MAJOR BLOOD sat motionless in the armchair of his hotel room. Though he wasn’t ranting, as Miguel thought he’d be, the rage in his eyes was apparent. Resting on his lap was a copy of the
The most interesting article was about a woman who had been found dead at a Connecticut mental institution. The ironic part about it was that it wasn’t Satin. The woman who had been killed was supposed to have been in another room, but somehow ended up in Satin’s bed that night. Ms. Angelino had vanished and neither the staff nor the authorities had a clue as to where she’d gone. Major Blood crumbled the newspaper and tossed it into the corner.
“That’s some crazy shit, blood,” Miguel said. “What do you think happened to the bitch?”
“How the fuck would I know,” Major snapped. He had a perfect record as far as contract kills went and Satin had just screwed it up. When he found out who had helped her to escape he vowed that they’ll die slower than she will.
“Something has gotta be done, man,” Eddie added. “Pop Top waxed Vlad and Pook then he had at least five of ours in Brooklyn murked. If we let those fuckers get away with killing them cats it ain’t gonna look good on us.”
Major turned his cold stare to Eddie. “You know what, you have a knack for pointing out the obvious, you silly muthafucka. Next time I’ll break your jaw instead of your nose, maybe then you won’t say such stupid shit.”
Eddie touched his swollen nose, and sucked his teeth. He hadn’t known Major that long, but he already couldn’t stand him.
“Kick back, Eddie,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “So, what we gonna do now, Major?” he addressed his namesake.
“We start hacking away at the limbs of Harlem Crip until it’s time to take the head,” Major told him. “I’m ’bout to call my little nigga B-High and tell him it’s time to start leaking muthafuckas. Maybe he can get the point across better than I can,” he said with a wicked edge to his voice.
“Man, you keep talking ’bout this lil nigga, but how come don’t none of us know him, I assume he Blood?” Eddie asked, which got him a
“Ain’t no skinny, that’s my nigga from the way. Solid-ass soldier,” Major said, not wanting to go into B-High’s shaky history. “Man, we can play twenty-one questions later, y’all go do whatever you gotta do for the day because tonight we riding to the strip joint.”
“Yeah, I could go for that. Fuck a few of them fine-ass black bitches or something tonight.” Miguel rubbed his hands together.
Major Blood looked at him as if Miguel was as dim-witted as Eddie. “Man, we ain’t going to catch no bitches, we going to catch some cases.”
“What’s the plan, Blood?” Tito asked.
Major just grinned and said, “To kill as many muthafuckas as we can without getting caught.”
POP TOP paced the storage unit trying to suck the life out of a Newport. The cigarette had already burned almost down to the filter, but it didn’t stop him from taking one last drag before tossing it to the ground and fishing around in his pocket for another one. C-style had just delivered the news of China’s suicide and of all the homeys he seemed to be taking it the hardest.
Though he gave China more grief than anyone else, he was quite fond of the little soldier. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t convinced him to go on the hit then maybe the little boy would still be among them, laughing and rolling the blunts. China was yet another name added to the steadily growing list of casualties.
“Damn, I can’t believe the little nigga off’d himself,” High Side said from the crate he was sitting on.
“Yo, the boy was straight laid out!” C-style said emotionally.
“Fuck,” Pop Top growled, slamming his fist into the wall, rattling the cool metal. “If it ain’t bad enough that this Major Blood nigga is picking us off, now you got niggaz cashing in their own chips.”
“Man, I say we move on these niggaz, son. I don’t like the idea of having to constantly watch my back,” High Side said.
“How we gonna move on them when we don’t know where the fuck to find them? This Major Blood nigga is like HIV, every time he shows up somebody dies,” Hollywood pointed out.
“Dawg, I don’t know how y’all feel, but I say we get low until Gutter comes back. He’ll know how to handle this,” Rob suggested.
“Get low?” Pop Top glared at Rob. “Nigga, this is war, ain’t no getting low. Either you a soldier or a pussy? Which one is it?”
“I ain’t no pussy,” Rob said softly.
“Then stop acting like one.” Pop Top went back to his pacing. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Young Rob, but he was stressed the fuck out. Gutter had entrusted him with the well-being of the set and he was letting the situation with the Bloods get out of control. The local crews were easy enough to deal with, but Major Blood was another story. Whereas the young cats running around New York were wolves, Major Blood was a snake and proving to be more trouble than Pop Top had expected. His rational mind told him to call Gutter, but Pop Top never moved rationally.
“We gotta get a handle on this, cousins,” Pop Top continued. “We’ve fought too hard to get a lock on Harlem to let some out-of-town nigga come through and fuck it up.” He took a minute to light the cigarette dangling between his lips. “I’m gonna put something together to bring an end to this Major Blood nigga, in the meantime y’all just be on point. I want every muthafucka on the set to be armed at all times.”
“That’s how I roll anyway, cuz, you know that.” High Side brandished his pistol. “First nigga come at me sideways is gonna get his muthafucking head popped off.”
“Man, y’all can sit around playing cowboys and Indians, but I’m about to hit the bricks and see about my scratch,” Hollywood said, heading for the door.
“Where the fuck is you going?” Pop Top asked.
“I gotta go meet the boy, Goldie, and open up shop. Pussy ain’t gonna sell itself. Side”-he turned to High Side-“you still coming through later?”
“Hell yeah, nigga. I’m gonna scoop the boy, Kiss, then we’ll push through the spot. I wanna see what you lame muthafuckas is working with anyway,” High Side teased him.
“Fuck you, nigga, just make sure you bring some of that good crack money to spend wit my bitches!” Hollywood shot back before leaving the unit.
“HOW IS she?” Gutter asked.
“She’s still a little out of it from all the drugs they’ve been pumping into her, but other than that she seems fine,” Sharell said into her cell phone, which was cradled between her ear and shoulder. “I still don’t know how he managed to get her out of the hospital.”
“Cross has a way of getting in and out of places most people can’t,” Gutter told her.
“Who is he? I mean, I know he was a friend of Lou-Loc’s, but he ain’t no gangster.”
“You’re right, he ain’t no gangsta,” Gutter said, thinking about the eerie Cross. “But who he is ain’t important right now, baby. What’s important is that Satin is safe.”
Sharell could sense that he was uncomfortable talking about Cross so she let it rest. “So, when do you think you’ll be back?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a day or so. You know we don’t sit on bodies more than forty-eight hours before entering them into the Mosoleum.”
“Kenyatta, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Gunn. I only wish I could’ve been there for the funeral. Please tell Rahshida I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.
“I will, ma, and don’t trip she understands.” He paused as he watched Monifa walk past the kitchen and give him a look.
“Kenyatta, is everything okay?” Sharell asked.