K'wan - Gutter

He took a moment to wipe as much of the blood from the boy as he could with the sheet before placing him on the bed, propping pillows on either side so he wouldn’t roll off. Gutter whispered soft blessings over him and hoped that the police wouldn’t take too long to get there.

SHARELL SATon a plastic lawn chair in the backyard, trying to relax, but it wasn’t working. Gutter had surprised her with the dream house they’d always wanted, but the circumstances surrounding her being there are what had her on edge. In all the years she’d known Gutter he’d been gang-related, but he never brought it home to her. His street life was kept in the streets, but they should’ve known it’d only be a matter of time before the two worlds collided.

It had all happened so fast that she hadn’t fully had a chance to process it. She had just known that she and Satin were living their last night when that man had them at gunpoint, but through the grace of God she was able to get to her equalizer. She felt bad about shooting that boy, but he was lucky she didn’t finish his ass for punching her in the face. Her jaw was swollen and bruised, but in time the wound would heal. What troubled her was that two more young men were dead.

Just thinking about Mohammad made her sad. When Sharif had taken him she was sure that Mohammad was dead, but there was hope in Sharif’s eyes. Even if he was still hanging on, the amount of blood Mohammad had lost would’ve surely sealed his fate before they could get him medical attention. She would never forget his act of selflessness and would keep Mohammad in her prayers.

“You okay?” Satin asked, coming out into the backyard, carrying a platter with two teacups and a kettle on it.

“I should be asking you that.” Sharell smiled. “Satin, you should be resting, not trying to mother me; I get enough of that from Gutter.”

“It’s okay.” Satin took the chair next to hers and sat the platter on the ground between them. “I’m just trying to get back into the swing of life. Besides, you’re eating for two.” She reached out and touched Sharell’s stomach.

“I’m not the only one.” Sharell pointed at Satin’s stomach. “Looks like we’ll be fat and ugly together.”

“Yeah,” Satin said weakly, and rubbed her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

Satin shook her head. “I don’t know. When Lou-Loc was killed I felt like my will to live died with him. I wanted to curl up into my mind and never come out, and then I find out about this.” She gestured toward her stomach. “The same man who gave me a reason to die turns around and gives me a reason to live.”

Sharell smiled at her. “Lou-Loc was always trying to help people; even in death he’s proved that.”

Satin lowered her head for a minute. When she looked back up to Sharell there were tears in her eyes. “I miss him so much, Sharell, that it hurts.”

“I know, baby.” She patted her hand. “Lord knows that men like Lou-Loc are a blessing, but at the same time the lifestyles we lead always hold consequences. He lived by the gun and so it was by the gun that he died. We will all miss him, but thanks to your love his legacy will live on.”

“You ladies, okay?” Pop Top stuck his head out the sliding glass doors. He and Hollywood had arrived that morning.

“We’re good, Pop Top, thank you,” Sharell told him.

“A’ight, let me know if you need anything.” He smiled and disappeared back into the house. Gutter had sent him to relieve Anwar and his men from guard duty. The young Prince offered to leave some of his soldiers at the house, but Pop Top assured him that he and Hollywood would be okay without them.

“That one gives me the creeps,” Satin told Sharell, thinking how every time he smiled it reminded her of a crocodile before it yanked some unsuspecting prey under the water.

“Pop Top is kind of crazy, but he’s a loyal soldier. If he wasn’t Gutter wouldn’t have even sent him.”

“Speaking of which, when is he due back?”

Sharell looked at her watch. “Sometime tonight. He, Danny, and his nephew are supposed to be flying back after the funeral but they might have to catch a later flight because something else came up.” She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Gutter a few hours prior when he notified her that Rahkim had been murdered. He didn’t offer any details, but Sharell had an idea of what had happened.

“That man has been through so much, I don’t know how he holds up under it all,” Satin voiced.

“Gutter is a warrior. For as many times as I thought the Lord was going to call him home he’s still with me.”

“That’s love.”

“Not love so much, Satin, as God’s will. For as fucked-up a person as Gutter may seem to be, he’s here for a purpose, this I’m sure of. It’s gonna take some time, but he’ll find his way. We’re gonna see to that because we’re family and family looks out for family, right?”

Satin smiled. “Right.”

“Now, let me go in here and see what we’re gonna have for dinner. If we leave it up to Pop Top or Hollywood we’ll be eating from the cat kitchen.” Sharell got up and went into the house, leaving Satin to contemplate the rest of her new life.

“EVERYTHING A’IGHT?”Hollywood asked Pop Top, who had just come in from checking on the ladies.

“Yeah, they having a tea party or some shit.” He flopped on the couch. “You got any more of that purp on you?”

“You know that, fam. I stopped through five-six before I shot out.” Hollywood produced a White Owl from his pants pocket and a fifty sack. He tossed the cigar to Pop Top and proceeded to break the sticky weed up on a magazine.

“Fuck is up wit you and these White Owls, you don’t smoke Dutches no more?” Pop Top teased him.

“Man, you know the proper way to smoke piff is in a White Owl,” Hollywood informed him. “Say man, when are the rest of the homeys getting here?”

“I don’t know, sometime this afternoon. What, you scared or something?” Pop Top joked.

“Never that, but I thought this was the rally point? Ain’t too much of a rally if it’s just us two.”

“Young Wood, you don’t need no army to win a war. All you need is two or three niggaz down to ride and a few of these.” He held up a chrome pistol. “Now hurry up wit the bud, I’m ready to get high.” Pop Top reclined in the chair, cracking the blunt over a paper bag. There would be a rally in Long Island, but not the kind Hollywood’s bitch ass was expecting.

THAT MORNINGwas a slow one in Harlem. The normally active streets of Harlem were still and quiet. Between the police and the escalating gang feud, people had made themselves scarce. Bruticus was dead, along with Young Rob and China. C-style was nowhere to be found and Pop Top had disappeared to Long Island. He’d tried to persuade High Side to come along, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. Being that there was no one on the streets they were wide-open for him. At his usual post, on a crate in front of the bodega on 142nd and Lenox, High Side watched the traffic for a potential sale and the ever-present police.

“Young Side, what it is?” Don B. asked, ambling up to the corner. Don B. was a former hustler who had turned rapper-CEO. Back then, before the events in Hood Rat, Still Hood, or Section 8, Big Dawg Entertainment was still a fledgling company with Don B. as its only act. But little did either of them know at the time that Big Dawg would not only grow into a multimillion-dollar label, but it would be in the center of a controversy surrounding several murders.

“Don, what da deal my nigga.” High Side slapped him five. “I’m surprised to see you on the streets of Harlem. I thought you moved to Switzerland or some shit since you a rapper now,” High Side teased him.