying to climb from the car fell back, trying to avoid the spray of glass. The back door opened up and Ruby hopped out, blasting away with her Desert Eagle. The storefront glass shattered, but none of the bullets hit anyone.
Ruby’s eyes flashed pure hatred as she tried to lay down her enemies. When she had approached Hawk about sanctioning a hit on Harlem, he brushed her off, saying that Major would handle it. He might’ve had faith in the assassin handling the problem, but Ruby refused to sit by and wait. The Crips would answer for the murder of her lover.
Rob knocked C-style to the ground just as bullets whistled over their heads. Not bothering to see if she was hit, Rob rolled on his back and began firing his.38. The bullets tore into the car, but he too failed to hit anyone.
Two more men climbed from the now bullet-riddled car as it turned the corner of Lenox Avenue. They opened fire on the block, not really caring who they hit. High Side got low and cut through the crowd of people that were scattering up the block. Firing from one knee, he hit one of the shooters in the throat. The man dropped his gun and clutched at the hole in his neck. Blood spilled over his fingers and down the front of his shirt as he crashed to the ground.
“Die muthafuckas!” Ruby roared, firing her cannon. The Eagle sent shock waves up her arm every time i
t bucked, but she held it in a death grip. She didn’t even bother to take cover as Rob and High Side exchanged fire with her crew. Her own safety was no longer an issue. All that mattered to her was revenge.
Rob tried to get out of the line of fire, but was too slow. Ruby hit him once in the leg and twice in the back. Rob tried to keep his feet, but vertigo overcame him and he hit the ground. Rob was leaking all over the place, but he still tried to crawl to the hysterical C-style.
The remaining shooter had managed to back High Side into the doorway of the bodega. The small man who worked the register quickly slammed the small wooden door, separating himself from the skirmish and grabbed his phone to call the police. The shooter was trying to bring his firing arm around, but High Side held onto his wrist for dear life, while hitting him with a series of left hooks to the skull.
Over the shooter’s shoulder he saw his little man, Young Rob, slam face first into the ground. Ruby was easing up on the boy’s prone body to finish him off, but High Side was too busy fighting for his own life to do anything about it. He watched in horror as she knelt beside Rob and blew the back of his head off with the Eagle.
High Side’s grief lasted for about five seconds before it was replaced with blinding rage. He grabbed the shooter by his arm and slammed his knee into it, at the elbow. The shooter howled in pain as the gun went flying from his hand. High Side cracked him with a savage right to the jaw, sending him spilling out onto the street. High Side went to pen him, but froze when he heard a round being chambered to his right.
Ruby drew a bead on High Side, who was frozen like a deer in headlights, and prepared to finish him off. Though she knew the young man wasn’t Gutter, he’d been identified as a shooter for Harlem Crip. High Side had murdered quite a few of her folk, so he definitely had to go. No sooner than Ruby’s finger brushed the trigger, pain exploded in her chest. She looked down at her blouse, which now had a red stain in the middle. On shaky legs, Ruby turned to see C-style holding Rob’s smoking gun.
