This brought a faint smile to his lips. “Yeah, I gotta make sure my little man comes up right.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“Or little girl,” she corrected him. With Gutter’s help, she got off the floor and moved back to her seat.
“Whatever, you know damn well my first child gotta be a son.”
“All your first child has to be is healthy, Ken. Boy or girl it’s still gonna be ours.”
After breakfast Sharell cleared the table while Gutter went upstairs to prepare for the day. From their walk-in closet, he chose a pair of blue jeans and a white Air Force. After pulling on his white T-shirt, he retrieved his chain from the dresser. It was a thirty-inch platinum cable that twirled in on itself and around the diamonds. The piece was a script G that had sapphires embedded in the grooves. The last accessory was a black.40 caliber, which he slipped into his pocket. He was ready to hit the streets.
chapter 2
DANNY-BOY LEANED against the black Escalade watching the people watch him. Dressed in a blue hoodie and sagging blue jeans, he stuck out like a sore thumb in the upper-class neighborhood. It didn’t offend him though. He got a kick out of their reactions. One woman nearly snatched her dog off its feet for wandering too close to the banger.
Daniel “Danny-Boy” Thomas got his name because of his youthful appearance. He was twenty, but looked fifteen. His skin was the color of caramel, and he always wore his hair in a wavy Caesar. He was one of the set’s newest recruits. When Gutter found him, he was a young knucklehead looking for acceptance. Under the O.G.’s tutelage, Danny-Boy was becoming a true-blue soldier.
When Danny spotted Gutter coming down the steps of the brownstone, he immediately straightened his posture, so as not to look like he wasn’t on point. He respected and admired Gutter, so he was always looking for approval. Danny put on his best mean face and nodded.
“Boy, you look like you just swallowed a lemon,” Gutter joked.
“Why you always gotta clown me, cuz?” Danny asked.
“’Cause you’re trying too hard,” Gutter said, walking around to the passenger’s side. “Lil homey, I know you’re official so you ain’t gotta come wit the mean mug.”
“Nah, man, I know you know. I just want the rest of these muthafuckas to recognize. When people see my face, they’ll know not to try me.”
“Danny, that’s bullshit. If a nigga is gonna try you, he’s gonna try you. It don’t really make no never mind what’s on your face. It’s all about what’s in your heart. Remember that shit.”
Gutter had love for the young soldier, but sometimes Danny could be like a child. He was definitely one of the most dedicated little niggaz Gutter had encountered since being on the East Coast. Danny would put in work without question. His only hang-up was inexperience. He was always asking questions and speaking out of turn. Gutter tried not to be too hard on him, because he knew the boy was still young and didn’t know any better. What Danny lacked in etiquette, he more than made up for in other areas. Before becoming a full-time banger, Danny was a boxer. He came up short during the Olympic trials, but he was lethal with his hands.
During the ride uptown Gutter and Danny smoked a blunt and made small talk. Danny did most of the talking, while Gutter half listened. He had a lot on his mind. During the time he spent in his coma, much had changed. L.C. Blood was still around, but their numbers had been decimated by Gutter’s hit squads. Harlem Crip was still functioning, but not at peak efficiency. Pop Top had done what he could to hold the set together, but he was more of a soldier than a general. They had lost lives and money under his reign. Now it was up to Gutter to put things in order.
They exited the West Side Highway at 125th and coasted through Harlem. Gutter sat in the passenger side of the truck taking in the scenery. The weather was warm, so people were out in numbers. Shoppers shoved their way up and down the strip, visiting the stores or making their purchases from the vendors.
They made the left on Lenox Avenue, and headed farther into the hood. It seemed like every block was popping that day. People were either outside barbecuing or just shooting the shit. Every hood they went through, someone acknowledged Gutter. They either waved or just stared. His exploits in Harlem had made him both known and feared uptown.
Cutting across 132nd, they made their way east. Danny suggested they not take that route, but as usual, Gutter insisted. They had been shot at on several occasions passing through some of these hoods, but Gutter wasn’t easily spooked. How could you scare a man that had already died once? Even though it wasn’t the safest way, he wanted his face to be seen. It was to be made clear to each and every hood that he went wherever he pleased.
When they approached the Abraham Lincoln housing projects, Gutter placed his gun on his lap. He had quite a few projects on smash, but Lincoln wasn’t one of them. The project was once totally dominated by Bloods, but the increased work the Crips were putting in had caused their control to slip. The project became a free-fire zone coveted by both sides.
When they crossed Madison Avenue, some local hardheads in front of the bodega tried to ice Gutter. He turned his soulless eyes on them and threw up his hood, causing the boys to turn their heads.
“Punk-ass niggaz.” Danny snickered. “We should go back and set it on them faggots.”
“For what?” Gutter slouched a bit in the seat. “We already got they hearts. Ain’t no thrill in busting on a nigga that’s scared.” Gutter noticed the questioning glance Danny gave him, but continued looking out the window. He would learn in his own time.
They finally arrived at their destination. It was a storage facility on Park Avenue at 125th, right next to the Metro-North. The young woman behind the reception desk didn’t even look up from her magazine when the two bangers came through the front door. Gutter and Danny boarded an elevator and took it to the third floor. When they stepped off they were greeted by home boys smoking blunts and shooting the breeze. Gutter nodded at a few of them and proceeded to the rear storage unit.
The man Gutter had come to see sat on a crate in the last unit. Also inside the unit were Young Rob, Hollywood, and a female named C-style. The room was filled with wooden crates, marked from different ports in the Middle East, and loose sheets of bubble wrap. Some of the crates were sealed, while others sat on the floor open. In the center of all this, Pop Top was hunched over examining a Russian machine gun.
“Sup, O.G. Gutter?” Top asked, looking up from his inspection. A crown of dusty black hair sat atop his head. It had begun to thin in the middle from the stress of hard living, but Top refused to cut it. He was never big on appearances.
“Maintaining,” Gutter said, making a mental note of how many boxes were stacked in the room. “Sup wit all that traffic out there?”
“That ain’t ’bout nothing,” Top said, putting the gun down. “A few of the homeys came by to spend something wit Harlem. Them niggaz is hyped off the new hardware we got.”
“If they copped already, why they still here?” Gutter questioned.
“It’s blue, cuz. They just kick’n it,” Top responded.
“It ain’t blue, cuz. You sitting in here on a shitload of illegal burners and you got muthafuckas smoking, congregating in the hall. This ain’t no hangout, Top.”
“I’ll tell the homeys to bounce,” Hollywood said from behind his shades. He had been down with the set since the days when Lou-Loc was around. He was a lanky yellow dude, who always dressed in flamboyant gear. Even his jewels were different. From the iced-out globe he wore around his neck, to his bracelet that spelled out his set, Hollywood was a fly nigga. The former hoops star strode from the room to pass along Gutter’s decree.
Top and Gutter made eye contact, but no challenge was issued. When Gutter had gotten hit up, Lou-Loc had turned Harlem Crip over to Pop Top. At the time it seemed like a wise decision, but it soon turned sour. Pop Top was a warrior to the heart, but he lacked the diplomacy skills to efficiently lead the set.
Havoc reigned in the coming weeks. Top allowed the homeys to run wild and do as they liked. It didn’t take long before the police started riding down on the team, snatching up quite a few of their number on charges. Top solidified Harlem Crip on the streets, but he also sent a blue flag up for the police.
“What we looking at?” Gutter asked, looking over the shipment.
