Gutter

by K'wan

  “I’m heading out, Auntie,” he called to Rahshida. She glanced up at him then went back to watching her movie. “You need anything?” She didn’t even acknowledge him. “A’ight, I see how it’s going down. Fuck it, I’m out.” Gutter had made it to the front door when Lil Gunn came running up behind him.

  “Cuz, I need to holla at you about something.” Gunn whispered. “Walk with me to the kitchen.” Gutter looked over his shoulder and both Monifa and Rahshida were watching him.

  “Gunn, I told you that I ain’t letting you ride with us tonight,” Gutter scolded him as they walked into the kitchen.

  “Nah, man. I know I can’t ride, but I need you to do something for me.” The youngster dipped under the sink and came up holding something wrapped in a pillowcase. He unwrapped it to expose the six-shot.44 hidden inside.

  Gutter gave him a quizzical look.

  “It belonged to my daddy,” he explained. “When you bust on them niggaz, do it with my daddy’s fo-fo,” Gunn pleaded. Tears had welled up in his young eyes.

  “You got that, cousin,” Gutter assured him, placing the.44 down the front of his pants, weighing them down further.

  “That ain’t good enough, Gutter, you gotta put it on something. Put it on the hood that you gonna kill them niggaz that killed my daddy.”

  “Gunn-” Gutter began but was cut off.

  “Fuck that, cuz. You either put in on the turf or the moment y’all leave the block, I’m gonna sneak outta here and handle it myself!” Gunn said seriously.

  Little Gunn had backed him into a corner. Putting something on your hood was the most serious oath you could take. If you put something on your hood and didn’t follow through then your word didn’t count for shit.

  Gutter took Gunn by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “On Harlem Crip, I’m gonna make sure your father’s murder doesn’t go unpunished. I’m gonna bring it to them niggaz, cousin.”

  To Gutter’s surprise, Lil Gunn grabbed him in a bear hug. The young man squeezed as hard as he could, while sobbing into Gutter’s chest. “I know you will. My daddy used to always tell me that you and me was more like brothers than cousins and I know you’d never let your little brother down.” Gunn pulled away and wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his T-shirt.

  “Go on back in the living room before your aunt thinks I’m trying to teach you how to cook crack or some shit.” Gutter mushed him. The two men walked back into the living room, and all eyes were still on Gutter. He just shook his head and stepped out the front door, where he was greeted by ten armed and dangerous men.

  part IV.WHEN THUGS CRY

  chapter 35

  FUNERALS, JUST as a rule, are sad as hell. But to attend a funeral for a child was a whole new kind of pain. Gutter had paid for the entire funeral, including the seemingly infinite flowers that were spread over the caskets and along the walls, but it couldn’t bring back the lives of the two men who were sent to their final wake.

  China and Rob were laid out side by side in two beautifully crafted caskets of a heavenly blue hue. Their faces no longer wore the scowls the streets made them hide behind, but the calmness of two boys who may have just laid down for a nap.

  Rob’s mother wore a grim face, occasionally dabbing at the tears that seemed to flow lightly but consistently down her face. Her heart was crushed beyond measure at losing her little boy, but she tried to hold it together as best she could. Ms. Lucy was another case. She bawled like a hungry infant, thrashing her head and occasionally falling. Twice her sister had to keep her from hitting the ground.

  C-style sat alone in the corner, taking in the scene. All the homeys had showed up to the funeral. The one decent thing Pop Top had done under his rule was insist that no one showed up to the funeral in street clothes. Though Ms. Lucy knew what was up, Rob’s mother was a square, and they didn’t want to disrespect her. Everybody wore grim faces as they thought of the two lives lost to the set.

  The set, C-style thought to herself. Look what the set had taken from her. Rob might not have been the be-all and end-all as far as men went, but he was hers. They had a bond that was supposed to stand the test of time, it wasn’t enough though. He was gone… he died trying to protect her from the enemy… the same enemy C-style had blasted out of existence. It was either kill or be killed was the way she saw it.

  There were so many things going through her head that she didn’t really know what to feel; sad for the loss of her lover, guilty because she was now a murderer, or stupid for buying into Gutter’s war? C-style looked down at the cold face of her lover and now imagined herself in the casket. Harlem suddenly started to feel way too small for her.

  Pop Top stood off to the back, flanked by High Side and Bruticus. Hollywood sat on the other side of the pew with a fresh-faced young thing snuggled against him. He wore a bandage over the side of his face where Lexi had cut him and dark glasses. Ever since he’d alerted Gutter to Pop Top’s bullshit there had been tension between them. Hollywood didn’t give too much of a shit about his attitude though, his face and his business were ruined.

  Every so often High Side could be seen casting a suspicious glance at Pop Top. His friend had something cooking and High Side was sure it’d go poorly. He and Pop Top went back like two flats, and had held each other down against seemingly impossible odds, but he was talking some other shit. If they tried a mutiny and it didn’t go right they’d be dead men.

  “Sup, cuz?” Pop Top asked High Side, noticing the conflicted look on his face.

  High Side shrugged. “Ain’t shit, man, just thinking. Seems like we’re losing more of ours than taking out theirs. It’s fucked-up what happened to the lil homeys.” He nodded at the caskets.

  “Yeah, man. A real fucking shame,” Pop Top agreed. “Don’t trip though, they gonna get theirs, all we need is a new strategy. After the funeral I’m gonna dip out to L.I. for a minute with Sharell.”

  “What happened to ‘fuck Gutter, I ain’t no babysitter’?” High Side questioned.

  “You know there’s always a method to my madness, cuz. Just be ready to roll when I come scoop you.”

  High Side looked at him. “Man, Gutter asked you to go, not me.”

  “High Side, it’s gonna rain out this bitch and I don’t want none of mine to get wet. We just gonna sit up for a while and plot our next move.” Pop Top tried to sway him.

  “Man, a nigga got business on the streets; I ain’t got time to be laid up in the suburbs. Do what you gotta do, man, I’m out here.”

  “What y’all rapping ’bout?” Bruticus asked, moving closer. He was still a bit stiff from the bullet he’d taken in his lower back, but thanks to the medication he’d been prescribed he wasn’t feeling much pain.

  “Ain’t shit, just thinking back on the homeys,” Pop Top lied.

  “Damn, cuz, I can’t believe them lil niggaz is gone,” Bruticus said.

  “I know, son,” Pop Top agreed. “Man, I don’t know what made China off his self, but the boy Rob went out like a gangsta!” Pop Top said proudly.

  “Ain’t no honor in death, kid,” Hollywood said. No one had even seen him get up and walk over. “Them young boys is outta here, cuz… gone from it,” he said emotionally. “They didn’t deserve to go out like that, fam.”

  “Yeah, but we gonna ride for them kids. Word to mine, it’s on!” Bruticus declared.

  “All day, cuz.” Pop Top was speaking to Bruticus, but staring at Hollywood. “So what’s up, you gonna call Gutter on speaker phone so he can get the play-by-play on this too?” he asked sarcastically.

  Hollywood looked at him stone-faced from behind his shades. “Man, go ahead with that shit, Top. This ain’t the time or place.”

  “Then pick a time and a place,” Pop Top challenged.

  Hollywood glared at Pop Top. He was surely armed, but Hollywood didn’t come empty-handed. He had a two-shot tucked in his cast that he could get to easily if need be, but to cause a scene at a funeral? “Let me get with you outside for a minute.”
Hollywood stepped outside with Pop Top and the others on his heels. Before the chapel doors were even closed behind them, Pop Top started right in.

  “Fuck that shit. A bitch cut ya face and you get all scared and shit and call Gutter. What’s up, Wood, I thought you was ’bout the movement?” Pop Top accused.

  “Man, don’t ever question my dedication to Harlem, I’m just as down as any of these niggaz, if not more so.” He motioned to the scar on his face and the cast on his hand. “This shit was about dealing with a problem that was getting out of hand.”

  “I had the problem under control!” Pop Top snarled.

  “How you had it under control, Top, when we taking more losses than them? Look”-Hollywood tried to compose himself-“we all crew so it ain’t no sense in beefing about it, but we had to let the homey G know what was going down, Top.”

  Pop Top sucked his teeth. “Whatever, man.”

  “Why don’t you two niggaz kiss and make up?” Bruticus teased.

  “Fuck you.” Pop Top spat on the ground. “So, what Gutter say to you about this Major Blood cat?” he asked Hollywood.

  “He’s bad news times ten. The best way to deal with a cat like Major Blood is to kill him on sight, no questions asked.” Hollywood recounted what Gutter had told him.

  “Shit, we’ve been trying like a muthafucka,” High Side added.

  “Man, it’s time to lay this bitch-ass nigga out once and for all. Me and-” That was as far as Bruticus got before the back of his head was knocked clean off.

  THE REVEREND had stopped speaking and everyone crouched in their seats when the sounds of gunshots erupted outside. C-style took a quick glance around the room and saw that her crew that had gathered in the back was nowhere to be found, so that meant they were the source of the gunshots, but the question remained of what side of the bullets they were on. Some of the homeys started drawing weapons and charging the door, sending the mourners further into panic. Fingering the small pistol in her purse, C-style fell in step behind her gang.

  EDDIE STEERED the car while Tito sat in the passenger seat rolling a blunt. Major was silent in the backseat, which unnerved Eddie. The whole time Major Blood had been in New York, he’d been boastful and arrogant, but now he was as silent as the grave. Now he just sat, staring out the window and petting a C-15.223 caliber like it was a cat. Eddie wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the machine gun and wasn’t about to ask, considering the mood Major Blood had been in since killing Hawk.

  Eddie turned right on 125th and Eighth, heading north. Along the block he could see the cars lined up and people milling about in front of the funeral home. Among those people were Pop Top and his gang. Seeing his enemies Major Blood sat up in the seat.

  “Slow down, my nigga,” Major said, moving to a kneeling position in the backseat.

  “You ain’t gonna kill these niggaz in front of the funeral home, are you?” Eddie asked nervously.

  Major chuckled. “Watch me.” As Eddie neared the funeral home, Major leaned out the window and started dumping.

  ALL HOLLYWOOD could do was stand there in shock as bits of Bruticus’s skull sprayed on his face. One minute they had been talking and the next his comrade had gone down. Major Blood was leaning out of the back of Hawk’s truck firing on them with reckless abandon.

  A crackhead coming out of the store, holding a forty ounce of Country Club, was the only thing that saved Hollywood from getting caught too. The bullet tore through the fiend’s chest, slamming him into the bodega window. Willing himself to move, Hollywood dove behind the funeral home’s hearse, which Tito proceeded to spray with slugs from a black Mac.

  “It’s on!” Pop Top roared, drawing his own weapon. He fired on the truck, while trying to back up to the safety of the funeral home. At the sound of gunfire the homeys had started filing out of the funeral home, and most of them got caught in the cross fire and were gunned down. A few were able to let off return fire, while others ran for cover.

  Answering the call to arms, High Side returned fire on his enemies. He and Pop Top looked like two gunslingers; taking turns ducking and returning fire. The windows of the truck shattered, but there was no way to tell if they’d hit anyone. The tires on the truck squealed as Major Blood and company sped off up Eighth.

  C-STYLE STEPPED out onto the curb and was horrified at the scene. Bodies were strewn all in front of the funeral home, which was now riddled with bullets. Hollywood was picking himself up off the ground with a terrified look in his eyes. Pop Top and High Side looked rattled, but otherwise okay. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Bruticus. The former Decepticon was stretched out on the concrete with a gaping hole in the back of his head. When C-style saw the goop oozing out the back of his head she ran around the corner and vomited.

  “Oh, shit they laid the homey!” a nameless face said, motioning toward Bruticus’s body.

  Pop Top walked over and looked down at his slain friend. “Damn,” he whispered, hearing Gutter’s warning about Major Blood ringing off in his head. “What kinda nigga shoots up a fucking funeral home?”

  “The kind Gutter warned us about,” Hollywood said, making the sign of the cross over the fallen homeys.

  “What the fuck we gonna do now, Top?” High Side asked.

  “Make sure we don’t end up like that.” He nodded at Bruticus. “Wood,” he addressed the pretty boy with a plan forming in his head. “The homey got something he need done and I’m gonna need you with me on this.”

  “All day, homey. What you need?” Hollywood asked, forgetting that they’d been about to come to blows a few minutes before.

  “I’m gonna call you with an address and have you come meet me. Once we rally the troops, we take action. It’s time I did something to bring an end to this shit and restore some type of order to Harlem Crip. I’m getting Major Blood off our asses and ending this fucking war once and for all.”

  “We ’bout to go after Major Blood?” Hollywood asked.

  “Something like that. I’ll put it to you like this, in a few days this little war will be over and Major Blood will be officially out of our hair,” Pop Top assured them before walking around the corner.

  Hollywood looked to High Side for an explanation, but he just shrugged. There was something going on with Pop Top that Hollywood couldn’t place his finger on, but he had a bad feeling about it. “I’m up, fam. I ain’t trying to be around when the police come asking what happened.”

  “Shit, me either. I’m getting the fuck from around here,” High Side said, watching as people finally got the courage to come out of the bullet-riddled funeral home.

  “C, it might be a good idea for you to get out of here too. If you want I can give you a ride?” Hollywood offered.

  C-style managed to tear her watery eyes away from the carnage. “Nah, I’m gonna stay for a while.”

  Hollywood knew that she was still going through the motions over Rob so it would be useless to argue the point of why she shouldn’t stick around after a shoot-out. “A’ight, ma, but let me take that from you.” He reached over and took the gun she had forgotten was in her hand. “C, you sure you’re good?” The girl nodded weakly. “Cool, baby. Do what you gotta do and stay off the block for a while. I got a bad feeling about this shit,” Hollywood warned before dipping off to his car with High Side on his heels.

  C-style just stood there for a while, staring at the ruined funeral home and the horrified looks on the mourners’ faces. Two of the homeys were escorting Rob’s mother and Ms. Lucy from the funeral home to the limo. She could tell they were terrified and rightfully so. It was bad enough that they had lost their babies, but the war wouldn’t even allow them to mourn in peace.

  C-style took her blue bandanna from her purse and went to wipe her face, but stopped in midmotion. It was the same bandanna she’d been given when Big Keke and the home girls had put her on the set. Her heart had swelled with pride when she received it and Gutter embraced her as one of his lil home girls, but now it represented the ugliness that
being in a gang had brought into her life. Until that moment it had been one of her most prized possessions.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she whispered to herself. C-style let the bandanna slip from her hand and float to the ground. This drew some disapproving looks from some of the home boys that were still gathered around, but at that point she didn’t care. She was done with the set.

  LEXI WAS propped against the lumpy white pillows, trying her best to get comfortable. Her head felt like a herd of elephants was on parade inside it. Hollywood had treated her to a hairline fracture and a severe concussion. To add insult to injury Major Blood had botched the hit on him. She was pissed, but her visitor had eased the pain a bit.

  When she’d gotten the initial phone call she thought it to be a prank or even a setup, but as she brushed her hand against the manila envelope containing the five g’s she knew it to be real. If her source was on the up-and-up then Gutter had finally gone too far and Major Blood would get a second chance at Hollywood. Soon she would call him to set the final wheels in motion, but the morphine drip in her IV told her it could wait until after her nap.

  chapter 36

  THE EAST SIDE OF COMPTON: SOUTH ATLANTIC AND EAST COMPTON BOULEVARD

  “MAN, WHAT the fuck is this nigga doing way over on this side?” Criminal asked from the backseat.

  “Fuck if I know,” Blue Bird said, taking a hit off the dipped cigarette and trying to pass it to Tears, but he declined so Criminal readily snatched it. “What I do know is that these niggaz is out of bounds, aiding and abetting a fucking fugitive!”

  “Man, y’all need to put that shit out and get focused on the muthafucking task at hand,” Tears said, rolling down the windows. “We deep in enemy territory, cuz. I’m sure if Major has brought a crib out this way there’s probably some 900s ’round here too.” Tears pulled up to a red light at the corner of East Compton Boulevard and South Atlantic Avenue.