Gutter

by K'wan

  “Everything is different when the clothes come off, poppy.” It was only Lexi’s second night at the club so Goldie hadn’t really had a chance to pick her brain yet. Normally either he or Hollywood would handpick the girls who worked at the club, but Lexi had interviewed with Joe and only met Goldie in passing. Joe raved about the girl’s body and seeing her damn near naked Goldie understood why.

  “I might just have to see about that,” he replied.

  “Mind if I sit down?” She motioned to the vacant stool between him and Hollywood. Goldie nodded. To his and especially Hollywood’s surprise she didn’t sit on the stool, but on Hollywood’s lap. Hollywood acted as if he didn’t even notice her.

  “Damn, Wood, you need some help with that?” Dirty Bill rubbed an ashy hand across Lexi’s thigh. She smiled before slapping his hand away.

  “You gotta pay to play.” She pushed her breasts together, teasing him.

  “If that’s the case then you might as well rise the fuck up off me, because I sure as hell ain’t no trick,” Hollywood told her in an icy tone.

  Lexi slid her ass further into Hollywood’s groin. Even though he was wearing his game face she could feel his dick getting hard under her ass. “Baby, just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I would never disrespect a true player like that,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “And what makes you think I’m a true player?” he asked.

  Lexi flicked her tongue out then gave him a sly smile. “Everyone knows big Wood from Harlem. My home girl Janice says you’re the man to see if a bitch wanna clock some real paper.”

  Hollywood quickly flipped through his mental rolodex and placed a face with the name. Janice was a young bitch he had met a while back at a dive called the News Room off Grand Concourse. She was a young mud-kicker dying to live the fast life, but was lazy as hell so she didn’t make the grade.

  “Well, in case you ain’t heard, ya girl fell a lil short.” He chuckled softly.

  Lexi turned around and straddled his lap. There was a fierceness in her eyes that stirred something low in Hollywood’s groin. “I said that was peoples, not my style.” She took Hollywood’s hand and placed it on her ass. “Wit all this junk I can’t do nothing but get money.”

  Hollywood had to smile at her snappy comeback. “I’ll tell you what.” He eased her off his lap and slid off the stool. “Let’s go on in the office and rap for a taste. Maybe we can come to some type of understanding.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She swayed her big ass toward the office. Hollywood admired her ass for a second before following.

  THE MINUTE their SUV touched the Bronx, Eddie was struck by a sinking feeling. Tito was behind the wheel with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, silently watching the streets, while Miguel sat next to him, using a handkerchief to load the clips to the various weapons they were carrying. Trailing them in a Camry was a cat named Boo and some wild-ass niggaz from Newark, who claimed Sex, Money, and Murder Bloods. There were six of them in total, making up what Major Blood had referred to as a war party.

  Eddie watched Major as he bobbed his head to Mack 10’s “Bang or Ball,” mouthing along with the song. His heart seemed to swell with pride as he stacked his set in fluid motions that came from years of throwing it up. From the moment Eddie had laid eyes on the man at the airport he knew that he was going to be trouble, and the trail of bodies he was leaving was proof of that. Gutter’s house was slowly slipping into chaos.

  “Say, Blood, you hear me talking to you?” Major asked, snapping Eddie out of his daydream.

  “Huh?”

  “I said be the fuck on point,” Major repeated. “We ’bout to roll into a fucking nest of vipers and I don’t want no fuck-shit throwing my plan to the left.”

  “Fuck the left, it’s right all night, we straight,” Eddie said in a nasally tone. Since his nose had been broken it always felt like it was stopped up, making him sound like he had a cold.

  “Fool, stop trying to act you niggaz out here is properly educated. Just be on point, ya raccoon-looking muthafucka,” Major taunted Eddie who was also sporting two black eyes, caused by the broken nose. Eddie knew better than to try and get fly out of his mouth with Major Blood, but Miguel snickering gave him a new target to direct his anger at.

  “Fuck you laughing at, Blood?” Eddie glared at Miguel.

  “You, nigga. I can’t front, you do kinda look like a raccoon with them shiners, kid,” Miguel pointed out.

  “Fuck you, ho-ass nigga. I’d like to see ya ass try and go toe-to-toe with me!” Eddie snapped.

  “Toe-to-toe my ass, Eddie, you know damn well you can’t fight!” Miguel shot back. Miguel was an easygoing cat, but next to Tito and Major he was the most thorough cat in the car.

  “Man, why don’t the both of y’all shut the fuck up.” Tito glanced back at them. “Major is right. We ’bout to go at these niggaz on they own turf and I don’t plan on none of my home boys getting left behind. We ride or die together.”

  “Ain’t y’all the cutest, kicking that real comrade shit. Look, fellas,” Major addressed everyone in the car, “this murder shit ain’t rocket science, but there’s an art to it. All we gotta do is go in that bitch and wet everything moving then bounce, simple,” Major said as if it was just another day at the office, which to him it was.

  “Shit, I’m down wit that one-eighty-seven all day, but this ain’t gonna be easy. All them niggaz gonna be in there strapped and, of course, they gonna have security at the door. How we gonna bust on the bouncers and still be able to creep on them crabs? As soon as they hear the gunshots it’s gonna be like the Fourth of fucking July,” Miguel pointed out.

  Major turned his attention to Miguel. “Lil brother, would I lead you on a suicide mission? Blood, one thing I’ve learned in my life is that money truly is the root of all evil. We ain’t gonna have to lick one shot until we get right up on them marks.”

  Tito chuckled, blowing smoke from the edge of his mouth. “Kick back, Blood. The big homey got it all worked out.” Both Tito and Major Blood had reassuring smirks on their faces, but it did nothing to put Eddie’s mind at ease.

  About a block from the Blue Light, Tito stopped the car. In the rearview he could see two shadows slithering out of the Camry and vanishing into an alley next to the gentlemen’s club.

  “Time to rock and roll, poppy,” Major Blood said over his shoulder, handing Eddie the Mac that had been on his lap. Eddie looked at the gun as if he didn’t understand so Major explained. “You’re gonna go post up by that store.” Major nodded to a darkened doorway across the street. “Anybody come out but us, hit ’em hard and fast.”

  Eddie looked at the gun that was now resting on his lap, and swallowed. He’d hoped that his job would be to watch the car, or possibly subdue security, but Major had other plans. He looked at his elder G, who was watching him intently, and knew that he had to follow the order. Major was testing him and if he didn’t answer the call to arms there was no doubt that he would end up going out like B. T. or worse. With a silent nod he stepped out of the car and went to take his post.

  Major watched as Eddie crossed the street with his shoulders sagging, before turning back to Tito and Miguel. “You niggaz ready to push a muthafucka?”

  In response, Tito laughed and stepped out of the car. Everybody from Harlem to Kansas City knew the reputation of Cisco’s executioner, even with the rumors of L.C. going soft no one ever doubted his willingness to kill. Whether Miguel felt the same or not was the question.

  “Sup, home boy?” Major asked. Miguel didn’t respond, he just got out of the car and followed Tito.

  Major and his team strolled to the entrance of the club chatting among themselves. When the bouncer spotted them, he started moving in their direction. Miguel thought he was about to pop off, so he reached for his gun, but Major Blood stayed his hand. To his surprise the bouncer walked right past them as if they weren’t even there. Miguel looked to Major who just winked.

&
nbsp; The lights in the club were dim, but it wasn’t dark yet. They would go almost completely out later in the night when the crowd picked up and the freaky shit started jumping off. There was a main stage in the back, and several smaller stages positioned around the main floor. Though most the smaller stages were vacant at the moment there were three big booty chicks entertaining the crowd from the main stage. Though the Blue Light was a Crip establishment, the trio of Bloods had to admit that the spot was popping.

  Major Blood scanned the club for Hollywood, but he was nowhere to be found. At least somebody was on their job, he thought, looking over at Miguel who was trying to grope one of the strippers. If he decided to stick around New York and reap the benefits of his work there would have to be some serious personnel changes. The pretty boy wasn’t a killer like Gutter and Pop Top, but he was said to be a major cog in the Crip machine, which is why he had to be taken out. He wanted to strip Gutter of all his friends and family before he killed him. If things worked out as he planned, Hollywood’s murder would go as smooth as silk.

  Miguel’s head whipped back and forth as he watched the parade of flesh at the Blue Light. A dark-skinned girl with an ass that belonged on a horse tried to engage him in conversation, but a subtle elbow from Tito put him back on point. The place was crawling with Crips so they had to take extra caution.

  “Let’s hit the bar!” Major shouted to Tito over the music. Major Blood picked his way through the light crowd, never taking his eyes off the four men who were huddled at the bar. Though no one saw him draw, two.9s appeared in Major’s hands. The men at the bar were chopping it up with two strippers, having a good time. Little did they know Major Blood was about to change all that. None of them were Hollywood, but they were all from the wrong side of the track, which was reason enough to trip.

  “Let’s announce ourselves, boys,” Major said to his crew, before breaking his rival’s circle.

  chapter 28

  THE RIDE was shorter than he had remembered it, Gutter thought to himself as the Regal exited off the East Pacific Coast Highway, near the community hospital. Though the area had changed quite a bit since Gutter had last been there it still brought back memories. From gunfights to chasing trim, he and Lou-Loc had seen more of their fair share of action on the Long Beach streets.

  Snake Eyes drove, while Gutter occupied the passenger seat. Rahkim was glaring out the window, smoking cigarette after cigarette, while Danny shifted around nervously under the weight of the carbine rifle on his lap. Gutter wondered for the umpteenth time if he made the right decision in letting Danny come to California with him. The war was still in full swing, but the rules had changed. There was no more etiquette between the crews, just who had the highest body count. It had been years since Gutter had found himself in the thick of it, but the animal that had rocketed him to ghetto star status still lurked beneath the surface and would react accordingly when and if it came to it, but would Danny be able to stand the test of fire? At the end it had been Danny’s choice. Gutter made no secrets about the lifestyle he led and what it meant to be a true banger. Twenty-four/seven you rode for the cause in any and all things. From mayhem to murder, you either put in work or you didn’t join up, simple as that.

  Trailing them in the blue Escalade were Tears, Criminal, Jynx, and the big homey Ren from Four Duce Gangster. Jynx had a presence in Long Beach, so that automatically put the odds in their favor with that as the meet spot. Big Ren was the blue-collar cat, always willing to ride for the cause. He had been putting in work for almost twenty years and showed no signs of slowing down. Though he was a brutal cat, Gutter had brought him along for more strategic reasons. He would be their insurance policy to make sure Trik played fair.

  “You think these niggaz gonna keep it funky, or try to pull something?” Danny asked from the backseat, snapping Gutter out of his daze.

  He turned to his protégé. “I don’t really know, but I know we gonna be prepared for whatever.”

  “Shit, I hope these niggaz do trip so I can put something hot in a bitch-ass oh-la.” Rahkim brandished his Desert Eagle.

  “Why don’t you put that shit away, Rah, before you accidentally shoot one of us or get us pulled over,” Snake Eyes suggested. He had been tight with the Soladines for years, but because Rah was always in and out of prison he had never gotten a chance to know him. Rahkim was a wild card and Snake Eyes didn’t quite know what to expect from him. What he did know was that if Gunn’s little brother decided to trip it would lead to unnecessary bloodshed, something nobody wanted.

  “Little cousin, I’ve been on one since you and Gutter’s asses was both just wanna-Cs, don’t tell me how to go about mine,” Rah responded, placing the gun on his lap.

  “Rah, ain’t nobody trying to tell you how to do nothing, but Snake Eyes is right. The streets is already on fire over this shit that happened with Gunn and the last thing we need is to get pulled over for some dumb shit,” Gutter told him.

  “Whatever, nephew.” Rahkim sucked his teeth and went back to staring out the window.

  Gutter just shook his head. He knew that Rahkim was going to be a headache, but there was no way he could’ve left him behind. Next to himself, Rah was the most experienced combat solider, so if things got ugly he would be invaluable. Not only that, Gunn had been his older brother and the man responsible for putting him on the set. He had just as much right, if not more, to be included as anybody.

  When they reached the hood, they didn’t bother reading the street signs to see where they were because the walls told it all. Insane, Rolling 20’s, Dawgz, S.S. (Sons of Samoa), the ruling factions of Long Beach, California, made sure you knew exactly where you were and who was on top.

  When they turned down Nineteenth Street you could immediately feel the tension. Various groups of Mexicans were partying in their yards, slinging or just enjoying the weather. Though neither set represented in the two cars had a current beef with the Chicanos, the relations between blacks and browns in Long Beach had always been fragile. Danny must’ve picked up on it too because he got a firmer grip on his rifle. When they stopped at the red light, a vato who had been resting on a deck stood up and eyeballed them. Gutter turned his sinister eyes on the Mexican, but didn’t try to provoke a situation. The Mexican shouted something to one of his home boys that nobody really heard over the music, but whatever it was caused the man to stand next to his comrade and join in the staring contest. When Gutter refused to turn away under the glare of the two hard-asses, the second Mexican threw up Eighteenth Street, which was one of the most notorious Latino sets on the West Coast.

  Rahkim gripped his pistol and reached for the window switch on the Regal, but Gutter locked it, giving him a stern look. Reluctantly, Rahkim let the young man slide as they passed through the green light and continued on their way. He understood that Rahkim was fuming over what had happened to his brother and was ready to bust on just about anyone, but the brash young soldiers from Eighteenth Street weren’t their targets that night, the Swans were.

  “Don’t trip on it, Unc, them young boys is just stunting,” Gutter said, trying to soothe Rah. “If they mug us again when we bail through, then we can kill’em together, right now we got more pressing business.”

  Rahkim nodded, but didn’t necessarily like it. He had been in prison during the time the treaty was signed and things had died down among the sets. Much like his older brother he came up in the era when banging was in full effect. Whether it was an enemy, or a rival set trying to front, you laid your murder or knuckle game down; diplomacy was a foreign thing to him.

  When the Regal turned into the church parking lot there were three cars already there, idling. In the darkened lot there was no way to tell how many people were in the cars, but Gutter was sure that the vehicles were lousy with Brims. The Crips were the ruling force in Long Beach so there was no way a Blood as notorious as Trik would come through the city without a heavy security detail, as Gutter had already anticipated, which is why Lil Blue and a few of the
other locs had come down ahead of them and were strategically placed around the block. If Trik and his people had come to do anything other than talk they were going to be in for quite a surprise as Lil Blue and his team had orders to shoot to kill.

  “Shit, how many of them do you think it is?” Danny asked.

  “I don’t know, cuz, so you just make sure you’re on point for the bullshit,” Gutter said.

  “These muthafuckas frog-up you better let that muthafucka bark,” Rahkim told Danny, motioning toward the carbine on his lap. “On Crip, cuz, lay everything down that ain’t the right color!”

  Gutter stepped out of the Regal, followed by Snake Eyes and Rahkim. Tears, Jynx, and Ren got out of the Escalade and came to stand at Gutter’s side. No one spoke, but everyone knew what time it was. Gutter, Jynx, Rahkim, Ren, and Snake Eyes moved carefully toward the line of cars, while Tears and the others watched for signs of trouble.

  In the quiet darkness the sounds of car doors opening and closing could be heard. There were five men approaching, to match the numbers Gutter had with him. The first three he only knew to be foot soldiers from Swan, but the last two Gutter was familiar with. Mongo was Pudgy’s little brother, but there was nothing small about the man. He stood a towering six feet six and was built like the Incredible Hulk, with bulging arms and legs like tree trunks. Whereas Pudgy was more the diplomat, Mongo was a straight beast. He had killed more than his fair share of Crips and Bloods during his twenty-one years on earth and the look on his face said that he was thinking about adding to his list of bodies that night.

  Bringing up the rear was a man who, though he was of a very average size, radiated menace. He was dressed in freshly pressed tan khakis and a red-and-black flannel shirt that was buttoned at the neck. His long, Jheri-curled hair hung from beneath his wool Raiders skully like only the world outside him had changed since 1989. His black eyes were tired and haggard as if some weird death scene played over and over behind them. Stopping a few feet short of where Gutter and his people were, he gestured that the next move was theirs.