Island. He’d tried to persuade High Side to come along, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. Being that there was no one on the streets they were wide-open for him. At his usual post, on a crate in front of the bodega on 142nd and Lenox, High Side watched the traffic for a potential sale and the ever-present police.
“Young Side, what it is?” Don B. asked, ambling up to the corner. Don B. was a former hustler who had turned rapper-CEO. Back then, before the events in
“Don, what da deal my nigga.” High Side slapped him five. “I’m surprised to see you on the streets of Harlem. I thought you moved to Switzerland or some shit since you a rapper now,” High Side teased him.
Don B. wiped his nose with his thumb. “Switzerland is my summer home, young’n, Harlem is my kingdom. Speaking of niggaz getting ghost, I’m surprised to see you out here.”
“I’m on my grind, fam, you know how I do.”
“I hear that, but the way I hear it Harlem has been having some problems. They say that Gutter is done and it’s about to be a new day.” Don B. said smugly. He had never had much love for Gutter or his blue-clad soldiers.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Don. Harlem is still as strong as ever. But fuck the socializing, what you need?”
Don B. smiled, knowing that he had plucked High Side’s nerves. “I need an ounce of that Barney.”
“Is that right? What’s the matter, them Spanish niggaz up the hill ain’t taking your money no more?” High Side asked.
“Son, my money is universal but my man ain’t around right now, so I gotta settle for the shit y’all slinging.”
“I hear that hot shit, cuz.”
“Watch that cuz shit, High Side. You already know I ride under the five.”
“But yo ass is spending money under the six,” High Side pointed out.
“Whatever, duke. You got what I need or what?”
“We always got that, but you gotta give me few ticks for an ounce, homey,” High Side told him, pulling out his cell to bleep his man.
“Fuck kinda drug dealer is you where the customers gotta wait? Nigga, when I was out here we had it clicking twenty-four seven.”
“Well, you ain’t on the block no more. Lou-Loc and them niggaz ran all the tampons outta Harlem.” High Side said it in a joking manner, but there was a taunting undertone to his voice. Don B. was a Blood, but that wasn’t the reason High Side hated him; he hated Don B. because he’d managed to put the hood behind him and make something of himself. In Don B. he saw two things that he would never become: legitimate and successful.
In a rare show of anger Don B. removed his sunglasses and glared down at High Side. “First of all, little nigga, can’t nobody run me outta nowhere. And second of all, before Lou-Loc and Gutter came on the scene, you and Pop Top was two bum-ass niggaz begging for somebody to give you a pack to pump. Don’t try to play me, son.”
“Times have changed, baby boy, and a nigga all grown up.” High Side flashed his burner.
Don B. wasn’t a sucker, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how cats like High Side were on it. A hating muthafucka didn’t need much of a reason to try and kill you. “I hear you talking, fam. Tell you what, why don’t I come back in about twenty minutes to pick that up.”
“Yeah, why don’t you do that,” High Side said as he watched Don B. walk away. He knew good and well that Don B. wasn’t coming back and he didn’t care. He might’ve passed up five hundred dollars on the sale, but at least he got to chump Don B. He couldn’t wait to tell the homeys.
High Side’s attention was drawn from Don B. when a Black Lincoln rolled to the curb. The Senegalese taxi driver kept his eyes straight ahead while the tinted back window rolled down a bit. High Side was about to go for his gun until he saw the pretty Latino girl’s face in the back. “How do we get to Harlem Hospital?” she asked in deep, yet sultry voice.
He smiled and got off the crate to get a better look at the girl, neglecting to pick up his gun. “Yeah, baby. Just keep going down Lenox and you’ll run right into it.” When High Side raised his arm to point, he saw a swift movement behind the girl. By the time he realized what was about to go down the bullet had passed through his armpit and out his shoulder. Soon the pain would come, but right then the fear and adrenaline made him numb. Spinning on his heels, High Side took off down Lenox Avenue.
“Move, bitch!” Major Blood snarled, crawling over the Spanish girl’s lap and spilling awkwardly to the sidewalk. High Side had a good head start, but he was a wounded animal with a predator on his trail.
High Side could have won the hundred-yard dash for the way he bolted down Lenox. He had made it to 140th before the cigarettes and the damage to his arm kicked in. He went from a full-out sprint to a jog, seeming to get slower every few yards. Normally there was always a police presence uptown, but when he needed them they were nowhere to be found. As he darted out into the street and a car put him in orbit he wished he’d listened to Pop Top and had went to Long Island. By that time his arm had gone completely numb so when he landed on it he didn’t feel much, but when his head bounced off the concrete the world swam.
High Side found himself in a pretty place. The prettiest green buds sprouted from the streetlights, which had become giant Dutch Masters. He was admiring a cognac waterfall, contemplating a drink, when another sharp blow brought him back to the real world. When his vision cleared he found himself staring at what looked like a yellow- skinned devil.
Major Blood yanked High Side to his feet by the front of his shirt. “Y’all should’ve listened when I told you to shut it down.”
High Side swayed like a rag doll in Major Blood’s grasp. “Fuck you, chili bean. Pop Top is gonna smoke your ass for this!” he spat.
Major Blood sneered at him. “How the fuck do you think I knew where to find you?” he lied.
Hearing of his friend’s betrayal gave High Side renewed strength. He thrashed about, trying to shake Major Blood off, and only when he was slapped viciously across the face did he go still again. “I’ll see you in hell!” High Side literally spat at Major Blood. A line of bloody phlegm ran down the side of Major’s face, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“More than likely,” Major admitted, shoving High Side roughly to the ground. On that once quiet morning, on the corner of 140th and Lenox Avenue, Major Blood divorced High Side’s brain from his skull.
LATER THAT afternoon the police responded to a report about a car that had been stripped and left on 96th between West End and Broadway, partially blocking a bus stop. When they opened the trunk they discovered the remains of an immigrant cab driver and a pretty Latino girl. Both wore bullet holes over their eyes.
chapter 40
BY THE time Gutter, Danny, and Tears made it back to Torrance Bit was mid-morning. The normally blue California sky was gray and threatening to storm. There was a line of cars parked in front of the house, while homeys were posted on the porch, all waiting to roll to the ceremony for Big Gunn. Among them was Snake Eyes, who had a worried expression his face.
“What’s good, homey?” Gutter greeted his longtime friend.
“Yo.” Snake Eyes tossed him a folded newspaper. “Y’all fools made the morning news.”
Gutter flipped the paper open and was shocked to see a picture of the bullet-riddled Drayton home on the front page. The two-page write-up told of how an alleged gang member-drug dealer and his girlfriend were executed in their Compton home, in front of their infant son. Initially, the police believed it was a drug deal gone wrong because they found large quantities of cocaine in the basement, but an unnamed source, who was said to have heavy ties in the gang community, claimed it was a revenge killing. The young couple was dead when the police got there, but the boy was taken to a local hospital where he was treated for cuts and bruises, and was now in the custody of social services. Gutter didn’t need to read anymore, because he’d already seen that movie.
