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Authors: K'wan

BOOK: Gutter
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“A'ight, homey, damn!” Criminal cringed. He'd heard stories
about Gutter's wrath and didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.
“Good.” He let him go and then smoothed Criminal's T-shirt.
“Look, man, sorry about all that. Check, y'all go out and start rounding up them cars. When the sun goes down we ride on oh-las.”
M
AJOR BLOOD
paced back and forth under the L on 128th and Twelfth. There was planning to be done and enemies to lay and Hawk wanted a sit-down. He had no idea what the man wanted to talk about and frankly didn't care. All he wanted to do was get it over with so he could go back to busting Crip skulls. The news of B-High's death didn't sit well with him.
B-High was a two-bit junkie and a killer, but one of the few friends Major Blood had left. It should've been a simple task for him to follow Sharell and then kill her, but something had gone wrong. Now Major Blood would most likely have to kill the bitch his self, if he could even find out where she'd disappeared to. She and Satin had vanished and nobody seemed to know where they were, but they couldn't hide forever and he always filled his contracts, no matter how long they took.
“Man, what you think he wants?” Eddie asked nervously.
“Like I fucking care. They smoked Miguel, man. I don't wanna
hear nothing other than a full-out strike come outta that dude's mouth,” Tito said.
“Oh, don't worry about that, my nigga. We've played enough, now we crush Harlem and bring the glory back to the five. This is the part of the movie where the thugs cry,” he vowed.
“There he go right there.” Eddie nodded to a black Mercedes truck that was coming down the block. Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Hawk was on the curb and making hurried steps toward the trio.
“Hawk, what's popping, baby?” Eddie grinned.
“You, shut the fuck up.” He pointed at Eddie, wiping the smile from his face. “Blood,” he addressed Major, “I need to holla at you.”
Major Blood shrugged his shoulders. “So talk.”
“What the fuck are you out here doing?” Hawk questioned. Red and Shotta had parked the car and were a few paces away watching the scene.
“My job, nigga. Fuck you think I'm doing?” Major Blood shot back.
“I don't recall you making all of us hot being a part of your job description. Do you know I just got outta lockup?”
“They just springing you from the Island?” Major asked in an uninterested tone.
“No, the precinct.”
“Then what the fuck is you crying about, Hawk. So you had to spend a few hours in the can, personally I think it's good for your character.” Major snickered.
Hawk took a deep breath. “Look, homey, don't break fly with me. I'm talking about this sick-ass game you're playing with Gutter's people. You've got the police crawling all over the hood behind
this shit. Why don't you just whack who you gotta whack and be done with it?”
“Oh, I'm gonna kill Gutter all right, but I'm gonna do it in my own time, on my own terms,” Major said.
Seeing that reasoning with Major wasn't working, Hawk decided to throw his weight around. “Check this, Blood, you a respected member of this thing of ours, but I'm calling the shots in Harlem. Now, you done turned a fruitful-ass spot into a shooting gallery all because of some sick-ass game you're trying to play with Gutter. My advice to you is to do what you came for and get on the next thing smoking back west.”
Major stared at him in disbelief. “Your advice? Muthafucka, who is you to advise me of anything? Blood, them niggaz smoked my little man, so this grudge is personal now. First I'm gonna finish smashing on Harlem, then I'm gonna kill Gutter's bitch, and just when that nigga think it can't get no worse I'm gonna pop his fucking head off. So my advice to you, is to try and stay out of the cross fire. I'd hate to see you end up like Bad Ass.”
Hawk felt a chill at that statement. It was rumored that Major had had the O.G. killed, but the evidence was never solid enough to bring him before the nation on charges of treason. Hawk knew that Major was trying to intimidate him and if he let him the killer would surely have free rein in New York.
“Man, I ain't Bad Ass!” Hawk shot back. “I've been putting in work for a long time, Blood, don't test me.”
“Fuck outta here.” Major laughed him off. “When is the last time you shot some fucking body? See, that's the problem with you old niggaz.” Major inched closer to him.
“Watch ya self, son,” Red spoke up. He moved closer to Hawk, but Major Blood ignored him.
“When y'all come up on a few dollars,” Major Blood continued,
“you lose that edge, and that is a sign of weakness.” Without warning he shot Red in the chest, dropping him. Shotta moved to draw, but Tito had him covered.
“You know what they say about the weak and the strong.” Major rubbed the hot barrel across Hawk's face.
“You loony muthafucka, if you kill me then your ass will never make it out of New York. You'll spend the rest of your days as a hunted man.” It was a weak threat, but it was all Hawk could think of to say to save his life.
Major just laughed at him. “Baby boy, your name don't hold that kinda weight anymore. It's a new day in Harlem, Blood,” Major squeezed the trigger and hit Hawk once in the chest, surprising all in attendance.
Hawk clutched at the gaping hole and stared up at Major Blood in disbelief. He knew that the killer's services came at a high price, but he never expected it to be his life. Shotta tried to break and run, but Major gunned him down.
“Man, they're gonna send a fucking hit squad after us,” Tito said nervously.
“Let them,” Major said as if it were nothing. “In two or three days my cousin Reckless will be here with a few of the homeys from the set. Niggaz from the East Coast can either side with us, or die with Hawk. At this point I don't give too much of a fuck.”
“This is bad, man. Real bad,” Eddie said, pacing nervously.
“The old ways are done,” Major Blood said to the corpse at his feet. “It's time to bring in some fresh blood.” With a smoking barrel in his hand he turned to Tito and Eddie. “What's it gonna be, homey, the new regime or the old?” he asked, pointing the gun at Tito's head.
“Shit, I'm wit you all day Blood,” Tito said hurriedly.
“What about you?” Major Blood turned the gun on Eddie.
Eddie swallowed his heart, which was trying to crawl up from his throat. “All I wanna know is what we're gonna call the new set?”
“That's what I like to hear from my generals,” Major Blood said proudly, tucking the gun back into his waistband. “This night marks a new beginning for our little family. Death to all those who oppose us, Crip, Blood, or civilian. Come on, y'all”—he draped his arms around them—“let's go get twisted, because tonight … . We've got a funeral to attend.”
 
 
GUTTER STARED
at himself in the mirror for a long while before he finally managed to get off the bed. All of his jewelry and identification were wrapped in a sock and tucked in the top drawer. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Over his freshly done braids he wore a stocking cap so as not to worry about leaving hair follicles behind. He watched enough
CSI
to know that the police technology allowed them a million different ways to catch a nigga if they wanted them bad enough, and for what they were about to pull, they'd sure as hell be hot on their heels.
Making sure his twin Glocks were secured in the holsters around his belt he headed out the bedroom and descended the stairs. Monifa was sitting in the living room with Rahshida and Lil Gunn watching some old movie on television. He tried to smile at her, but she turned away.
Fuck her too,
he thought to himself. If she thought because she'd gotten a little dick from him in a moment of weakness meant she could dictate what he did, she was dead wrong. Gutter loved Monifa, but it was a love that had been slowly fading over the years. His love for the set was everlasting.
“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.
WHEN THUGS CRY
F
UNERALS, 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.

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