by K'wan
“So, what’s this all about, cousin?” Ren asked Trik.
“It’s about us offering some crab muthafuckas a hand up and they pull a bitch move. Fuck you on snatching my brother, Blood?” Mongo spat viciously.
“Man, you need to slow ya muthafucking lip and remember where you at.” Jynx stepped forward with a scowl. “Only blood pump through the beach is blue blood.” Years before Mongo had shot one of Jynx’s home boys when he was coming out of the movie theater with his girl. Jynx had always wanted to even the score, but hadn’t had the good fortune to bump into him.
“Man, we gonna roll around in the dirt like some schoolkids or we gonna swap some stories?” Gutter’s voice boomed. He didn’t speak above his normal tone, but the power in his words is what gave it volume.
Trik turned to the speaker and narrowed his eyes. His features had hardened since the last time he’d seen him; he knew the youngest male Soladine. “Sup, Gutter?”
Gutter shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me? Word is you got some intel on who put the heat to my uncle.”
“Man, skip all that. We ain’t telling you crabs nothing until I see my brother!” Mongo cut in. The veins in his thick neck were bulging like they would burst at any moment. He was trying to lay the guerrilla down, but Gutter wasn’t moved.
The fire in Gutter’s eyes was the only sign that he was becoming irritated with Mongo. “Dawg, why don’t you kick back with that loud shit, fo it get tense ’round here? Unlike some muthafuckas, I respect the rules of conduct, so I wouldn’t do you or your envoy like that. But if you niggaz is running some bullshit you can rest assured the Soladines ain’t gonna be the only ones burying one of their own.”
“Why don’t everybody just kick back for a minute,” Trik spoke up. “Gutter, let’s cut to the chase ’cause ain’t neither one of us got time for it. The bottom line is I came here to see if we can put a cease to the bloodshed.”
“Trik, you must be out ya mind to come over here talking some peace shit when my brother is about to be laid into the ground, cuz. Nah, this shit is about to go full-scale,” Rahkim said emotionally.
“Young Rah, I done lost two brothers and a nephew to this shit, so make no mistake about my understanding your loss,” Trik said. “Gunn was born on the wrong side of the fence, but me and all the home boys respected him as a stand-up nigga and we also respected the fact that he wasn’t active no more.”
Snake Eyes spoke up for the first time. “Trik, I’ve known you for a long time and you’ve always been a man of your word, but if the homeys respected Gunn’s inactive status then how the fuck did he get hit? And why is the finger being pointed at y’all?”
“I don’t know all the details, but what I can tell you is that nobody from this side sanctioned that hit,” Trik assured them.
“Man fuck dancing around the subject. If y’all didn’t do it, I wanna know who killed my uncle,” Gutter said seriously.
“Come on, G, you know I ain’t in the business of snitching,” Trik told him.
“Well, that’s too fucking bad, because I’m in the business of killing and if you had us come out here for nothing I’m gonna put in some overtime,” Gutter shot back. Trik looked like he wanted to say something, but kept looking to his homeys for a reaction. “Trik, what is your face telling me that ya mouth ain’t?”
Trik ground his teeth together. He looked from his troops to theirs and weighed his options. Sure, they could all bang out and make a bad situation worse, but Trik wanted a solution, not a bigger problem. Taking a short breath, he addressed Gutter, “Walk with me for a minute, Gutter.” Trik motioned toward a darkened corner away from everyone else.
“Nigga, fuck that shit. Trik, you better start talking before these fullies do!” Rahkim snarled.
“It’s all good, Unc.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his enraged uncle’s shoulder. “Come on, Trik.” Gutter broke away from his group. When they were out of earshot, Trik began speaking in a hushed tone.
“First of all, let’s get one thing straight, lil homey, I earned my stripes just like you and everybody else out the Soladine house, so I don’t take kindly to being spoken to like a common street punk,” Trik told him.
“I hear you, Trik, our family is dead, and the finger is being pointed at you, not nobody else. Now, if you’ve got some info you wanna share, I’m listening. If not, the next time we meet we’ll be speaking over pistols,” Gutter told him. It wasn’t a threat, but an actual fact and Trik knew that.
Had this been ten years ago it would’ve surely been on and popping for the threat Gutter had launched at Trik. In his day he had commanded respect and been quick to violence, but it was no longer his day. The young wolves had changed the code of conduct and every gangster, young and old, could be a potential victim of their wrath. Trik was a battle-worn vet, one of the few who had lived to see his forties, and was just trying to live peacefully for the rest of his days, and a confrontation with the youngest remaining Soladine wasn’t something he wanted. No, it was better to just give him what he wanted and be done with it. With any luck Gutter and the wild assassin from the red side would kill each other and be out of Trik’s hair for good.
“A’ight, trip this.” Trik leaned in to whisper to Gutter. “I ain’t gonna deny the fact that a Blood blasted your uncle, but it wasn’t about no turf. This shit was about a murder that’s over twenty years old. The muthafucka who wasted Gunn had a personal grudge, one that even the nation couldn’t make him let go.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know who could’ve been holding a grudge against Gunn for twenty years?” Gutter didn’t bother to hide his irritation at Trik’s riddles.
“Shit, you’re a smart kid. Ask your uncle Rahkim about it. You think on the only nigga crazy enough to clip a dude like Gunn after he was declared inactive, and you couple it with what you learn from your uncle. It’ll come to you.”
“Trik, that ain’t good enough. You said you wanted to end the violence, so I need a name to make that happen,” Gutter told him.
Trik sighed. “I want this shit to stop, but I ain’t about to just give up one of my own, Gutter, you should know this. Wrong or right, he’s still damu and I just can’t send him off to the slaughter like that, so you’re on your own with the name. Now, if you wanna get down over it”-Trik spread his arms-“cool, but I’d rather keep this shit individual instead of riling the sets. It’s hard enough to get these little niggaz to quit tripping as it is.”
Gutter weighed Trik’s words. He could’ve tried to force the issue, but to what end? Trik obviously wasn’t giving up the name, and besides he had already risked more than he had to trying to put a stop to the fighting. Some people might’ve taken the fact that Trik was meeting with Crips in Long Beach as a sign of not being down, which could’ve netted him a bigger problem than the Soladines. For him to risk his life like that Gutter knew that Trik truly did want to put an end to the violence.
“A’ight, O.G. Trik.” Gutter nodded. “Me and mines is gonna bail back to the ’rib and try to put the pieces of this puzzle together.”
“G, you know if anybody finds out I put you on the trail…”
“Don’t worry about that, Trik. I ain’t gonna throw you under the bus for what you did here today.”
Trik laughed. “Young general, this ain’t got nothing to do with worrying, it’s about finally saying enough is enough. I’ve been killing and watching homeys die longer than most of these niggaz been alive. Set love used to be about something bigger than the turf, but somewhere along the line the game got twisted. If I don’t never go to another funeral, it’ll still be one too many. I’m tired of this shit, homey, you feel me?”
Gutter thought about his own life and what it was amounting to. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m starting to,” he said, going back to join his soldiers.
“What’s good, cuz?” Snake Eyes asked, noticing the worried expression on Gutter’s face after speaking with Trik.
“Mount up, niggaz, we outta here,
” Gutter addressed his crew.
“Fuck you mean y’all out of here? What about my brother?” Mongo demanded.
“As soon as we’re clear, Pudgy will be released,” Gutter told him, as he climbed behind the wheel of the Regal.
“So what’s up, Hoover and Swan cool or what?” Trik called after him.
Gutter smirked. “For the moment. But trip this, big homey, if what you told me was some bullshit, I’m gonna come through yo hood and kill you personally, but that’s after I stink your wife and anybody else in the house that’s old enough to vote.” With that being said, Gutter backed the car out of the lot and mashed to the highway.
“SO WHAT’S the business, nephew? We blasting on Swans tonight or some other fag-ass set?” Rahkim asked from the backseat.
“I’m still trying to figure it out,” Gutter told him. “Say, Unc, what you know about a slob Gunn blasted on back in the eighties?”
Rahkim laughed. “Shit, you know how many niggaz my brother done killed in the last twenty years? You’d be better off asking me who the mayor of Mexico City is.”
“Nah, this would’ve been different. From what I gathered from Trik this has to do with a grudge of some sort. Think on it, Unc, is there anything that Gunn could’ve done back then that somebody would’ve been willing to wait twenty years to retaliate?”
Rahkim was silent for a minute, going over the list of kills he knew about. Suddenly he recalled something that might be relevant. “Actually I do remember some shit, a real fucked-up situation that went down at the fair. The Hoovers got into it with some niggaz and they bitches from the 900s, which turned into a firefight. A bitch got shot while her kid was in the backseat of the car. Gunn didn’t know shorty was there at the time, but when he found out it had him fucked-up for a long time.”
“The Nines?” Gutter tugged at his beard. Gutter flipped through his mental rolodex of killers in California and found that the list was longer than he was comfortable with. Death was a rite of passage for the children of the Pacific Coast, same as peewee football for suburban kids. Though the 900 block Bloods weren’t the largest set, they had a reputation for brutality, but he still couldn’t think of one who would’ve been stupid enough to touch Gunn… then it hit him. One 900 block rider was just that fool.
“Major Blood,” Gutter hissed. For as long as he could remember Major Blood had been a thorn in his and Lou-Loc’s sides. Neither of them could ever figure why he was so hell-bent on giving them grief, but after hearing Trik’s and Rahkim’s tales it finally made sense. “The woman Gunn killed had to be Major Blood’s mother, or at least an aunt or some shit. He’s the shooter.”
“Major Blood?” Snake Eyes asked, his voice going up an octave. At the mention of the man’s name Snake Eye’s mental gang file popped open. Major Blood was a cross between Lou-Loc and Gutter, with a splash of Charles Manson. He had never met the man, but he knew of Major Blood and his exploits all too well.
“Oh, hell nah!” Rahkim slammed his fist into the door, rattling the windows. “That lil half-spic son of a bitch couldn’t have touched mine? Floor this bitch to Compton, Ken. On Hoover, I’m gonna smoke his ho ass and everybody close to him.”
“Oh, we gonna ride on them niggaz real proper, Unc, don’t worry about that. Before I leave California I’m gonna send Major Blood and his whole gang a great big fuck you. But the question still remains, where the fuck is he?” He was about to add to the question when his new cell phone vibrated. When he looked at the screen and saw the 646 area code he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“ARRIVED AT destination,” the computerized voice of the navigation system informed them.
The residential block looked like something out of Home & Garden, with its manicured lawns and SUVs in the driveways. She looked back at Mohammad who was still moaning softly. He was in a great deal of pain, but at least he was still alive. When she turned into the driveway there were three cars already there, and she could see men moving about in the darkness. She was about to throw the X5 in reverse when she felt something touch her arm.
“Family,” Mohammad breathed softly, leaving a bloody smear on the sleeve of her jacket. He slumped back down to the floor and seemed to go unnaturally still. Satin touched his neck and gave Sharell a sad look.
The one leading the pack had to be Anwar. She had never met him personally, but she knew he was a youthful-looking man and the dark-haired youngster approaching the X5 didn’t look to be a day over seventeen or eighteen. Behind him was a stocky brute, wearing black fatigues and the beginnings of a smile on his face. The last man in the group was tall, wearing a black kufi. His dark eyes looked concerned as he scanned the interior of the car. When they were right on top of the car she pulled Mohammad’s gun and aimed it out the window.
“You won’t be needing that, I am Anwar, prince of the Al Mukalla, I believe you know of me?” Anwar stopped, but didn’t back down from the gun. Sharell hesitated for a minute, but eventually lowered the gun and opened the door. The smiling boy-prince extended his hand and helped her from behind the wheel.
The bearded man, who was called Sharif, rushed to the backseat to attend Mohammad. He pulled him gently from the back of the car and placed him on the lawn. Ignoring his bloodstained clothes, Sharif placed his ear to Mohammad’s chest. He looked up from Mohammad to Sharell and asked, “How long?”
“A few minutes, if that,” Sharell said with tears now spilling from her eyes. Yet another life had been taken by Gutter’s personal war. Mohammad had sacrificed himself to protect her and she would make sure that he was honored properly. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Sharif glanced at her, but didn’t reply. Instead he looked to Anwar with questioning eyes. Anwar turned to the stocky man, Roc, who shook his head in protest. There was some kind of conflict going on between the men, but Sharell didn’t know what it was.
“It was his wish and his right,” Sharif said defensively.
Anwar sighed. “Do what you must, Sharif, but do not let your promises interfere with your duties.”
Sharif nodded. He scooped Mohammad from the ground, and though the dead man clearly outweighed him, he did it as if he weighed little more than a child. As gently as a parent could, he lowered Mohammad into the backseat of a black sedan and got behind the wheel. “I’ll have someone here by sundown,” he called to Anwar, who didn’t bother to respond. The sedan backed out of the driveway, and disappeared into the night.
“Let’s get you two in the house,” Anwar said to the frightened young women. Noticing that Sharell was still holding Mohammad’s bloody gun, he offered to take it.
“No, thanks,” Sharell said, making sure a round was chambered. “I think I’ll hold on to this for a while.”
chapter 32
GUTTER PACED the front yard of Gunn’s house, sucking a blunt and swigging a beer. He had always been a notorious pothead, but it seemed like he’d taken to drinking more since he’d been in California. It was probably because of the increased stress he’d found himself under being back on the West.
Shortly after meeting with Trik he got a call from a frantic Sharell. Apparently somebody had tracked her to their hideaway in Brooklyn and tried to kill her and Satin. His boo had put a slug in the intruder, just as he’d taught her, but it had been Mohammad who had saved them. Gutter’s heart went out to the young soldier who had laid his life on the line for Sharell. She said that his wounds were pretty serious and doubted that he would make it, but Gutter felt otherwise, even though he didn’t say it. He knew things about Mohammad that no one outside of Anwar and Sharif did. In time, Mohammad’s body would be whole again, but it was more than he could say for the man’s soul.
Gutter wanted to hop on the next thing smoking back to New York, but Anwar assured him that all was well. Roc and two of his men were with her at a predetermined location. They would stay with Sharell until Gutter could get some of the homeys out that way to post up. She was as safe as could be, b
ut Gutter was still uneasy about being away from her when she needed him most. He had to get home ASAP. He would attend his uncle’s funeral, but when everyone left for the burial he and Danny would be on their way to the airport. When he got to New York, heads would roll.
The next piece of business he had to deal with was the poor job Pop Top had been doing with the set. Not long after he spoke to Anwar, Hollywood was on his line. He was about to brush the late-night call off until Hollywood explained that not only was he in the emergency room, but Rob, China, and B. T. were dead. He wasn’t moved by B. T.’s death. In fact, he had often wondered at how trustworthy the man was. What hurt him was the fact that they had lost two more men… no, boys, on the front line. It seemed just like yesterday they were getting high together while Gutter lectured them about what it meant to be a true banger. He had no idea how he would face their mothers when it came time to bury their sons.
During the course of his conversation he’d also discovered why Major Blood was nowhere to be found. He had all the homeys out looking for him, but nobody was able to turn up anything. The reason for that was the fact that he was in New York killing Gutter’s men. Gunn’s death settled the old score, but more important it got Gutter to come to Cali. It was all a ruse to get the rooster out of the henhouse while the weasel slaughtered the chickens.
All morning he had been on the Internet, searching news articles online. The numbers of gang-related deaths and arrests were staggering. Newsday even added their two cents about the sudden growth spurt of gang violence that had broken out all over New York. Major Blood had been putting in serious work going at the Crips in New York, but Pop Top had made sure quite a few of theirs would be sidelined indefinitely. The war raged on with both sides taking heavy losses.
Gutter cursed himself for not being there to lead his army. He had successfully turned Harlem Crip into a solid organization, but they weren’t prepared to deal with a cat like Major Blood. He killed without thought or remorse and was always willing to go a little harder than the next man. People like Major Blood had no problem killing mothers or other family members just to get his point across. The question still remained: if he was there to kill Gutter then why lure him to Cali while he was in New York?
