and popped off. Lil Gunn would’ve probably been dead had Blue Bird not grabbed the shooter in a headlock just as he pulled the trigger. The heavier man grunted once and broke the man’s neck. To add insult he blasted him twice in the face with the Colt.
Lil Gunn took a moment to observe the scene, and found himself pleased. The lot was in total chaos. Bodies of the dead or dying were strewn all over, and the survivors were terrified. He noticed Charlie stretched out, and rushed to his side.
“Charlie, man!” Lil Gunn shouted.
“That nigga dead.” Blue Bird lifted Lil Gunn to his feet. “Come on, Shorty trying to lose us!” Blue Bird jogged back toward the car.
Shorty half ran, half hobbled down a dark backstreet. He would’ve stuck to the main road, but he didn’t want to chance being chased down. His lungs burned, and his whole left side was numb, but he wanted to live more than anything. It seemed like the harder he tried to run, the more his arm bled. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he collapsed from the loss of blood. He had almost made it to the end of the block when he heard tires screeching behind him.
“There that nigga go!” Lil Gunn pointed his gun excitedly, while bouncing up and down on the passenger seat like an unruly child. The sherm was now working in overdrive, making the whole ordeal seem like a video game. “Lay that pussy for my pa, Blue. Run that muthafucka over, cuz!”
The closer Shorty got to the corner, the weaker he became. By the time he reached the streetlight, he was seeing spots. Coughing up globs of blood, Shorty turned around just in time to see the headlights of the Jeep coming right for him.
AFTER SPENDING almost five hours in the emergency room, Pop Top was finally patched up and ready to be discharged. As per procedure, the police were brought in to question him about how he had gotten shot. The story he fed them was that he was walking out of a grocery store on 155th and got caught in a cross fire between two crews. Being that the bullet that struck him went in and out, the police had nothing to match against the shoot-out at the bodega.
He knew the police would want to question him about the shooting, so he had the homeys stay away so as not to arouse suspicion. When he came out of the examining room, Maxine was waiting for him. She was a high yellow chick who hailed from Flatbush. She was thick in the right places and didn’t talk much, which suited him fine.
“All done?” she asked, looking up from the copy of
“Yeah, we can boogie now,” he replied.
The couple stepped out into the night air, and headed up the street in an attempt at catching a cab. Maxine stepped off the curb and tried to flag one, while Pop Top stood off to the side. A car slowed to a stop in front of them, but when Pop Top peered inside, he knew it wasn’t a cab. With limited mobility, he was slow on the draw. The occupant that aimed his shotgun out the back window wasn’t.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Major Blood said, getting out the passenger’s side. “You reach for that piece, and I’m gonna let my man air this pretty bitch out.” He nodded toward Maxine, who stood there shocked. “I came here to talk, but if you wanna make it a gangsta party, then reach for it.”
Maxine stood frozen in place. She got with Pop Top, hoping to get some action, but this was more than she bargained for. Her life flashed before her eyes as she stared down the barrel of a shotgun.
Pop Top looked from the car to the man standing in front of him, and weighed his options. He could take his chances and try to gun the man down, but even if he did, the shotgun would surely be fired. He really didn’t give a fuck if Maxine took it, but he was worried that he might not make it out of the line of fire. Reluctantly, he relaxed, but he still kept both the man and the car in front of him.
“You’re Pop Top, right?” Major asked, in an all-too-easy tone.
“Who the fuck are you?” Top shot back.
“Me? The name’s Blood.
Pop Top scanned through his mental rolodex and tried to remember where he had heard the name. There were several rivals who used Blood in their name, but there was something unique about this man. He remembered that Tito from L.C. went by that moniker, but he knew Tito when he saw him, and this was definitely not Tito. As he looked deeper into the man’s cold eyes, it dawned on him. He had heard tales about the notorious killer from Cali when he was still trying to come up. If this was the same Major Blood, he knew he was in a world of shit.
“I can tell by that stupid-ass look on your face that you’ve heard of me,” Major said, “but we ain’t here to discuss my resume, crab.”
“You a long way from home to be talking all crazy, my dude. What the fuck do you want in my city?” Pop Top glared at him.
Major chuckled. “
“Nigga, get to the point,” Pop Top insisted.
In a motion that was almost too fast for Pop Top to catch, Major Blood produced a pistol and put it to his enemy’s head. “You’re doing a lot of talking for a nigga that could be a memory in a matter of seconds.”
“I ain’t scared to die. If it’s my time, be done with it,” Pop Top said defiantly. Had this been anyone else Major Blood would’ve taken it as just a tough guy act, but he knew what time it was with Pop Top. He was a straight rider and really didn’t give a fuck if he lived or died as long as it was in service to the set.
Major lowered his gun and eyed Pop Top curiously. “You really are crazy, ain’t you? Look here, man. I’m gonna make this shit short and sweet. It’s over. You understand? You know who I am, so you can guess what the fuck I was sent here to do. But see, I ain’t a complete asshole, so I’m gonna give you a sporting chance. Shut it down, or I shut y’all down.”
“So, you think you’re just gonna walk in and make us close up shop?” Pop Top asked with a grin.
“You must not be hearing me?” Major Blood leaned in to whisper. “I ain’t Cisco, nigga. I’ll kill you and everything you love. I don’t give a fuck about you, me, or anything else, that’s why I’m the best at what I do. This is your first and only warning. And just in case you think I’m fucking around.” He motioned toward the men in the car.
Miguel got out, followed by Tito and Eddie. Tito trained the shotgun on Pop Top, while his two cohorts went to the trunk. They popped it open and struggled to remove a large rolled-up carpet. They carried it to the sidewalk and dropped it between the two men. Eddie leaned in and cut the rope that held it in a roll.
“I think this belonged to y’all.” Major kicked the carpet open, exposing B. T.’s corpse. His face was bruised, and his neck was splayed open like a gutted fish. “Don’t feel bad though. He was a fucking snake. Your comrade has been feeding us information for the last couple of months. Seems that my associates made him a deal, but I can’t stand a fucking rat, so I changed the agreement. Food for thought,
When the car was well away from the block, Pop Top began breathing again. He had come within a hair of losing his life, and escaped through the grace of God. He looked from B. T.’s body to the receding taillights of the car and wondered what he was going to tell Gutter.
“WHAT’S THE matter, honey?” Rahshida asked as Monifa stormed across the kitchen.
“Nothing, Rah, I’m good.” She grabbed a Corona from the fridge and plopped down on the wooden chair, across the table from where Rahshida was sitting.
“Monifa, you hardly drink and I’ve never seen you do it before sundown so I know something is bothering you, what’s up?” Monifa didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes told the story. “It’s Kenyatta, isn’t it?”
Monifa sucked her teeth. “Fuck Gutter.”
Rahshida shook her head. “Monifa, why do you keep doing it to yourself? I watched you go through the motions when he left, and just when the wounds finally start to heal you wanna pick at the scab.”
“I don’t know why I keep doing it to myself, Rah. I tried to tell myself that I could handle him being here and that the old feelings are gone, but no sooner than he gets me alone I go to pieces.” She took a light sip of the beer
