Gutter

by K'wan

  “Fuck 900s and for damn sure fuck Lime Street, I’m dumping on sight,” Criminal said, way louder than he needed to. The PCP was obviously kicking in.

  A group of young men standing in front of the store caught Blue Bird’s attention. He recognized them all as members of East Side Lime Street except the one in the wheelchair. He was a 900. Being the troublemaker he was, he looked back at Criminal and said, “Say, cuz, there go some Nines right there. You gonna let them marks clown you by posting up when they know we riding?”

  “Nigga what? Watch this muthafucka bark.” Criminal brandished a long-nosed Colt. Tears knew what was about to go down and had it not been for the red light he would’ve pulled off. Before he could even protest Criminal was out of the car and heading in the direction of the store.

  IT WAS a beautiful night on the Pacific Coast. The sack chasers were out sacking, and the dope boys were out getting their sling on. Just another day in the hood… At least it was for the moment.

  “What’s up, East Side?” A man in a wheelchair asked, rolling up to the store. He was dressed in black Dickies pants and a red T-shirt.

  “Oh, shit, Big Bo from the Nine!” He snatched his green Seattle Supersonics hat off for emphasis. “Man, fuck you doing way over here?”

  “Same thing you doing, nigga, trying to cop a bottle and get blown,” Bo told him, wheeling up to the window to place his order.

  “They ain’t got no liquor stores where you stay at?” A man in a Raider’s cap asked sarcastically.

  “Hell yeah, you know the hood ain’t got nothing but hard times and liquor stores. Me and the homeys is kicking it off San Luis at the rest.”

  “Y’all posted up over here? You must be ready to flip that Lime?” another young man asked. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but there was a green sports band around his arm, the kind you would get at a club.

  Bo looked up at him. “You know I ain’t no set flipper, Blood. It’s Nine or nothing, y’all know my style.” He threw up his set.

  “Man, your old ass still out here tripping, wheelchair and all,” Lil Bay teased him.

  “Please believe it, my nigga. They might’ve put me down”-he dipped under the seat of his wheelchair, and came up holding a small pistol-“but not out, you feel me, dawg? I ain’t tripping though. My nigga Major copped a pad for his people down that way, so we just come through and coast. Me, Mo-Mo, and the nigga Reckless.”

  “Reckless? I thought I seen him come through here a time or two. I just thought he was on one.”

  “Man, stop that bullshit. My folk is cool,” Bo said, knowing he was telling a bold-faced lie. Though Reckless was barely a day over twenty, he had Major Blood’s temper and bloodlust.

  “Shit the way Reckless be on it I doubt if it’ll be a secret for very long. It’s only a matter of time before that fool smokes somebody, much of that sherm as he smoke,” Bay said, taking a swig of his forty ounce.

  “Man, the nut don’t fall too far from the tree,” Supersonics cap said. “I don’t know who the fuck is worse, between him and Major.”

  “Say, Blood, who that?” sports band asked, nodding toward a dark-skinned young man who was coming across the street. His question was answered when he heard the battle cry.

  “Crrrrriiiiiiiipppp!” Criminal bellowed right before he lit the block up.

  A SERVICE STATION OFF NORTH HOLL AVENUE

  “RUN MUTHAFUCKA grab you shit and duck, I’m from the crew of O.G.s where niggaz don’t give a fuck!” Mad Man sang along with the Dogg Pound song blasting from the stereo. “Man, this niggaz can’t C faded!” He slapped Lil Blue on the arm.

  “Man, turn that shit down before you get us pulled over, nigga!” Lil Blue snapped. “These niggaz send us off on this fucking dummy mission and yo ass is having a sing along.”

  “Kick back, cuz. You act like it’s something to bust on these ho-ass niggaz.”

  “Man, this is some real fuck shit!” Lil Blue said from the passenger seat of the stolen Pontiac. “Them niggaz is gonna get all the glory, while we do the grunt work.”

  “Quit bitching, cuz, this shit should be fun,” Mad Man told him, as he surveyed the gas station. A middle-aged man was jiggling the pump inside his ’91 Ford, and a gray Le Sabre was double-parked in front of the station. “Come on, man. Let’s go in here and rip this bitch off so the homeys can get it popping.”

  The plan had been for Mad Man and Lil Blue to go around committing petty crimes and leading the police on a chase while Gutter and his team would roll through and put the smash on Reckless and his family. Lil Blue Bird was still upset that they wouldn’t be a part of the murders, but Mad Man didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, stripes were stripes.

  “I still don’t like being no damn diversion,” Lil Blue complained, taking the gun from under his seat and jamming it into the pocket of his pullover. Still mumbling under his breath, he followed Mad Man across the gas station.

  There wasn’t much going on inside the filling station. A group of young men congregated around the beer cooler, arguing about what kind of malt liquor they were gonna chip in for. Behind the bulletproofed glass a young girl clicked her gum, and chatted away on her cell phone, not really caring about the loitering young men. All she wanted to do was make it through her shift unmolested. From the way the young men were dressed Mad Man knew they were bangers and a wonderful plan formed in his mind.

  “Looks like we might get some real action after all, cuz.” Mad Man nudged Lil Blue and nodded at the young men around the cooler. Lil Blue Bird just smiled and continued on to the potato chip rack, while Mad Man moved to get a Pepsi.

  “What’s cracking, baby?” Mad Man capped to the attendant, opening the Pepsi before paying for it. He took a deep swig and watched for her reaction.

  The girl rolled her eyes and clicked her gum one last time before asking the caller to hold on. “Can I help you?” She glared at Mad Man.

  “Yeah, I came in to get some blunts and something to drink, but I’ll settle for your phone number.” Mad Man smiled, at which she just frowned.

  “Nigga, please”-she rolled her eyes-“what you need to do is get yo ass from around here with all that blue on.” She motioned toward his blue-on-blue Chucks. The girl tossed two Phillies in the little sliding drawer and punched in a series of keys on the register.

  “Bitch, please, my pass is international!” Mad Man snarled. “Yo cuz,” he called to Lil Blue Bird, loud enough for the young men by the cooler to hear. “This bitch sound like shorty that was wit that tampon we rolled on at the drive-through. You remember the bitch who fries you ate!”

  “Straight up, cuz.” He picked up on his friend’s train of thought. “Bitch ass rolled through the wrong hood and got caught, you know the rules.” The last insult thrown spurred the young men to approach them.

  “Sup, Blood. You know where you at?” said a young man wearing jeans two sizes too big for his slim hips. His fitted cap was cocked deep to the right, and the set of his jaw said trouble.

  Lil Blue took up the challenge with his chest poked out. “Nigga, we know where we at. The question should be, do we give a fuck?”

  “Y’all don’t start tripping in here. You know I got a half hour left on my shift, so save that shit for then!” the cashier shouted from behind the glass.

  “Bitch, shut up,” Mad Man said, tossing his Pepsi against the glass. When he turned around to add his two cents to the mix, he was holding his hammer. “Now tell me where the fuck we at?” Mad Man demanded, pointing it at the man who’d approached Lil Blue Bird.

  The young man’s scowl faded and he was once again the little boy his mother would kiss on the forehead before school every morning. “Lime Street,” he mumbled.

  “What, nigga? Tell me again?” Mad Man pressed the barrel against his forehead.

  The young man who had been sipping the forty looked like he was having a moment, but Blue Bird pushed the notion from his mind by pressing the barrel of the Beretta in his back. “Don’t do it to
yourself, homey,” he warned.

  “Now,” Mad Man continued, “tell me where we at?”

  The kid looked like he would fall out if he didn’t think a sudden movement would’ve gotten him shot. “Lime… Street,” he forced out. “East Lime Street.”

  Mad Man grinned at him before slamming the butt of the gun into his head. The kid collapsed into a heap, trying to stop the gush of blood that was spewing from his head. “Fuck you hood, nigga!” Mad Man spat. He hadn’t had to be so brutal, but he wanted to make sure that he left the young man with a clear picture of what he had signed on for choosing a side. One thing Mad Man hated more than an enemy was some that represented the life without fully understanding it.

  “I done told you fool about set tripping in here, I’m ’bout to call the police!” the cashier threatened.

  Lil Blue Bird spun and let off a shot. The barrier webbed, but didn’t shatter, which was enough to get the cashier to jump beneath the counter. “Bitch, weren’t you told to shut up? Now”-he turned to the young men-“you muthafuckas turn you pockets out,” he said, waving the gun. “The big homey Gunn has passed on and he demands tribute.”

  Ten minutes later Mad Man and Lil Blue Bird were hopping back to the Pontiac, laughing like two schoolkids. They had robbed all the young men and the cashier before snatching an armful of cigarettes and fleeing. The police were surely on their way to the crime scene, which was expected. But when they got to the gas station and demanded to see the tape they’d only find out what Mad Man and Lil Blue already knew. The camera hadn’t worked in three months. When they got back to the hood they would break Tia off for her stellar performance, but right then they had more mischief to cause. The chase was on.

  THE MOTEL room at the Holland Motor Inn was several steps down from the room at the W Hotel in Manhattan, but it would have to do. Being anywhere within the five boroughs was too risky. Not only did he have to worry about the Crips, but the police were riding on every gang in an attempt to restore order and the Bloods wanted answers as to what had happened to Hawk. New York was on fire and Major Blood had struck the match.

  “That shit is all over the news,” Tito said proudly as he watched an Asian woman on the screen recount the shooting that evening in Harlem.

  “Anybody reach out about Hawk yet?” Eddie asked.

  Tito looked at his cell phone. “Yeah, niggaz been blowing my jack up all night, but I’m looping the calls.”

  “Man, they gonna know we was behind that shit,” Eddie told him.

  “So?” Major Blood spoke up. “Blood, Hawk was connected, but he ain’t have no real street power in years. Niggaz is gonna be tight for a while, but when we bring down Harlem and start the new unification they’ll get over it. Hell, we’ll be heroes!”

  “Or dead men,” Eddie mumbled.

  “I’m getting tired of your negative attitude, Eduardo.” Major pointed a finger at him. He was about to start ranking on Eddie again, but his cell phone made him hold the thought. He listened for a while, trying to decipher the caller’s slurred speech, then asked, “Lexi?”

  chapter 37

  SOUTH LIME AND EAST SAN LUIS

  JUST BEING so deep in enemy territory, armed and out for blood, made Gutter think of Lou-Loc. There had been times when he and Lou-Loc would arm up to ride, looking to gain stripes or push a dangerous enemy off the planet. Although the enemies they sought that night were dangerous, it wasn’t stripes that fueled him, it was revenge.

  “You good, nephew?” Rahkim asked from the backseat.

  “Yeah, man, I’m cool,” Gutter replied, continuing to stare out the window.

  “Damn, it’s a bunch of niggaz out here,” Danny said, watching the homeys on the block watch him. The residents of South Lime eyed the strangers suspiciously.

  “Shit, all that means is that it’ll be a higher body count,” Jynx told him. “These Lime Street niggaz ain’t ’bout shit, but the boy Reckless is as dangerous as a rattlesnake. If you see him, smoke his ass because he’s damn sure gonna try and smoke you.”

  “I can dig it. Let’s just do this and get up out. I ain’t never been to the can in New York and I sure as hell don’t wanna go while I’m out here.”

  “Don’t trip, lil cuz. Mad Man and them are gonna have the police tied up for a while so we got a window of time,” Rahkim informed him.

  “Ain’t that the house right there?” Jynx pointed at a two-story stucco number. There were two young men standing in front, one of which they recognized as Major Blood’s nephew, Reckless.

  “Yeah, there it go. And peep ya boy slipping,” Rahkim said excitedly. “We got the drop on ’em, nephew; all we gotta do is lay ’em down.” No sooner than Rahkim had made the statement there were gunshots in the distance. The element of surprise was gone and Reckless and his partner were now armed and alert to danger.

  “Sounds like Tears and them done kicked it off already,” Jynx said.

  “Then we might as well claim our fifteen minutes of fame,” Rahkim said, leaning out the window and leveling his gun. “What’s up now, niggaz!”

  SONIC’S HAT took one high in the chest, spinning him. Criminal popped him once more in the back of his head, tipping him forward and through the store window. Bay bolted for the street only to have Tears clip him with the car. He was hobbled but still found the strength to keep moving. This is when Blue Bird stepped from the vehicle.

  “Come here, muthafucka.” Blue Bird grabbed Bay by the front of his shirt. “Where the fuck you going, huh?” He slapped Bay twice in the face with his gun. When Bay crumpled to the ground Blue Bird shot him twice in the chest and looked around for his next victim.

  Sports Band tried to run, but the PCP-charged Criminal was on him. Sweeping Sports Band’s legs, Criminal sent him crashing down on his face. Before Sports Band could fully roll over and plead for his life, Criminal aired him out.

  The man in the Raider cap tried to run in the store, but the Korean owner had locked the door at the first signs of trouble. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with a grinning Blue Bird.

  “Yeah, what that Hoover like?” Blue Bird demanded, pressing the hot barrel into Supersonics cap’s cheek. His eyes were wild and his movements jerky from the PCP.

  “Man, we ain’t got no beef with Hoover.” Raider cap winced against the burning.

  “Tough shit, dick head. Next time be more careful of the muthafuckas you let lay in yo hood.” Blue Bird shoved Raider’s cap against the storefront and pulled the trigger. Raider cap’s chest exploded in a nasty spray. Even after he was down, Blue Bird gave him two more for good measure.

  Bo tried to use the element of surprise and draw his gun, but Tears was on him. He kicked the wheelchair over viciously, spilling Bo to the ground. “Hold that down, baby. The party is just about to get crunk.”

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Blue Bird walked up. He grabbed Bo by the collar and hoisted him back into the chair. “What up, cuz?”

  “Man, you niggaz is tripping, you know who you fucking wit?” Bo jerked away from Blue Bird. He tried to sound tough, but couldn’t keep his voice steady. This wasn’t the first time he’d looked into Blue Bird’s eyes, but he feared it’d be the last.

  “Gangsta Bo, you and yo peoples done finally stepped outta line.” Blue Bird patted him on the cheek.

  “Blue, what you talking man, y’all the ones who outta bounds right now. You popped off for nothing.”

  “Oh, I don’t call laying the homey Gunn nothing.” Tears stepped up. “Yo partner Major violated and now we gotta settle up.”

  “What you think we should do wit this nigga?” Blue Bird asked no one in particular, as he rocked Bo’s wheelchair back and forth.

  “Say, loc, let’s see how fast he can move this muthafucka.” Criminal kicked the chair.

  “So what’s up, Bo, you think you faster than a streetlight?” Blue Bird positioned himself behind the wheelchair and rolled Bo to the curb.

  “Come on, Blue, stall me out!” Bo pleade
d, trying to stop the chair’s wheels with his hands, nicking his fingers up. Bo tried to climb out of the chair, but Blue Bird kept yanking him back down.

  Blue Bird leaned down to whisper into Bo’s ear. “Don’t worry about it, homey. You won’t be alone in hell for too long.” Just as the light was about to turn green Blue Bird shoved Bo into the street.

  Bo almost made it clean to the other side before his chair hit a pothole and deposited him onto the street. He looked on in horror as dozens of headlights bore down on him.

  “Holy shit.” Tears winced as a Cressida flipped Bo high into the air. He didn’t even have the heart to look as the skidding Lincoln Navigator finished him off.

  “Buck up, nigga, it ain’t that bad.” Blue Bird chuckled. “Let’s make it back to the car and hit the block. Don’t make no sense in Gutter and them having all the glory.”

  “Man, he said Reckless belonged to him,” Tears reminded Blue Bird of Gutter’s order.

  Criminal shrugged. “Then we kill everybody who ain’t Reckless.”

  THOUGH RECKLESS and Major Blood were first cousins, they looked nothing alike. Whereas Major was stocky and high yellow, Reckless was rail thin with skin like polished onyx. After Maria’s death, Essie helped her parents to raise the orphaned Major along with her own child. Reckless grew up idolizing Major Blood and his exploits, and when he was old enough Major Blood turned him out to the life. Kill for kill Reckless hadn’t quite reached Major Blood’s status, but he was off to a damn good start, terrorizing the residents of L.A. and pushing his enemies off the map.

  “So what’s the word from Major?” Mo-Mo asked, sipping his forty ounce.

  Reckless shrugged. “You know my big cousin is on his job. We lost B-High, but he dropped that funky nigga Hawk, so it’s officially on with the homeys.”

  “B-High? I thought that nigga was dead?”