Gutter

The crowd erupted into cheers and patted him on the back as he was steered through the mob. Outside the ring, he was greeted by the man whom he knew to be Snake Eyes and two others he didn’t know. He stared at the bearded man and tried to place his face. Seeing this familiar face staring at him made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the way the man was looking at him, but the way he looked. The young boy had smooth dark skin and their eyes were almost the same shade of green, but he couldn’t think where he knew him from.

“Sup, Snake,” the dark-skinned boy addressed Snake Eyes, but never took his eyes off Gutter.

“Sup, lil nigga. I see y’all fools out here banging on each other.” Snake Eyes gave him dap.

“Fuck this nigga.” The dark-skinned boy spat blood on the floor. “Bitch nigga trying to put shit on Suicide, so I had to school ’em out.” The young man paused for a minute and then turned to Gutter. “Sup, cuz, we know each other or something? Where you from?”

“Say what?” Gutter asked, surprised.

“Watch yo mouth, Lil Gunn,” Snake cut in. “That ain’t no way to talk to your family.”

“Gunn?” Gutter said with recognition finally setting in. The reason the young man looked so familiar was because Gutter had been there the day his mother had given birth to him.

Tariq “Lil Gunn” Soladine was the child of Big Gunn and a woman named Stacia, who originally hailed from Watts. Back when Big Gunn was on a come-up, Stacia had been his ride-or-die bitch. She loaded the guns and he dropped Brims with them. She knew Gunn was on his way to being a ghetto superstar, and wanted her piece of the pie. Everything was gravy until she got pregnant with Tariq. Stacia felt that since she was now Gunn’s baby mama that she had papers on him. She began trying to press Gunn to marry her and square up in a big house. Gunn, being married to the streets, wasn’t trying to hear it. Eventually, she absconded with the child and moved to San Francisco. She claimed it was to keep them safe from the violence Gunn was bringing to their doorstep, but most people felt it was done to spite Gunn for not marrying her. He saw the child from time to time, but other than the checks he sent once a month, they really had no contact.

“I’ll be damned. Lil ass Tariq!” Gutter said in disbelief.

“Snake, who is this nigga?” Lil Gunn asked, not really making the connection.

Snake Eyes smiled. “This is your cousin, Gutter.”

Lil Gunn looked Gutter up and down, and his face began to soften. “No shit?”

“Come here, lil muthafucka.” Gutter embraced him. “Man, I ain’t seen you since you was about eight or nine years old.”

“Cuz, I heard you got smoked out in New York!” Lil Gunn said excitedly.

“Don’t believe rumors, fam. I took a shitload of lead from some stunting ass Brims, but can’t no bullet kill a Soladine,” Gutter joked.

“I’m glad to see a real Crip among us.” Lil Gunn shot a glance over his shoulder. “My old man is taking his last breaths and these niggaz ain’t trying to do shit but get faded and talk about shooting muthafuckas. If you ask me, the only thing these busters is shooting is their mouths.”

“Not everybody is built like us, little cousin.” Gutter stroked his beard.

“I know that’s right, man. But I ain’t tripping. My big cousin Gutter is home and these faggot-ass oh-las better run for cover. Man, your name is ringing all over the Coast. Yo shit is the stuff of legends. With you and me together, we gonna ride on every Brim hood in retaliation for my dad.” Lil Gunn tried to hide the pain in his voice, but Gutter caught it.

“All in due time, cousin.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “For now, let’s get you cleaned up and us reacquainted.”

chapter 13

“YOU GOT that info I asked you for, poppy?” Major Blood asked Tito as he entered the hotel suite.

Tito reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Major Blood a folded piece of paper. Tito narrated as his superior read the printout. “My home girl tracked that down for me. The top is a job address for Gutter’s girl, Sharell.”

Major nodded as he looked over the sheet. “Bet I got a lil nigga I can put on Sharell’s case and see what pops off. I’m just gonna have him watch her for now, but when I lower the curtain, I’m gonna do it real ugly on Gutter’s bitch. What about that turncoat ho, Satin?”

“The address on the bottom is the hospital where she’s locked up,” Tito told him. “I still don’t see what you want with her though. The girl can’t even wipe her own ass.”

Major nodded. “Ain’t your job to wonder, T. You just handle your end of this; I got the Satin situation from here. In the meantime rally the troops and let’s get ready to mash out, Blood. It’s time we made our presences felt.”

POP TOP sat in the emergency room of Harlem Hospital flanked by China, B. T., and Hollywood. The staff shot funny glances at the ragtag bunch, to which they responded by throwing up their sets or middle fingers. Though several people had complained to security about the noise they were making, no one dared ask them to leave. As much business as they brought the hospital, they were given ambassadors’ status.

C-style came from the back where Rob was being treated for his injuries wearing a grim look. She was dressed in sweatpants and a white V neck. Her hair was wrapped and pinned under the powder-blue scarf she wore. When they had called her she was already in bed, so she just jumped in her sweats without bothering to primp. Her eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, but she didn’t seem too broken up.

“What they say?” Pop Top asked.

“He took a hell of a beating.” She sighed. “They blackened his eye, and he’ll look like Jimmie Walker for a while, but he’ll live.”

“Did he get into a fight or something after I left him?” Hollywood asked.

“That’s the thing, he said he got snatched up,” she explained. “Supposedly, some of them niggaz from the other side rolled up and tossed him into a car.”

“If he was kidnapped, why didn’t they ask for a ransom?” China questioned.

“I was getting to that,” C-style said. “He said they wanted him to take a message back to Gutter. ‘It’s a wrap for Harlem.’”

“These niggaz got nerve,” Hollywood said, picking his tooth with a manicured pinky nail. “Trying to tell my dude how to do what he do. You’d think that after we laid down damn near an entire set that they’d finally realize that we ain’t to be fucked with.”

“Them niggaz knew he was with us, and they fucked him up anyway. They outta pocket.” B. T. shook his head.

“Yo, they fucked him up real bad, fellas. What’re we gonna do?” C-style asked.

“Okay, okay.” Pop Top stood up. “The last time I checked, I was running Harlem. We gonna handle these niggaz who touched our brother. They’re gonna learn the hard way how we play.”

“Maybe we should call Gutter?” China asked.

“Nah, we ain’t gonna do that,” Top said quickly. “I can handle this shit. Was Rob able to ID anybody?”

“Yeah, Tito from L.C. and some other dudes. He said he’d never seen them around before so maybe it was a joint effort,” C-style told him.

“Fuck ’em all then,” Pop Top declared. “Snake-ass muthafucka, we should’ve killed his ass years ago. But you know what; I got a trick for that bean-eating muthafucka. They wanna touch our fam, we gonna touch their pockets.” Everyone looked at him curiously, but he didn’t elaborate. Pop Top was always secretive when it came to murder, as everyone should be.

Rob was the hardheaded son of a square mother, but he was like a little brother to most of the members assembled. The group filed out of the emergency room, each lost in his or her own thoughts about what would come of Rob’s beating and the seemingly endless war with their sworn enemies. B. T.’s cell going off caused him to slow up. When he looked at the caller ID he hung back a bit from the group. Only when he was sure the crew was out of earshot did he pick up the phone.