K'wan - Gutter

“All day, cuz,” Criminal said with vigor.

“Snake.” Gutter turned to his longtime friend. “Walk with me, counselor. We’ve got plans to lay and enemies to blast.”

“SPEAK ONit,” Major Blood said into his cell phone. He listened for a minute as his little cousin Reckless brought him up to speed on what was popping on the west.

“Yeah, they snatched his fat ass out in Torrence,” Reckless said. Major could hear the mirth in his voice. “Trik is trying to smooth things over with them sucka-ass niggaz, you want me to go see him?” the young boy asked, eager to lay something down for the cause.

Major Blood thought on it for a minute. “Nah, let that Jheri curl-wearing muthafucka breathe for now. Once I take care of shit out here, we can put the second phase of our plan in motion. Just lay low until it’s time to mash niggaz out.”

“You got that, big homey. So when we gonna move on the old heads?” Reckless asked. He hated missing out on all the killing he was sure his cousin was putting down on the East Coast.

“In due time, Blood, for right now you just keep your eyes and ears open,” Major told him.

“A’ight then, see about me.” Reckless ended the call.

Major sat, processing what he had just learned. He wished he could be there to see the look on Gutter’s face when the mystery finally unfolded, but it would have to wait. There were things that he still had to put in order before his plan could come full circle. The UBN could fool themselves into believing they were running the show, but when the smoke cleared Major Blood would show them all who was really in power.

DANN ANDTears walked into the garage of the Soladine house to find it overrun with soldiers. Men sat on crates or leaned against walls, chatting. The fact that they were all armed told them that something was up. In the center of the mix were Gutter, Snake Eyes, and Criminal. Snake Eyes was leaning in whispering to Gutter, who was loading an AK-47.

“Damn, it looks like Kuwait in this piece,” Danny said, handing Gutter the box containing his new cell phone.

Tears gave all the men dap and leaned against the workbench, which held a variety of firearms. “Looks like you niggaz is fixing to ride?”

“We are,” Criminal said. Seeing the confused looks on Danny’s and Tear’s faces Criminal went on to rundown what Pudgy had told him.

“You think these niggaz is on the level?” Tears asked, taking a Mac 11 from the workbench, and checking the clip.

“We’ll know in a little while,” Snake Eyes said, popping a clip in a 9 and reaching for the next weapon to load. “We’re meeting them niggaz in Long Beach.”

Danny picked up a shotgun and cocked it. “Now, this is what I’m talking about.”

Criminal twisted his brown face in disgust. “Homey, put that strap down before you hurt somebody. This ain’t no fucking game, so be cool.”

“Come on, man. You act like I ain’t gangsta with mine.” Danny puffed up.

Criminal studied his East Coast cousin for a minute before responding. “Trip this, cuz; it’s easy to sike ya self up to ride on a nigga, but sometimes the coin flips and you can wind up on the other side of the pistol.” He raised his shirt so Danny could see the darkened lumps from healed-over gunshot wounds. “My nigga if I don’t know nothing else I know you die the way you live and I plan on going all the way with it.” Criminal brandished a long pistol.

Danny held Criminal’s gaze, but the lifeless eyes staring back at him swept a phantom wind across the back of his neck. “I can respect that, homey. Look, all I’m saying is that if my homey Gutter is riding into a dangerous situation, I’m going too.”

“It’s cool,” Gutter spoke up. He looked at his protégé seriously and asked, “So you really trying to ride the train?”

Danny stared at Gutter and said, “All day. One thing you always told me was that the set came before anything. If you ’bout to sit wit the devil then you might as well get me a chair.”

Gutter held out his fist. “Solid, little brother.”

“Harlem gangsta to the death, big homey,” Danny declared loud enough for everyone to hear, and pounded Gutter’s fist.

MAJOR BLOODsat motionless in the armchair of his hotel room. Though he wasn’t ranting, as Miguel thought he’d be, the rage in his eyes was apparent. Resting on his lap was a copy of the Daily News. Within its pages two articles caught Major Blood’s eye. The first was about two men killed in a gangland shooting. J. B. and Steve had been good soldiers, but at the end of the day they were expendable. What pissed him off about reading of their deaths was the fact that his warning to Pop Top had been ignored. Steps would have to be taken to show Harlem that he meant business.

The most interesting article was about a woman who had been found dead at a Connecticut mental institution. The ironic part about it was that it wasn’t Satin. The woman who had been killed was supposed to have been in another room, but somehow ended up in Satin’s bed that night. Ms. Angelino had vanished and neither the staff nor the authorities had a clue as to where she’d gone. Major Blood crumbled the newspaper and tossed it into the corner.

“That’s some crazy shit, blood,” Miguel said. “What do you think happened to the bitch?”

“How the fuck would I know,” Major snapped. He had a perfect record as far as contract kills went and Satin had just screwed it up. When he found out who had helped her to escape he vowed that they’ll die slower than she will.

“Something has gotta be done, man,” Eddie added. “Pop Top waxed Vlad and Pook then he had at least five of ours in Brooklyn murked. If we let those fuckers get away with killing them cats it ain’t gonna look good on us.”

Major turned his cold stare to Eddie. “You know what, you have a knack for pointing out the obvious, you silly muthafucka. Next time I’ll break your jaw instead of your nose, maybe then you won’t say such stupid shit.”

Eddie touched his swollen nose, and sucked his teeth. He hadn’t known Major that long, but he already couldn’t stand him.

“Kick back, Eddie,” Tito said, trying to defuse the situation. “So, what we gonna do now, Major?” he addressed his namesake.

“We start hacking away at the limbs of Harlem Crip until it’s time to take the head,” Major told him. “I’m ’bout to call my little nigga B-High and tell him it’s time to start leaking muthafuckas. Maybe he can get the point across better than I can,” he said with a wicked edge to his voice.

“Man, you keep talking ’bout this lil nigga, but how come don’t none of us know him, I assume he Blood?” Eddie asked, which got him a stupid look from Major Blood. “Be cool, nigga, the only reason I asked is because I don’t know his moniker, what’s the skinny on him?”

“Ain’t no skinny, that’s my nigga from the way. Solid-ass soldier,” Major said, not wanting to go into B-High’s shaky history. “Man, we can play twenty-one questions later, y’all go do whatever you gotta do for the day because tonight we riding to the strip joint.”

“Yeah, I could go for that. Fuck a few of them fine-ass black bitches or something tonight.” Miguel rubbed his hands together.

Major Blood looked at him as if Miguel was as dim-witted as Eddie. “Man, we ain’t going to catch no bitches, we going to catch some cases.”

“What’s the plan, Blood?” Tito asked.

Major just grinned and said, “To kill as many muthafuckas as we can without getting caught.”

POP TOPpaced the storage unit trying to suck the life out of a Newport. The cigarette had already burned almost down to the filter, but it didn’t stop him from taking one last drag before tossing it to the ground and fishing around in his pocket for another one. C-style had just delivered the news of China’s suicide and of all the homeys he seemed to be taking it the hardest.