K'wan - Gutter

Hawk clutched at the gaping hole and stared up at Major Blood in disbelief. He knew that the killer’s services came at a high price, but he never expected it to be his life. Shotta tried to break and run, but Major gunned him down.

“Man, they’re gonna send a fucking hit squad after us,” Tito said nervously.

“Let them,” Major said as if it were nothing. “In two or three days my cousin Reckless will be here with a few of the homeys from the set. Niggaz from the East Coast can either side with us, or die with Hawk. At this point I don’t give too much of a fuck.”

“This is bad, man. Real bad,” Eddie said, pacing nervously.

“The old ways are done,” Major Blood said to the corpse at his feet. “It’s time to bring in some fresh blood.” With a smoking barrel in his hand he turned to Tito and Eddie. “What’s it gonna be, homey, the new regime or the old?” he asked, pointing the gun at Tito’s head.

“Shit, I’m wit you all day Blood,” Tito said hurriedly.

“What about you?” Major Blood turned the gun on Eddie.

Eddie swallowed his heart, which was trying to crawl up from his throat. “All I wanna know is what we’re gonna call the new set?”

“That’s what I like to hear from my generals,” Major Blood said proudly, tucking the gun back into his waistband. “This night marks a new beginning for our little family. Death to all those who oppose us, Crip, Blood, or civilian. Come on, y’all”-he draped his arms around them-“let’s go get twisted, because tonight… We’ve got a funeral to attend.”

GUTTER STAREDat himself in the mirror for a long while before he finally managed to get off the bed. All of his jewelry and identification were wrapped in a sock and tucked in the top drawer. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Over his freshly done braids he wore a stocking cap so as not to worry about leaving hair follicles behind. He watched enough CSI to know that the police technology allowed them a million different ways to catch a nigga if they wanted them bad enough, and for what they were about to pull, they’d sure as hell be hot on their heels.

Making sure his twin Glocks were secured in the holsters around his belt he headed out the bedroom and descended the stairs. Monifa was sitting in the living room with Rahshida and Lil Gunn watching some old movie on television. He tried to smile at her, but she turned away. Fuck her too, he thought to himself. If she thought because she’d gotten a little dick from him in a moment of weakness meant she could dictate what he did, she was dead wrong. Gutter loved Monifa, but it was a love that had been slowly fading over the years. His love for the set was everlasting.

“I’m heading out, Auntie,” he called to Rahshida. She glanced up at him then went back to watching her movie. “You need anything?” She didn’t even acknowledge him. “A’ight, I see how it’s going down. Fuck it, I’m out.” Gutter had made it to the front door when Lil Gunn came running up behind him.

“Cuz, I need to holla at you about something.” Gunn whispered. “Walk with me to the kitchen.” Gutter looked over his shoulder and both Monifa and Rahshida were watching him.

“Gunn, I told you that I ain’t letting you ride with us tonight,” Gutter scolded him as they walked into the kitchen.

“Nah, man. I know I can’t ride, but I need you to do something for me.” The youngster dipped under the sink and came up holding something wrapped in a pillowcase. He unwrapped it to expose the six-shot.44 hidden inside.

Gutter gave him a quizzical look.

“It belonged to my daddy,” he explained. “When you bust on them niggaz, do it with my daddy’s fo-fo,” Gunn pleaded. Tears had welled up in his young eyes.

“You got that, cousin,” Gutter assured him, placing the.44 down the front of his pants, weighing them down further.

“That ain’t good enough, Gutter, you gotta put it on something. Put it on the hood that you gonna kill them niggaz that killed my daddy.”

“Gunn-” Gutter began but was cut off.

“Fuck that, cuz. You either put in on the turf or the moment y’all leave the block, I’m gonna sneak outta here and handle it myself!” Gunn said seriously.

Little Gunn had backed him into a corner. Putting something on your hood was the most serious oath you could take. If you put something on your hood and didn’t follow through then your word didn’t count for shit.

Gutter took Gunn by his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “On Harlem Crip, I’m gonna make sure your father’s murder doesn’t go unpunished. I’m gonna bring it to them niggaz, cousin.”

To Gutter’s surprise, Lil Gunn grabbed him in a bear hug. The young man squeezed as hard as he could, while sobbing into Gutter’s chest. “I know you will. My daddy used to always tell me that you and me was more like brothers than cousins and I know you’d never let your little brother down.” Gunn pulled away and wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his T-shirt.

“Go on back in the living room before your aunt thinks I’m trying to teach you how to cook crack or some shit.” Gutter mushed him. The two men walked back into the living room, and all eyes were still on Gutter. He just shook his head and stepped out the front door, where he was greeted by ten armed and dangerous men.

FUNERALS, JUSTas a rule, are sad as hell. But to attend a funeral for a child was a whole new kind of pain. Gutter had paid for the entire funeral, including the seemingly infinite flowers that were spread over the caskets and along the walls, but it couldn’t bring back the lives of the two men who were sent to their final wake.

China and Rob were laid out side by side in two beautifully crafted caskets of a heavenly blue hue. Their faces no longer wore the scowls the streets made them hide behind, but the calmness of two boys who may have just laid down for a nap.

Rob’s mother wore a grim face, occasionally dabbing at the tears that seemed to flow lightly but consistently down her face. Her heart was crushed beyond measure at losing her little boy, but she tried to hold it together as best she could. Ms. Lucy was another case. She bawled like a hungry infant, thrashing her head and occasionally falling. Twice her sister had to keep her from hitting the ground.

C-style sat alone in the corner, taking in the scene. All the homeys had showed up to the funeral. The one decent thing Pop Top had done under his rule was insist that no one showed up to the funeral in street clothes. Though Ms. Lucy knew what was up, Rob’s mother was a square, and they didn’t want to disrespect her. Everybody wore grim faces as they thought of the two lives lost to the set.

The set, C-style thought to herself. Look what the set had taken from her. Rob might not have been the be-all and end-all as far as men went, but he was hers. They had a bond that was supposed to stand the test of time, it wasn’t enough though. He was gone… he died trying to protect her from the enemy… the same enemy C-style had blasted out of existence. It was either kill or be killed was the way she saw it.

There were so many things going through her head that she didn’t really know what to feel; sad for the loss of her lover, guilty because she was now a murderer, or stupid for buying into Gutter’s war? C-style looked down at the cold face of her lover and now imagined herself in the casket. Harlem suddenly started to feel way too small for her.

Pop Top stood off to the back, flanked by High Side and Bruticus. Hollywood sat on the other side of the pew with a fresh-faced young thing snuggled against him. He wore a bandage over the side of his face where Lexi had cut him and dark glasses. Ever since he’d alerted Gutter to Pop Top’s bullshit there had been tension between them. Hollywood didn’t give too much of a shit about his attitude though, his face and his business were ruined.