Gutter

take. If you put something on your hood and didn’t follow through then your word didn’t count for shit.

Gutter took Gunn by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “On Harlem Crip, I’m gonna make sure your father’s murder doesn’t go unpunished. I’m gonna bring it to them niggaz, cousin.”

To Gutter’s surprise, Lil Gunn grabbed him in a bear hug. The young man squeezed as hard as he could, while sobbing into Gutter’s chest. “I know you will. My daddy used to always tell me that you and me was more like brothers than cousins and I know you’d never let your little brother down.” Gunn pulled away and wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his T-shirt.

“Go on back in the living room before your aunt thinks I’m trying to teach you how to cook crack or some shit.” Gutter mushed him. The two men walked back into the living room, and all eyes were still on Gutter. He just shook his head and stepped out the front door, where he was greeted by ten armed and dangerous men.

part IV.WHEN THUGS CRY

chapter 35

FUNERALS, JUST as a rule, are sad as hell. But to attend a funeral for a child was a whole new kind of pain. Gutter had paid for the entire funeral, including the seemingly infinite flowers that were spread over the caskets and along the walls, but it couldn’t bring back the lives of the two men who were sent to their final wake.

China and Rob were laid out side by side in two beautifully crafted caskets of a heavenly blue hue. Their faces no longer wore the scowls the streets made them hide behind, but the calmness of two boys who may have just laid down for a nap.

Rob’s mother wore a grim face, occasionally dabbing at the tears that seemed to flow lightly but consistently down her face. Her heart was crushed beyond measure at losing her little boy, but she tried to hold it together as best she could. Ms. Lucy was another case. She bawled like a hungry infant, thrashing her head and occasionally falling. Twice her sister had to keep her from hitting the ground.

C-style sat alone in the corner, taking in the scene. All the homeys had showed up to the funeral. The one decent thing Pop Top had done under his rule was insist that no one showed up to the funeral in street clothes. Though Ms. Lucy knew what was up, Rob’s mother was a square, and they didn’t want to disrespect her. Everybody wore grim faces as they thought of the two lives lost to the set.

The set, C-style thought to herself. Look what the set had taken from her. Rob might not have been the be-all and end-all as far as men went, but he was hers. They had a bond that was supposed to stand the test of time, it wasn’t enough though. He was gone… he died trying to protect her from the enemy… the same enemy C-style had blasted out of existence. It was either kill or be killed was the way she saw it.

There were so many things going through her head that she didn’t really know what to feel; sad for the loss of her lover, guilty because she was now a murderer, or stupid for buying into Gutter’s war? C-style looked down at the cold face of her lover and now imagined herself in the casket. Harlem suddenly started to feel way too small for her.

Pop Top stood off to the back, flanked by High Side and Bruticus. Hollywood sat on the other side of the pew with a fresh-faced young thing snuggled against him. He wore a bandage over the side of his face where Lexi had cut him and dark glasses. Ever since he’d alerted Gutter to Pop Top’s bullshit there had been tension between them. Hollywood didn’t give too much of a shit about his attitude though, his face and his business were ruined.

Every so often High Side could be seen casting a suspicious glance at Pop Top. His friend had something cooking and High Side was sure it’d go poorly. He and Pop Top went back like two flats, and had held each other down against seemingly impossible odds, but he was talking some other shit. If they tried a mutiny and it didn’t go right they’d be dead men.

“Sup, cuz?” Pop Top asked High Side, noticing the conflicted look on his face.

High Side shrugged. “Ain’t shit, man, just thinking. Seems like we’re losing more of ours than taking out theirs. It’s fucked-up what happened to the lil homeys.” He nodded at the caskets.

“Yeah, man. A real fucking shame,” Pop Top agreed. “Don’t trip though, they gonna get theirs, all we need is a new strategy. After the funeral I’m gonna dip out to L.I. for a minute with Sharell.”

“What happened to ‘fuck Gutter, I ain’t no babysitter’?” High Side questioned.

“You know there’s always a method to my madness, cuz. Just be ready to roll when I come scoop you.”

High Side looked at him. “Man, Gutter asked you to go, not me.”

“High Side, it’s gonna rain out this bitch and I don’t want none of mine to get wet. We just gonna sit up for a while and plot our next move.” Pop Top tried to sway him.

“Man, a nigga got business on the streets; I ain’t got time to be laid up in the suburbs. Do what you gotta do, man, I’m out here.”

“What y’all rapping ’bout?” Bruticus asked, moving closer. He was still a bit stiff from the bullet he’d taken in his lower back, but thanks to the medication he’d been prescribed he wasn’t feeling much pain.

“Ain’t shit, just thinking back on the homeys,” Pop Top lied.

“Damn, cuz, I can’t believe them lil niggaz is gone,” Bruticus said.

“I know, son,” Pop Top agreed. “Man, I don’t know what made China off his self, but the boy Rob went out like a gangsta!” Pop Top said proudly.

“Ain’t no honor in death, kid,” Hollywood said. No one had even seen him get up and walk over. “Them young boys is outta here, cuz… gone from it,” he said emotionally. “They didn’t deserve to go out like that, fam.”

“Yeah, but we gonna ride for them kids. Word to mine, it’s on!” Bruticus declared.

“All day, cuz.” Pop Top was speaking to Bruticus, but staring at Hollywood. “So what’s up, you gonna call Gutter on speaker phone so he can get the play-by-play on this too?” he asked sarcastically.

Hollywood looked at him stone-faced from behind his shades. “Man, go ahead with that shit, Top. This ain’t the time or place.”

“Then pick a time and a place,” Pop Top challenged.

Hollywood glared at Pop Top. He was surely armed, but Hollywood didn’t come empty-handed. He had a two- shot tucked in his cast that he could get to easily if need be, but to cause a scene at a funeral? “Let me get with you outside for a minute.” Hollywood stepped outside with Pop Top and the others on his heels. Before the chapel doors were even closed behind them, Pop Top started right in.

“Fuck that shit. A bitch cut ya face and you get all scared and shit and call Gutter. What’s up, Wood, I thought you was ’bout the movement?” Pop Top accused.

“Man, don’t ever question my dedication to Harlem, I’m just as down as any of these niggaz, if not more so.” He motioned to the scar on his face and the cast on his hand. “This shit was about dealing with a problem that was getting out of hand.”

“I had the problem under control!” Pop Top snarled.

“How you had it under control, Top, when we taking more losses than them? Look”-Hollywood tried to compose himself-“we all crew so it ain’t no sense in beefing about it, but we had to let the homey G know what was going down, Top.”

Pop Top sucked his teeth. “Whatever, man.”

“Why don’t you two niggaz kiss and make up?” Bruticus teased.

“Fuck you.” Pop Top spat on the ground. “So, what Gutter say to you about this Major Blood cat?” he asked Hollywood.

“He’s bad news times ten. The best way to deal with a cat like Major Blood is to kill him on sight, no questions asked.” Hollywood recounted what Gutter had told him.

“Shit, we’ve been trying like a muthafucka,” High Side added.

“Man, it’s time to lay this bitch-ass nigga out once and for all. Me and-” That was as far as Bruticus got before