K'wan - Gutter

“It’s hot as hell out here,” Danny said, adjusting the collar of his button up. “Where the fuck is our ride?”

“Someone will be here,” Gutter said in nearly a whisper.

As if on cue, an electric-blue Lincoln Navigator rumbled up the strip. The windows were tinted, so the occupants were hidden from view. The sounds of the popular group The East Sidaz blasted from the stereo. Tray Dee and Goldie Loc spit pro-Crip lyrics over heavy riffs and Doctor Dre-like horns. When the truck stopped a few feet away from where Gutter and Danny were standing, the chrome rims kept spinning. Danny reflexively took a step back, but Gutter held his position. One of the customized doors lifted up and out, and the driver stepped around to greet them.

Tears was a year or two Gutter’s junior and hailed from Eighty-eighth Street, stomping grounds of the Eight Treys. His skin was the color of night, and his teeth bone-white. Even though he had been banging since before he was technically old enough, his face was still pleasant and youthful. Though from two different sets, he and Gutter had stood side by side in many firefights.

“Sup, fool?” Gutter smirked.

“So, the dead do walk.” Tears smiled. He hugged Gutter then held him at arm’s length and examined him. “Damn, cuz. The homeys wrote me and said you got hit up something terrible, but you look okay to me.”

“You know I’m made of blue steel. Wounds heal, man,” Gutter replied.

“Shit, in under a year? When I got hit in the gut, it took me six months to get right. I heard you got aired out and left for dead, but I can’t see it.”

“You know how niggaz exaggerate,” Gutter deflected.

“Right, right,” Tears said suspiciously. “I hear you kicking up major dust on the East, kid?”

“You know I’m true to this.” Gutter formed a C with the fingers of his left hand and placed them over his heart. “We’re trying to come up like everybody else.”

“Yeah, getting money and trying to make the funeral director a rich man,” Tears joked. “Dude, what’s with you riding on these slobs so hard?”

“It ain’t about nothing.” Gutter placed a cigarette in his mouth and fished for a light. “Niggaz touched mine, and I ain’t standing for it. We ride on my side.”

“I hear that. Say, I’m sorry about missing Lou-Loc’s funeral. County wouldn’t give a nigga a pass, ya know?”

“Don’t trip. I know you would’ve been there if you could. Say”-Gutter motioned to Danny-“this here is Tears from Eight Trey. Tears, this is Danny from Harlem.” The two men nodded. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my uncle.”

DANN STAREDout the window like a starstruck kid. This was his first trip to the West Coast. He had heard stories about what California was like, but it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. They rode down Melrose where there were quiet streets and palm trees. They had rented two suites at the Double Tree Inn, out in Westwood. It was an upscale-looking strip, lined from end to end with different hotel chains. Danny was designated to check them in. Luggage was left in the truck while he got the keys. Danny looked around and thought how overrated Cali was.

After the keys were secured, the trio hit the 405 south, heading to Los Angeles. Danny sat in the passenger seat as Tears gave him a brief overview of L.A. Danny paid close attention to the various monuments, such as the Capital Records building. When they exited the freeway the scenery began to change.

The pleasant suburbs turned into middle-class vinyl houses. From that the landscape turned into liquor stores and shabby stucco houses. Spray paint scarred the walls of supermarkets and other buildings. Even at that late hour, groups posted up on corners and porches, eyeing the truck wearily. Most were young men, drinking or talking among themselves. Danny searched some of their faces and only found the eyes of hardened men on the faces of boys. Some even threw up their hoods trying to gauge a response from the mystery convoy. Danny quickly realized that he had been rash in his assessment of California.

They passed through L.A., and on through Carson, but to Gutter’s surprise they hadn’t stopped. Tears dipped back around and headed toward Torrance, which was notorious for Blood activity at one time. Most of the houses were dark, save for a few porch lights. Deep within the horseshoe of a nondescript street, they pulled up into the driveway of a small lavender house.

“This is it,” Tears said, turning to face Gutter, who was meditating in the backseat.

Gutter looked around at the scenery in disgust. “Man, y’all got my uncle laid up in a slob city? What the fuck was y’all thinking?”

“It’s all good, cuz. Slob activity ain’t like it used to be around here. And the few muthafuckas out there that’s still connected got a truce with us ’cause we hitting ’em with birds. As long as we ain’t trying to move in we got an understanding. Besides, had we kept him at the hospital niggaz might’ve tried to come back and finish the job. We got medical equipment and round-the-clock nurses on call. He’s in good hands.”

Gutter nodded and stepped out of the truck. He looked up and down the block and felt as if he was out of place. He took a few moments and examined the house. It was a two-story house, situated in a still-under-construction housing development. From the average cars in the few driveways, he deduced it was a working-class neighborhood. There were men dressed in blue Dickies and jeans, holding automatic weapons outside the front door. He should’ve known that the homeys would make sure Gunn was well protected. They started forward when they saw him, but resumed their positions when Tears waved them back.

As he stared at the door his heart began to pound. He had no idea what to expect. He decided to let Tears go before him. Tears knocked on the door, while Gutter waited with anticipation. There was a brief wait and finally the sound of footsteps. The peephole jingled then bolts were slid free. When the door finally opened Gutter lost his breath.

ACROSS THEocean, another scene was unfolding. Though it was well past midnight the warm weather had the park on 145th and Lenox packed. Two local groups were running a full court for unnamed stakes. Hollywood sat behind the wheel of his Chrysler, while the girl from the bus stop occupied the passenger seat. Young Rob occupied the back, blowing haze smoke into the air.

“This is some good shit.” Rob smiled.

“You know Hollywood only smokes the best grass.” He smiled, referring to himself in third person. “Matter of fact, I gotta have the best of everything. Gear”-he popped his collar-“shine”-he touched his chain-“and ladies.” He rested his hand on the girl’s exposed thigh.

“I know that’s right.” Rob looked on hungrily.

“Hollywood, stop being nasty.” Sonia giggled.

“See, Rob. When you get to be a nigga of my stature, you’ll realize what I’m rapping about. These niggaz is always complaining about spending money to have the finer things in life, but that’s only because they’re uneducated. Me, I live by the philosophy of: Take care of life and it’ll take care of you. Dig it?”

“Yeah, man,” Rob said, passing the blunt, “I dig it.”

“Talk that shit, nigga,” Sonia said, leaning over and licking Hollywood’s neck. Without missing a beat, she took her hand and began to massage his crotch.

“Say, Rob,” Hollywood called over his shoulder, “I’ll get up with you later.”

“Sure, Hollywood,” Rob said, catching on. “I’ll see you later, fam.” Rob slid out of the car and headed up the street.

Hollywood gazed at Sonia lazily. She returned his stare with a hungry one of her own. He could tell the potent weed was beginning to loosen her up. Slowly she kissed his cheek and neck, she tried to kiss him on the lips, but he turned his head. Sonia moved her kissing further south to his chest. His jeweled hand guided her steadily down, while she undid his pants. Within a few seconds, he felt her warm mouth on him. She had come across as a schoolgirl when he met her at the bus stop, but Hollywood had a nose for freaks. Sonia was rank to say the least.