“Yo?” he answered.
“Sup, son?” the voice on the other end taunted.
“Man, I can’t talk right now I got something on the ball.” B. T. tried to rush the caller.
“Well, yo shit is gonna have to wait cause I need to get up with you,
“Loc, I told you I’m in the middle of something. I can’t just dip off to come meet you.”
“Nigga, you can either come meet me or I can come to you. Imagine how it’s gonna look to your homeys to see me and you chopping it up like old friends. You know the deal, son,” the caller shot back.
B. T. was so angered by the threat that he could’ve roared. He had been doing side business with the caller for the last few months without anyone finding out, and now that was threatened because his partner wanted to flex his power. He made a mental note to address the issue once he was in a better position. Before he could utter a response, he heard footsteps behind him.
“Nigga, what you doing?” China approached.
“Ah, nothing,” B. T. stuttered. “Just taking care of something. Look,” he said into the phone, “I’ll be there.” He ended the call.
“Man, why you look all irritated?” China questioned.
“These hoes getting on my last nerve.” B. T. gave a fake chuckle.
“You need to be more like Hollywood. He’s got his hoes in check,” China pointed out. “Now, let’s hit the block so we can get to the bottom of this Rob shit.”
“I can’t,” B. T. blurted out. “I mean, I got some shit I gotta handle.”
“What’s more important than handling business for the crew?” China raised his eyebrow.
“Stop being so nosey, slant-eyed muthafucka. Man, I’ll hook up with you later.”
B. T. strode from the emergency room exit, while China looked on. There was something about B. T.’s behavior that didn’t sit right with him. B. T. was always a shifty-acting cat, but something was different this time. China decided he would keep an eye on his comrade and see what he could discover before taking his suspicions to the crew.
B. T. STOOD in the parking lot of Western Beef, chain-smoking. Every time he heard a car, or saw a group of people, his body tensed up. The last thing he needed was for someone to spot him and report it back to the homeys. He had been a Crip for a long time, since even before Lou-Loc and Gutter came to New York. In those days, he was a respected member, and even had his own territory. The Cali native had changed that.
Lou-Loc had not only whipped his ass in front of his friends, but he had also stripped him of all rank and title. B. T. was reduced to nothing more than a soldier, trying to keep his head above water. When the opposing team had come to him, he was skeptical about the whole idea. He was a Crip, but what had it gotten him so far? He gave them loyalty, and was rewarded with disrespect. His plan was to work with the Bloods until he got what he wanted, then set out a piece of the pie for his comrades. He never planned for anyone to get hurt in the process, but he reasoned that you had to break a few eggs to make an omelet. What he was doing was beyond fucked-up, but the fact that no one from his gang respected him was his motive.
B. T. spotted the car he was waiting for, and tried to pull himself together. The red Taurus pulled into the lot and parked a few cars from where he was standing. There weren’t many cars in the lot at that hour, but they found two to hide between. Tito came walking in his direction, followed by Miguel, Eddie, and a man he didn’t know. His antennas screamed danger, but he brushed it off and stepped out to meet his partners.
“Sup, Big Time.” Tito extended his hand.
“Cut that small talk, Tito. What you want, man?” B. T. looked around.
“Damn, you niggaz is antisocial ’round this bitch,” Major commented.
“Fuck is this nigga?” B. T. looked him up and down.
“This is the cat I called you out here to meet,” Tito explained. “Major”-Tito turned to him-“this is our inside man. B. T.”
Major Blood studied B. T. momentarily before speaking again. “So, you the turncoat muthafucka that’s willing to sell his crew down the river?”
“Fuck you. Dead rag-ass nigga,” B. T. spat. “You don’t know me.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you, and don’t wanna know you. These niggaz said you could help further our cause, and that’s the only reason I’m here. Don’t flatter yourself, young’n.”
“Yo, Tito,” B. T. addressed his contact, “I ain’t come all the way out this bitch to be insulted by this chump. If you got some business, let’s talk about it. If not, I’m out.”
“Everybody be cool,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “We’re all on the same side. Major Blood is from the West Coast, so his style is a little different. He ain’t mean nothing by it.”
“Whatever. So, what y’all need?”
“What we need is information,” Major cut in. “They say you know the ins and outs of Gutter’s operation, so spill. I need names and addresses, starting with that Bible-toting bitch of his.”
“Sharell? I really can’t say. I know he moved her out of Harlem. Brooklyn, I think,” B. T. replied.
“Where in Brooklyn?”
“Didn’t I just say I don’t know?”
“Okay. What about a mistress?”
“Gutter fucks with bitches here and there, but nobody he really gives a fuck about.”
“What about his routines.” Major tried a different angle. “Where does he hang out? What restaurants does he take his broads to?”
“He ain’t got no set patterns. Mostly he just bounces in and out of the hood. Beyond that, I don’t know.” B. T. shrugged.
“Tito, I thought you said this nigga was useful?” Major Blood asked over his shoulder.
“Yo, you got a lot of sideways shit with you, fam,” B. T. said angrily.
“B. T.,” Tito cut in, “Major Blood is here to help us knock Gutter off his high horse. Now, if I remember correctly, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but that don’t mean I gotta listen to this faggot pop shit. Besides, I don’t think Gutter is gonna take too kindly to you niggaz doing his young boy like that. You might wanna watch ya back,” B. T. said smugly.
Major Blood laughed at that. “You let me worry about Gutter, homey. I’ll deal with King Crip when the time comes, but right now he ain’t an issue. Dismantling your fag-ass set is the order of business, so play your fucking position, crab.”
B. T.’s eyes flashed rage, and he thought about taking a swing at the stranger, but the coward in him stayed his hand. “Check this shit out, cuz, I’ve been helping y’all niggaz take out key players, and I think that counts for something, so you might wanna stop talking all crazy to me. When I get some more info, I’ll float it to you.”
“Fair enough.” Tito nodded. “If Blood ain’t got no more questions for you, we out.”
“Actually, I do have a question,” Major spoke up. “Why?”
“Why what?” B. T. asked, confused.
“Why cross yo peoples like this? I know they’ve done some greasy shit, but you’re still a Crip. How can you set your own up to be slaughtered?”
“Gutter ain’t mine. Him and his faggot-ass man came out here acting like they running shit. It’s about time somebody checked his ass. Besides, this shit ain’t personal. It’s strictly business.”
“Strictly business.” Major laughed. “I’ll be sure they put that on your tombstone.” Out of nowhere, Major Blood hit B. T. with a left. He staggered from the blow, but it was the right hook that put him on his ass. He lay on the ground, dazed and leaking from his nose.
“I never could stand a rat.” Major Blood shook his head while kneeling over B. T. The turncoat suddenly found it very difficult to focus his eyes, but he caught flashes of Major Blood taking something out of his pocket. B. T. tried to say something, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound as Major Blood cut his throat.
chapter 14
