K'wan - Gutter

Every so often High Side could be seen casting a suspicious glance at Pop Top. His friend had something cooking and High Side was sure it’d go poorly. He and Pop Top went back like two flats, and had held each other down against seemingly impossible odds, but he was talking some other shit. If they tried a mutiny and it didn’t go right they’d be dead men.

“Sup, cuz?” Pop Top asked High Side, noticing the conflicted look on his face.

High Side shrugged. “Ain’t shit, man, just thinking. Seems like we’re losing more of ours than taking out theirs. It’s fucked-up what happened to the lil homeys.” He nodded at the caskets.

“Yeah, man. A real fucking shame,” Pop Top agreed. “Don’t trip though, they gonna get theirs, all we need is a new strategy. After the funeral I’m gonna dip out to L.I. for a minute with Sharell.”

“What happened to ‘fuck Gutter, I ain’t no babysitter’?” High Side questioned.

“You know there’s always a method to my madness, cuz. Just be ready to roll when I come scoop you.”

High Side looked at him. “Man, Gutter asked you to go, not me.”

“High Side, it’s gonna rain out this bitch and I don’t want none of mine to get wet. We just gonna sit up for a while and plot our next move.” Pop Top tried to sway him.

“Man, a nigga got business on the streets; I ain’t got time to be laid up in the suburbs. Do what you gotta do, man, I’m out here.”

“What y’all rapping ’bout?” Bruticus asked, moving closer. He was still a bit stiff from the bullet he’d taken in his lower back, but thanks to the medication he’d been prescribed he wasn’t feeling much pain.

“Ain’t shit, just thinking back on the homeys,” Pop Top lied.

“Damn, cuz, I can’t believe them lil niggaz is gone,” Bruticus said.

“I know, son,” Pop Top agreed. “Man, I don’t know what made China off his self, but the boy Rob went out like a gangsta!” Pop Top said proudly.

“Ain’t no honor in death, kid,” Hollywood said. No one had even seen him get up and walk over. “Them young boys is outta here, cuz… gone from it,” he said emotionally. “They didn’t deserve to go out like that, fam.”

“Yeah, but we gonna ride for them kids. Word to mine, it’s on!” Bruticus declared.

“All day, cuz.” Pop Top was speaking to Bruticus, but staring at Hollywood. “So what’s up, you gonna call Gutter on speaker phone so he can get the play-by-play on this too?” he asked sarcastically.

Hollywood looked at him stone-faced from behind his shades. “Man, go ahead with that shit, Top. This ain’t the time or place.”

“Then pick a time and a place,” Pop Top challenged.

Hollywood glared at Pop Top. He was surely armed, but Hollywood didn’t come empty-handed. He had a two-shot tucked in his cast that he could get to easily if need be, but to cause a scene at a funeral? “Let me get with you outside for a minute.” Hollywood stepped outside with Pop Top and the others on his heels. Before the chapel doors were even closed behind them, Pop Top started right in.

“Fuck that shit. A bitch cut ya face and you get all scared and shit and call Gutter. What’s up, Wood, I thought you was ’bout the movement?” Pop Top accused.

“Man, don’t ever question my dedication to Harlem, I’m just as down as any of these niggaz, if not more so.” He motioned to the scar on his face and the cast on his hand. “This shit was about dealing with a problem that was getting out of hand.”

“I had the problem under control!” Pop Top snarled.

“How you had it under control, Top, when we taking more losses than them? Look”-Hollywood tried to compose himself-“we all crew so it ain’t no sense in beefing about it, but we had to let the homey G know what was going down, Top.”

Pop Top sucked his teeth. “Whatever, man.”

“Why don’t you two niggaz kiss and make up?” Bruticus teased.

“Fuck you.” Pop Top spat on the ground. “So, what Gutter say to you about this Major Blood cat?” he asked Hollywood.

“He’s bad news times ten. The best way to deal with a cat like Major Blood is to kill him on sight, no questions asked.” Hollywood recounted what Gutter had told him.

“Shit, we’ve been trying like a muthafucka,” High Side added.

“Man, it’s time to lay this bitch-ass nigga out once and for all. Me and-” That was as far as Bruticus got before the back of his head was knocked clean off.

THE REVERENDhad stopped speaking and everyone crouched in their seats when the sounds of gunshots erupted outside. C-style took a quick glance around the room and saw that her crew that had gathered in the back was nowhere to be found, so that meant they were the source of the gunshots, but the question remained of what side of the bullets they were on. Some of the homeys started drawing weapons and charging the door, sending the mourners further into panic. Fingering the small pistol in her purse, C-style fell in step behind her gang.

EDDIE STEEREDthe car while Tito sat in the passenger seat rolling a blunt. Major was silent in the backseat, which unnerved Eddie. The whole time Major Blood had been in New York, he’d been boastful and arrogant, but now he was as silent as the grave. Now he just sat, staring out the window and petting a C-15.223 caliber like it was a cat. Eddie wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the machine gun and wasn’t about to ask, considering the mood Major Blood had been in since killing Hawk.

Eddie turned right on 125th and Eighth, heading north. Along the block he could see the cars lined up and people milling about in front of the funeral home. Among those people were Pop Top and his gang. Seeing his enemies Major Blood sat up in the seat.

“Slow down, my nigga,” Major said, moving to a kneeling position in the backseat.

“You ain’t gonna kill these niggaz in front of the funeral home, are you?” Eddie asked nervously.

Major chuckled. “Watch me.” As Eddie neared the funeral home, Major leaned out the window and started dumping.

ALL HOLLYWOODcould do was stand there in shock as bits of Bruticus’s skull sprayed on his face. One minute they had been talking and the next his comrade had gone down. Major Blood was leaning out of the back of Hawk’s truck firing on them with reckless abandon.

A crackhead coming out of the store, holding a forty ounce of Country Club, was the only thing that saved Hollywood from getting caught too. The bullet tore through the fiend’s chest, slamming him into the bodega window. Willing himself to move, Hollywood dove behind the funeral home’s hearse, which Tito proceeded to spray with slugs from a black Mac.

“It’s on!” Pop Top roared, drawing his own weapon. He fired on the truck, while trying to back up to the safety of the funeral home. At the sound of gunfire the homeys had started filing out of the funeral home, and most of them got caught in the cross fire and were gunned down. A few were able to let off return fire, while others ran for cover.

Answering the call to arms, High Side returned fire on his enemies. He and Pop Top looked like two gunslingers; taking turns ducking and returning fire. The windows of the truck shattered, but there was no way to tell if they’d hit anyone. The tires on the truck squealed as Major Blood and company sped off up Eighth.

C-STYLE STEPPEDout onto the curb and was horrified at the scene. Bodies were strewn all in front of the funeral home, which was now riddled with bullets. Hollywood was picking himself up off the ground with a terrified look in his eyes. Pop Top and High Side looked rattled, but otherwise okay. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Bruticus. The former Decepticon was stretched out on the concrete with a gaping hole in the back of his head. When C-style saw the goop oozing out the back of his head she ran around the corner and vomited.