K'wan - Gutter

“You look good.” He smiled.

“I’m a’ight,” she said flatly.

“Monifa… I wanted to call you, but-”

“Save it”-she cut him off-“we can discuss our past another time. Right now, your family needs you. Everyone is in the living room.”

He was a little stung by her sharp tone, but he couldn’t blame her. He just nodded and stepped through the doorway.

The living room was packed. Friends and relatives were crammed into the tiny space, talking in hushed tones or praying. Some people lingered near the kitchen area, while others hung out in the back, smoking weed and cigarettes. Though they tried to carry on normal conversations, they couldn’t hide the grim faces they all wore.

“Kenyatta,” his aunt Rahshida called from the corner. She was a short woman with dark skin and their family’s trademark green eyes. She wore street clothes, but kept her head covered by a silk wrap.

“Auntie.” He hugged her. “How’s he doing?”

“Up and down.” She wiped her eyes. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“That’s my fam. You know I’m gonna be here in his time of need.”

“Young Gutter!” a voice called over his shoulder. A short man, who was shaped like a building, came through the crowd. He was clean-shaven, wearing a white mock neck and blue slacks. His blue Stacy Adamses glided across the carpet to where Gutter was talking to his aunt. He gave them his too-big grin and slapped Gutter on the back.

“Blue Bird, what it is, cuz?” Gutter returned the gesture.

Blue Bird was an older homey, claiming 9-4 Hoover; a close ally of Gunn’s set 107. He was about the same age as Gunn, but carried himself like a teenager. Blue Bird enjoyed putting in work almost as much as he enjoyed convincing other people to do it for him. He was loud, ignorant, and disrespectful, but more important he was a straight-up G. Blue Bird was an old head of the old codes, where human life meant nothing.

“Man, we all fucked up about what happened to Gunn,” he said, sipping his can of Budweiser. “Them slobs don’t respect nothing, man. That’s okay though. We gonna ride on them fools for Gunn. That’s on the nine!”

“Why don’t you sit your drunk ass down!” Rahshida snapped. “My brother is back there fighting for his life and you’re still talking that who-ride foolishness. More violence is not what’s needed right now.”

“Rah, ain’t mean no disrespect. I’m just trying to let nephew know the hood is with him.”

“I appreciate that, cousin. Gimme some time with my fam and we’ll rap,” Gutter suggested, trying to defuse the situation.

Blue Bird nodded, and made his way back through the crowd. As he passed the homeys he notified them all of Gutter’s return. Soon Gutter was swamped with old friends and new faces welcoming him back to the set. It seemed as if all at once everyone in the room was either trying to pass Gutter a blunt or inquire about life in New York. The homeys were just trying to show love, but Rahshida was clearly getting frustrated. After shaking a few hands and assuring them that they’d all be addressed promptly, he managed to disperse the crowd.

“Damn fools. Every one of them.” Rahshida folded her arms.

“Don’t trip, Auntie.” He patted her back. “You know they don’t mean no harm.”

“Sup, Rah.” Tears approached, followed by Danny.

“Trying to get these rowdy fools to show some respect. They need to take they asses home.”

“Yeah, it is a gang of muthafuckas up in here,” he said as he observed the crowd. “Any word?”

“Same thing,” she said in a defeated tone. “Blocks from all over been tripping on Bloods, but nobody saying who the shooter was. Bloods blame it on the Mexicans, and vice versa. Hoover been tripping on both sides. I heard they even blasted on some Sixties who were rumored to have something to do with it.”

“Sixties didn’t do this,” Gutter disagreed. “Gunn had homeys from that side. When that shit popped off with them and the Treys, he didn’t get in it.”

“That’s possible,” Tears agreed. “Gunn wasn’t never for that Crip-on-Crip shit.”

“Crips bang on Crips out here?” Danny asked, shocked.

“Please believe it.” Tears faced him. “It started because of this kid getting killed for his jacket years ago. The next thing you know muthafuckas started choosing sides and a civil war jumped off between the sets. Shit got real ugly,” Tears recalled. “Personally, I never got involved with it because I feel like the homey Gunn did. At the end of the day we’re all Crips, so it seemed backward for us to be taking each other out. It ain’t as bad as it used to be, but some of these stupid muthafuckas just can’t let it go.”

“That’s some crazy shit.”

“More like genocide,” Rahshida added. “I don’t know when y’all are gonna learn about playing in them streets.”

“Come on, Auntie, don’t start wit that,” Gutter said.

“Kenyatta, please, don’t tell me what to say out my mouth, I’m your aunt, not one of your little hood rat friends. Besides, I’m only telling you the truth. You see what happened to your uncle and he wasn’t even in the streets anymore. You gotta pay it all forward one day, Kenyatta.”

“Can I see him, Rah?” Gutter asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, come on.” She headed toward the back rooms. Gutter followed, while the rest remained behind.

The hallway was narrow, but had high ceilings. There were pictures on the wall of Gunn and other home boys who had come and gone over the years. This was no doubt one of many safe houses Gunn had access to. The fresh paint and hardly worn carpet suggested that this one was new. At least Gunn hadn’t owned it when Gutter was still living in L.A.

Sitting outside the door at the end of the hall was a man lounging on a wooden chair. He had his long legs stretched and crossed, rotating one of his white Chuck Taylors. A wool skully was pulled over his head and ears, stopping at the beginning of his thick beard. His dark face twisted into a mask of disgust at the intrusion, but softened when he recognized his nephew.

“Oh, shit.” He leapt to his feet. “Little Kenyatta!”

“What up, Uncle Rah.” Gutter hugged him.

Rahkim was Rahshida’s twin. The whole Soladine clan was gangsta, but Rahkim was a triple O.G. Much like Gutter and Gunn, Rahkim rebelled against the responsibility of being a Soladine as well as the teachings of Islam. He fell in with the street gangs, right after Gunn did. Though he was younger, his name had more horror stories attached to it than any of them. Rah had been catching bodies since he was eleven years old, only taking an occasional break to do time in someone’s prison. The majority of his cases had been as a minor, so there was only so much time he could do, but his most recent had proved to be his undoing.

Rah and some of his click had gotten high off PCP, and decided they were going to go ride on some Bloods. After appropriating a car, or stealing depending on who you asked, they drove deep into enemy territory. While sitting outside a bowling alley that was rumored to now be under the sway of the rival gang, Rah and his troop spotted a group of people coming out of the alley. They were all wearing red shirts, and walking in the direction of two more men, who had already been confirmed as the enemy.

Getting out of the car, Rah and four other men crept across the parking lot. The two enemies were sitting on the car with their backs to them, so they never saw the approach. Rah got low, dangling his.45-long at his side. The other three men played leapfrog between shadows and parked cars. When the group dressed in red got close to the two men, Rah raised his pistol and dumped.