“So I keep hearing,” Gutter said.
“On the turf, this
“So you’re Kenyatta Soladine?” Jynx said, continuing his examination. The unwavering green eyes were more than proof enough of his lineage. “Homey, we never met but I owe you.” Jynx shook his hand. Seeing the confused look on Gutter’s face Jynx went on to explain. “A few years ago that cop O’Leary murdered a little boy and left him strung up in the hood. The little boy was my cousin and the last blood relative I had left in the world. You settled that score up for me, cuz. Thanks.”
Gutter just nodded, but he didn’t accept credit for the murder. “It was fucked up the way they did the little homey. O’Leary got what he had coming.”
“Listen, I heard what happened to your uncle and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Crip, Blood, Chicano, whoever did this is going down. You’ve got my word on that. Anything you need, just ask.”
“Thanks,” Gutter said.
“Enough of this sap shit, where the fuck is the drinks?” Blue Bird asked.
“Spoken like the lush that you are.” Jynx laughed, motioning for the men to follow him to the makeshift bar area. To get to where the drinks were being poured they had to pass a small bathroom, just off from the kitchen. When they got within spitting distance of it a pungent odor assaulted all of their nostrils. Each man in the group made a disgusted face, but it was Jynx who vocalized his displeasure.
“Who the fuck is in here trying to kill my plants?!” he barked, banging on the bathroom door.
“Stall me out, cuz. That Carl’s Jr. I had earlier is running through a nigga!” someone shouted from the other side.
“Damn, cuz, put some water on that shit or something.” Blue Bird put his two cents in it.
“Stinking-ass nigga.” Jynx gave the door another kick and proceeded to the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen the air was a little less smoky, due to the back door being propped open. The counters were lined with various brands of liquor and a few half empty bottles of soda and juice. Tears bypassed the liquor and headed to the far corner where there was a tall garbage can filled to the brim with forty ounces. He opened an ice- cold Old English and took a long sip.
“Damn, thirsty, were you?” Blue Bird teased.
“Fuck you, nigga.” Tears wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Them squares be having a nigga dehydrated.”
“That and the fact that they’ll kill you is why you need to quit smoking,” Jynx said, firing up a blunt.
“Look who’s talking,” Tears shot back.
“This here is for my glaucoma, fool,” Jynx joked, exhaling the smoke. “Y’all niggaz go on and get right. The yak over there and we got that Crip-notic on ice.”
“Say, man, where you hiding all the bitches?” Blue Bird asked, pouring himself a healthy shot of Hennessy.
“Shit, take your pick.” Jynx nodded toward a group of young women who were talking to some guys in the doorway. “Wit all these hood rat bitches running ’round here, somebody’ll give your ugly ass some pussy.”
“Fuck you, Jynx. If you wasn’t my boy I’d blast yo ass,” Blue Bird joked.
“Friendship ain’t got nothing to do with it, Blue.” He pulled up his tank top and exposed the butt of a very large.45. “You fools help yaselves to whatever you want.” He grabbed a light-skinned girl that had been walking past and pulled her close. “I’m ’bout to get into some grown shit.” Jynx swaggered toward the bedrooms.
Gutter laughed at Jynx’s antics and went back to observing the party. Blue Bird had slipped off to the backyard with a freak, and Danny was ogling the scantily clad women like he was ready to catch a charge. The music was jumping and everyone was having a good time.
“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing a forty out of the bucket and leading his troops out into the throng of people. Gutter and his team drank the best liquor and smoked the best weed well into the A.M. before deciding to mash back to the pad. The crowd embraced Gutter like he was family, though most of them had never even met him. Everybody wanted to be close to the legend. Two big booty Mexican chicks were trying to get Gutter and Danny to join in on a freak show, but Gutter declined for them. Danny was tight, but he’d get over it. For as much as Gutter wanted to stay and freak off he knew he couldn’t-there was killing to be done.
chapter 12
WHEN GUTTER woke up the next morning it felt like he had just gone to sleep. Tears was supposed to drop them off at the hotel, but Blue Bird’s greedy ass insisted on stopping at Jack in the Box, where they bumped into some more of the homeys and ended up smoking two more blunts. The sun was damn near up when they finally got back to Westwood.
After showering, Gutter dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The bulletproof vest he had gotten from Tears would bulge a bit, but it was better than getting caught slipping. When he removed the contents of the black box resting on his bed he couldn’t help but laugh. Inside the box was a Glock and two clips, but not just any Glock, the very same Glock he used to keep at Monifa’s. He wondered if it was his ex’s idea of a joke, or some ironic reminder of the past he had left behind.
The hotel phone caused Gutter to jump. The front desk informed him that there was someone waiting for him in the lobby. He had no idea who it might be because he didn’t tolerate unannounced guests. After ringing Danny, Gutter tucked his strap in his pants and headed for the hotel lobby.
“AIN’T THIS a bitch?” Gutter beamed as he stepped off the elevator and greeted the mystery visitor. He had been ready to come through the lobby shooting until he saw the smiling face of his old friend.
There stood Snake Eyes in all his glory. He was decked out in a blue, striped, Nautica polo. His jeans were starched and creased, cuffed over his white Nikes. His hair was faded almost perfectly into his smooth brown skin. Standing there in a pair of wire-framed glasses Snake Eyes looked every bit of the egghead lawyer that he was. He had become such a square peg over the years that you almost forgot that he was once a killer and dope peddler. The little boy from 102nd and Hoover had done okay for himself.
“My brother,” Gutter said, embracing him.
It had been years since he had last embraced his crime partner. The last time they had been in each other’s company Gutter had been lying in a pool of his own blood, fighting for his life. Snake Eyes had come to his rescue, laying down the would-be executioners. Back when Snake Eyes was still putting in work he, Gutter, and Lou-Loc had been as thick as thieves, but their lives had gone in different directions. Snake Eyes now did his fighting through the judicial system and Gutter was still putting in work for the turf.
“What that be like, my nigga?” Snake Eyes struck a mock-thug pose.
“You know it’s Harlem-Hoover all day and then some.” Gutter threw up one set then the other.
“You mean Hoover-Harlem.” Snake Eyes threw them up in reverse. An elderly couple that was checking into the hotel gave them a disgusted look, but kept about their business. “Man, I ain’t seen your monkey-ass ever since, baby boy!”
“Shit, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here now. Dawg, I never got to really thank you about-”
“Man, knock that shit off.” Snake Eyes waved off his thanks. “Family does for family; you know how we do it. What it is, home boy?” Snake Eyes addressed Danny, who was staring at him curiously.
“Harlem,” Danny said proudly.
“Danny”-Gutter draped his arm around the young man-“this is my homey, Snake Eyes.”
“Yeah, I heard of you.” Danny smiled. “You ’bout ya shit, huh?”
“That was a long time ago,” Snake said evenly. “I have a law practice in Miami now, dealing with a select few clients. I do a lot of wills and trusts for the homeys out here too.”
“Bet that’s profitable,” Danny joked.
“Unfortunately.”
“So, what the hell you doing here?” Gutter interjected.
“I heard you flew into town last night, so I came to check you.” Snake Eyes informed him.
“You should’ve come by the spot. It was enough niggaz in there.”
