K'wan - Gutter

“Man, this nigga done stirred up more shit in two days then Cisco did the whole summer.” Red tossed a newspaper across the room to Hawk. All throughout it were details about the murders. Crips killed Bloods and Bloods killed Crips. Murder was an everyday thing in New York City, but when it involved the two rival gangs it narrowed the list of suspects considerably. There had been seven murders reported over the last three days and more coming in.

The most tragic piece was the one about a woman getting shot in Harlem. Hawk had warned Ruby over and over, but she wouldn’t listen. He should’ve known that her hatred of the Crips and love of Supreme wouldn’t let her sit by and watch, but he never expected this. Major Blood was proving to be more of a detriment to them than an asset.

“This muthafucka is over the top.” Hawk flipped the paper closed and tossed it onto the floor. “What the fuck were they thinking about calling him in?” Hawk wondered out loud.

“Dawg, you know the phone is gonna be jumping in a minute. When the big boys feel all this heat they’re gonna need somebody to point the finger at,” Shotta told Hawk.

Hawk knew he was 100 percent right. He was responsible for Major Blood while he was in the city and though he had not ordered the murders personally, he would surely take the blame for not keeping the killer on a shorter leash.

“Man, I knew that muthafucka was gonna be trouble the minute he showed up in New York,” Red said. “Son, them Cali niggaz don’t know how to chill the fuck out, now when his ass is long gone we still gonna be catching the flack.”

“Don’t even trip,” Hawk said, grabbing his car keys off the coffee table. Next he went to the closet closest to the front door and retrieved his Glock from the iron box where he kept it. “We gonna go see Major Blood and have a little chat. We out.” Hawk led his crew from the apartment.

“WHAT THEfuck is wrong with your face?” High Side asked, noticing his partner’s sudden mood change when he got off the phone.

“Man, this bitch-ass nigga Gutter is tripping,” Pop Top told him. “Old fag-ass nigga Hollywood went and dry-snitched, now Gutter on some next shit.”

“Dawg, you know how me and you do, but I think Gutter should’ve been told about this shit a long time ago,” High Side admitted.

“So now you sucking Gutter’s dick too?”

High Side narrowed his eyes. “Man, watch yo fucking mouth. Cuz, all I’m doing is pointing out the obvious to you. We was having a hard enough time with all the different red sets popping up and this Major Blood nigga ain’t do nothing but make it worse. Maybe we need to kick back until Gutter gets back?”

“Fuck all that shit, Side. When Gutter’s ass was laid up, Lou-Loc put me in charge of Harlem, now I ain’t good enough to run it?”

“Dawg, that was before Major Blood came on the scene putting batteries in niggaz backs,” High Side pointed out.

“Man, fuck Major Blood and fuck Gutter. Them niggaz don’t run Pop Top.” He spat on the ground.

“So what you gonna do now?”

“This nigga screaming some he need me to go watch his bitch out in Long Island,” Pop Top said, clearly not feeling it.

“Damn, nigga, you ain’t never strike me as the babysitting type,” High Side teased him.

“Nigga, fuck you!”

“Man, fall back you know I’m only fucking wit you.” High Side laughed, but Pop Top didn’t.

“Well, don’t fuck wit me, I done had enough of that shit to last me a lifetime. That fool got me tight, son. This nigga from Cali and act like he know what it is in New York ’cause he been here a few years. Shit we was born and raised in New York!”

“Man, go ahead wit that shit, Pop Top. Gutter is running the show and that’s just the way it is.” Unlike Pop Top, High Side didn’t have delusions of grandeur. He was good with the few corners he’d been given and didn’t really care who was at the helm.

“But it ain’t gotta be, son,” Pop Top said, with a wicked plan forming in his head.

“Man, what kinda shit you talking?” High Side asked in a suspicious voice.

“Check this, all I’m saying is that maybe it’s time we had a little more say in the way things are run? I mean, we are from Harlem, ain’t we?”

High Side thought on it for a minute. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with it?”

“Man, it has everything to do with it, Side. We homegrown, baby, but Gutter is the one who gets all the props. Check, when him and Lou-Loc first started that unified set shit, who helped them rally the troops?”

“Us,” High Side said.

“And when muthafuckas jump up, who put ’em down?”

“Us.”

“Exactly.” Pop Top slapped his palms together. “We opened the door for a nigga and we can’t get a set of keys? Don’t get me wrong, High Side, I got love for the homey too, but he ain’t the only nigga putting in work.”

“I see your point, but what we supposed to do about it, Top?” High Side asked.

“Fuck you think, nigga? If I can’t get a piece up under Gutter, I might as well take the whole pie.” Pop Top flipped open his cell phone.

“Who you calling?” High Side asked.

“Bronx Presbyterian Hospital.”

THERE WEREso many young men gathered in the garage that the door had to be kept open to accommodate them. Weed smoke filled the air while bottles clanged together and weapons were visible on just about everyone. Most of the men, Gutter knew, but the rest had just come to get their pound of flesh.

“Cousins,” Gutter began, forgoing the formalities. “Yesterday we lost a down-ass soldier. A soldier who put many of us on the turf, and handed damn near all of us beat-downs when we were out of bounds. Gunn was not only my uncle, but he played the father figure to a great many of us. We all knew Gunn wasn’t in no more, hell everybody on the Coast knew he wasn’t active, but that didn’t stop that ho-ass nigga Major Blood from laying my folk.” The people who had gone with him to see Trik knew who was behind the killing, but this was the first time Gutter had said it publicly.

“Major Blood?” someone whispered.

“I thought he was in the can?” another voice added.

“Nah, they smoked him for killing Bad Ass!” someone else added to the mix.

“Nah, that fag is alive and kicking, causing me even more grief on the East Coast,” Gutter said.

“Man, I say we mount up for a road trip, loc!” Criminal said eagerly. It had been awhile since he killed something for the hood and didn’t know how much longer he could contain himself. Gutter and Rahkim were icons to young Criminal and he was dying to get his stripes up.

“Nah, little cousin, that’s a problem that I’m gonna deal with personally. Oh, but before I do, I want that slob to feel what we feel right now,” Gutter said emotionally. “I want him to know what it’s like to bury a homey or a muthafucking relative!” he shouted. “Tonight, we rolling through Compton and I’m gonna show these niggaz from the other side how to catch a fucking body. When we bail through, I want any and everything in that hood to lay down!”

The crowd roared at Gutter’s proclamation. The sounds of sets being shouted and guns clicking were all that could be heard. They didn’t even see Rahshida when she pulled up in the driveway with Monifa. Seeing twenty young men gathered on her property, with Gutter and Rahkim in their midst, meant another mother would be burying her child soon.

“What are y’all doing out here congregating?” she addressed them, putting her shopping bag down on the hood of the car. Monifa came to stand beside her.

“Ain’t nobody congregating, Auntie. The homeys just came by to pay their respects to Big Gunn.” Gutter leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She frowned at the smell of liquor coming off his breath.