these lil ones are bringing down. Then when you got niggaz like Blue Bird instigating it really doesn’t help.”
“I was surprised to see him inside. I thought sure someone would’ve killed his ass by now,” Gutter half joked.
“Nah, bald-headed son of a bitch has got more lives than a fucking alley cat.”
“Fuck the both of you niggaz, out here talking ’bout me like I ain’t got ears.” Blue Bird staggered onto the porch, which was now beginning to get crowded.
“Go ’head wit that shit, Blue. You know you stay starting some shit,” Tears told him.
“Man, I don’t never start the drama, but I can sure as hell finish it,” Blue Bird said, making the shape of a gun with his fingers. “Fuck is y’all standing around looking all sad and shit for?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed we’re in the midst of a tragedy,” Gutter said seriously.
“Aw, I’m just fucking wit you, cuz.” Blue Bird draped his arm around Gutter, causing him to frown at the potent stench of alcohol coming off him. “Look, we all fucked-up about what happened to Gunn, but this shit is gonna get handled. These young boys is out here putting in much work.”
“These fools is dumping on everything moving, but we still ain’t no closer to finding the shooter,” Tears reminded him.
“In due time, my nigga. Say, in the meantime the home boys is having a set over in Twenty-first in the beach. Let’s mash over there and get cracking wit ’em.”
“I ain’t really up for no party,” Gutter said.
“Come on, G, stop acting like that. Sitting around here sulking ain’t gonna change Gunn’s situation. We might as well go on and have a few drinks and shoot the shit.” Seeing Gutter’s reluctance Blue Bird pressed the issue. “Dude, it’s been over two years since you’ve been home and it would really pick the homeys’ spirits up to see the living legend. We’ll stay for an hour then you can go back to your pouting.”
Gutter thought on it for a minute. He really wanted to be with his family, but Blue Bird had a point. Sitting around the house wouldn’t do much to change Gunn’s condition. Besides it had been awhile since he had seen the old crew and Danny would need some downtime to prepare him for the heap of shit that was about to be thrown into his lap.
“Fuck it.” He finally gave in. “One hour and I’m up.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Blue Bird clapped him on the back. “We’re gonna get faded and fuck wit some bitches, just like old times.”
Blue Bird stepped off the porch, followed by Tears and then Danny. Gutter hesitated for a minute before stepping off. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Monifa watching from the living-room window. He gave a half smile to which she responded by closing the curtains.
“Just like old times,” he mumbled to himself before joining the group.
chapter 11
WHEN THEY reached Twenty-first Street there were cars lining both sides of the block. People staggered up and down the sidewalk drinking and carrying on as if it wasn’t a residential block. Tears navigated the big truck through the traffic and parked on someone’s front lawn. No sooner than they got out of the car, their ears registered a series of whistles, the Crip call. Within seconds they could see shapes moving in and out of the shadows. Even in the darkness their weapons could be seen in hand. Danny tensed up, but Gutter got out as if he hadn’t even noticed the armed men.
“Where you from, homey?” one of the men asked Gutter, having never seen him before. Gutter just looked at him as if he was stupid. “Nigga, you hear me talking to you?”
“Put that muthafucking strap away before you get your little ass killed, Dion!” Blue Bird snapped, climbing from the backseat next to Danny.
“Aw, I ain’t know he was with you, Blue,” Dion said, tucking the small revolver back into his pocket. “I ain’t never seen homey so I ain’t know if he was friend or foe, you know how muthafuckas be out here tripping.”
“Cuz, ain’t you up on what’s happening? This is Gutter, Gunn’s nephew,” Blue Bird informed him.
“Gutter?” Another one of the armed men stepped up.
“The same Gutter who put the work in on that pig from narcotics?” Dion asked.
“Don’t go believing everything you hear, cuz. I don’t know nothing about no cop getting killed,” Gutter said, brushing through the crowd.
“Hold on, man. I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Dion said, catching up to Gutter. “It’s just that you’re a legend around these parts.”
“I ain’t nothing but a soldier, just like everybody else,” Gutter said modestly.
“You hear this muthafucka?” Blue Bird joined them on the front lawn. “You sound like you’re accepting a Grammy or some shit.”
“Dude, they said you rallied over two thousand troops in New York,” a nameless cat wearing a blue lumber jacket said.
“More like two hundred,” Gutter informed him.
“Man, you can tell your war stories later. Let’s go on in here; I got someone I want you to meet.” Blue Bird pulled Gutter into the house.
The inside of the house was just as packed as the outside. There must’ve been at least a hundred or so of the homeys from different sets getting their party on. The smell of weed and PCP made the air almost impossible to breathe without catching a contact. The sounds of the old Partna Duce cut, “That’s My Partna,” blasted through the tower speakers that were placed in each corner, causing the china cabinet to rattle.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna though! Yeah, yeah, that’s my partna!” Blue Bird sang along with the chorus, throwing up Hoover, and bumping through the crowd. Gutter followed closely behind, occasionally nodding to the few heads he knew and ignoring the rest. For a few minutes he was able to survey the crowd anonymously until some fool holding a bullhorn shouted,
“Damn, these muthafuckas act like you a rapper or something!” Danny shouted over the noise.
Gutter brushed him off, but he couldn’t front like he wasn’t flattered by the reception. His crew in New York always showed him love, but it wasn’t like this. California was his birthplace, the epicenter of all that he was. People feared the men and women gathered that night, but among the wolves, he was home.
“Who’s the dumb muthafucka coming ’round here causing shit at my party?” a raspy voice came from their left. The speaker was a man of about twenty-six or seven, with skin the color of olive leaves. He was wearing a tank top and denim shorts. There was a blue bandanna tied around his neck, just above the short gold necklace he had taken to wearing. His hair was cornrowed on a slant and tied at the ends with blue and white beads.
“Jynx, what it is!” Blue Bird spread his arms.
Though Jynx appeared to be nothing more than a lanky juvenile, he was one of the most feared men in Southern California. Jynx, like Lou-Loc, was a contract killer, and also like Lou-Loc, it was tragedy that brought him into the fold.
Jynx’s brother had been a high roller, seeing major paper off the weed trade in Southern Cali. One night a group of Bounty Hunter Bloods broke into their home searching for drugs and money. When they didn’t find anything in the house they shot his brother and slit young Jynx’s throat, leaving him to die. Jynx lived through the ordeal, but the cut left a nasty scar and caused some damage to his vocal cords. When he was able to get up and around he went on one of the most talked about killing sprees on the West Coast. It was said that more than a half dozen Bounty Hunters died by his hands, and as a result Jynx was placed on their most wanted list, to be killed on sight.
“I should’ve known.” Jynx embraced him. “Blue, why you always gotta break up some shit?”
“Man, I ain’t come here tripping. I brought somebody here to see you, man. I know you know Gutter from Harlem?” He nodded to the man standing behind him.
Jynx squinted at the bearded man standing beside Blue Bird. “Gutter? Blue, you been smoking that shit you selling? That nigga bought the farm in New York.”
