K'wan - Gutter

The next few seconds would be embedded in his mind until the end of his days. He could remember his mother, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, laughing at a joke someone told. Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion. Those same eyes he had seen at the fair were approaching from the rear. His bulky form was hunched over and moving swiftly. It was just like the army movies he had watched with his grandfather, he recalled. Everyone in the group was smiling, but the man wore a mask of pure hatred.

The tipsy group noticed him just as he was pulling a long revolver from beneath his blue sweatshirt. Bottles fell from hands and joints were abandoned as everyone tried to find cover. Drayton saw the man’s lips moving, but he couldn’t make out all the words. The two he did catch would be his newfound purpose in life. “Hoover, nigga!” the man shouted. Then came the blood.

The revolver barked over and over, trying to touch everyone assembled. Some made it under cover, while others weren’t so lucky. Maria fell in the latter. Her face had gone from a smile to a mask of terror. She was halfway in the car when the bullet exited her heart, and struck the seat right next to Drayton. Blood stained his face and clothes, but he didn’t seem to notice. All he saw was his mother’s cold, dead eyes.

The police rushed to the scene, but as usual, the shooter had already vanished. There were several injuries throughout the group, but only one fatality. At the funeral, his father showed up to pay his respects, but if he had knowledge that he had sired Drayton, he didn’t show it. The lean mirror double of him looked the boy over once and disappeared. That was the last time they ever saw each other. Drayton would spend more than enough time in and out of foster care, while his grandparents fought the system for him. When they finally did get him home permanently, the seeds had already been planted.

Drayton began his career early and quickly excelled at it. He had been around gang-banging since infancy, so it was a part of who he was. He tried his hands at drugs and a few other hustles, but found that his real strength was in murder. Drayton didn’t have the patience to stand around and sling stones. He wanted his money long and fast, and that didn’t seem quick enough for him. Drayton capitalized on the one thing he had carried with him since early. Hate.

Murder came easy to him. It was a gift of sorts. Drayton would find new and innovative ways to kill his victims. Whatever his methods, they were always very bloody. As his calling card, he would leave the bloody clothes of his victims on the doorsteps of their families or crews. This is what got him the nickname Major Blood.

The thirty-something-year-old had been putting in work since he was old enough to get “quoted,” a real live career banger. He was an iron-willed killer with a pack of wild young dawgz that wanted to be just like him, the most promising student being Young Reckless, his aunt Essie’s only child. Just as Major had been poisoned, he passed it off to his little cousin. After a while he got his kicks from just kicking back and watching Reckless smash shit. It was around that time that Tito had adopted the nickname Lil Major Blood. It was a name that until recently he had held down with valor.

“One of you niggaz get my shit,” Major said, walking around to the passenger’s side. He stood on the curb waiting for Eddie to get out, but Eddie just stared defiantly. “You gonna move or what?”

“What for? There’s room in the back,” Eddie pointed out.

“See, I can already tell you New York niggaz got the game twisted.” Major Blood smirked. “Where’s the respect for seniority?”

“Blood, I don’t even know you. These niggaz say you supposed to be official, but what kinda credentials you come with?”

“Okay, tell you what”-Major’s arm shot out in midsentence. He snapped his elbow and caught Eddie in the nose with the back of his hand. Eddie’s head bounced off the headrest and his hands covered his face.

Major snatched the door open, and pulled Eddie out. “Get yo ass out.” He shoved him and Eddie slunk out of the car and climbed into the backseat. Without being asked, Miguel got Major Blood’s bag. Major pushed the passenger seat back to where it would be on Eddie’s knees and relaxed. He stuck his hand down into his underwear and pulled out an ounce of sticky green. Without looking, he tossed it into the backseat.

“Roll that,” he ordered. “Tito, drive this muthafucka before I catch a case.”

INOP ONSeventh Avenue was as crowded as usual. It was only eleven thirty, but people filled the booths as well as stood in line trying to fill their bellies and seeing who was out. The wait time was twenty minutes, but Gutter and his crew were seated as soon as they entered. Hollywood was fucking the hostess. The men climbed into the booth and placed their orders. When the waitress had gone, they got down to business.

“That’s some heavy shit, cuz,” Hollywood said from the corner. “How bad is he hit up?”

“I don’t know yet.” Gutter tugged at his beard. He had run a comb through it before hitting the streets, but it still made him look like a wild-ass mountaineer. “My aunt just told me that some Brims dumped on him. Shit!”

“Man, Gunn is a stand-up dude. That was some bold shit them busters pulled, but they gonna catch it. I’m rolling wit you, cuz,” Pop Top declared.

“Nah.” Gutter shut him down. “I ain’t going to war; I’m going to see my fam. When I get the story, this shit is gonna get handled. In the meantime we keep up the effort over here. They call themselves Bloods, so make ’em bleed!”

“You know I got you faded all day, my nigga,” Pop Top assured him.

“True indeed.” Gutter nodded. “Now, y’all know them niggaz is gonna be out for blood behind what happened with Supreme so move smart about it and be on constant alert. No cowboy shit, just tactical hits. If these muthafuckas even look like they wanna frog up, put the love on ’em.” Gutter crumbled his napkin for emphasis.

“You know we gonna keep it funky out here while you’re gone,” Danny assured him.

“You’re coming with me,” Gutter announced to everyone’s surprise, including Danny. “We about to step off into some heavy shit and I don’t know who I can still trust out there other than my family and Snake Eyes.”

“Aw shit, I might even get a chance to put it on one of them West Coast niggaz,” Danny joked.

Gutter looked at him seriously. “Danny, this ain’t no game. We about to step into a war-torn city, where these little niggaz ain’t got a problem caving your fucking melon in just for the stripes.”

Danny sucked his teeth.

“You better listen to what the homey is telling you. Think about it like a trip to the Holy Land, nigga,” Pop Top added.

“If my uncle dies you’re likely to see more gunplay than you’re ready for,” Gutter said seriously.

HAWK STEPPEDinto the lobby of the W Hotel and gave a casual glance around. He had been to a few of their hotels and compared to the rest, the Lexington Avenue location didn’t measure up. Still, he wasn’t a guest, he was only there to handle business so he wouldn’t have to endure it long. With him were Tito from L.C., and Hawk’s guard dogs, Red and Shotta. The two men looked like day and night, with one being tall and slightly chubby, while the other was almost pitch-black and sported long dreads. For as odd a pair as they appeared to be, they were both very handy with the steel.

Hawk was a man of high standing in most underworld circles so it was rare that he ever had to unleash the two, but when they killed they did it well. That was before Gutter. With the way he had things popping in New York, Shotta and Red found themselves with their hands full. Gutter didn’t discriminate against rank when it came to taking out his enemies, which Hawk had a feeling was part of the reason he was down at the W that afternoon. A very important, and very dangerous, associate of his gang was visiting New York City and that meant trouble for anything blue.