Gutter (28 page)

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Authors: K'wan

BOOK: Gutter
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HOLLYWOOD DIDN'T
have to look over his shoulder to know that Tito and Major Blood were hot on his heels. If their heavy footfalls hadn't given them away the plaster spraying on him from all sides did.
Just ahead of him he saw Dirty Bill hit the fire door and go spilling into the darkened alley, two seconds later he was flopping back inside. A small hole appeared in the middle of his forehead, though the blood had yet to show itself.
Trapped,
was the first word that popped into Hollywood's mind. With the two Blood assassins at his back and God only knew how many enemies in the alley he had just become the filling of a shit sandwich. Faced with the choice of having to deal with two seasoned killers or the unknown odds outside, Hollywood chose the latter.
“Die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” he mumbled before rushing the fire door, with the Dragon-Mouth at the ready.
The two young men who had been staked out in the alley were
so focused on Bill that they didn't even notice Hollywood swing the Dragon around until its roar bounced off the walls of the alley. Boo managed to dive out of the way at the last second, but his partner wasn't so lucky. He flapped around on the ground like a wounded fish as the flames ate away at his chest and face. His agony was intense, but short-lived as Hollywood tossed the spent sawed-off and finished him with his pistol. Seeing the streetlights at the end of the alley, Hollywood rushed for freedom, only to be fired on before he made it out of the alley.
 
 
HAD HOLLYWOOD
not slipped on a beer bottle, Boo would've parted his skull like the Red Sea with the shot he let off. Hollywood fell hard on his ass, just before a bullet struck the wall above his head. The impact from the fall jarred his gun loose and sent a jolt of pain through his broken hand as he landed on it. He now found himself a bit dazed and at the mercy of the coal-black young man advancing on him. Just when it seemed like it was over, the whole alley was flooded with light and angry shouts.
 
 
HOLLYWOOD BARELY
had time to roll out of the way as the Honda jumped the curb and slammed into Boo. The car pinned his small frame to the wall with a bone-cracking sound, sending blood spraying from his mouth and onto the windshield. In a rare act of mercy Bruticus got out on the passenger's side and blasted Boo once in the head.
“Yo, Wood …” Bruticus turned to say something to his comrade and a slug slammed into his lower back, sending him crashing into the hood of the car. Another spray of bullets came from across the street where Eddie had been hiding, riddling the side of the car.
After retrieving his pistol Hollywood staggered toward the car, sending an occasional shot at the fire door to keep Tito and Major at bay. He was barely able to duck into the backseat before Eddie shredded the top of the car.
Leaning from the driver's seat, High Side spit off with his 9, laying cover fire for Bruticus to make it back inside the car. Before all the doors could be closed, High Side threw the car in reverse, clipping a fire hydrant when they hit the street, blanketing the block in water. He felt like a coward for running, but a good run was always better than a bad stand.
“Cuz, what was that shit all about?” High Side asked, swerving in traffic.
“It was about some faggot-ass slobs stepping way out of bounds,” Hollywood panted. “Man, this shit is getting out of hand real quick.” He felt his ruined face. Even if he dropped a few stacks on getting plastic surgery there would probably still be a scar.
“Son, I'm calling Pop Top and telling him what went down.” High Side flipped his cell phone open.
“Fuck Pop Top, nigga. Get Gutter on the line!” Bruticus demanded, trying not to pass out from the loss of blood.
“I
SEE YOU
still slumming,
cuz,
” Ren said, with his face twisted into a mad-dog stare. He stood with his heels touching and feet pointing out like the top half of a number four.
“I could say the same,
Blood,
” Trik replied. There was no emotion in his voice and his eyes remained cold as he stared at Ren. The men were equal in height as well as build, but whereas Ren was known as a brawler, Trik was a stone killer.
There was an uneasy moment where neither man said a word. There was the faint sound of thunder in the distance, but there didn't seem to be a cloud in sight. Mongo tensed like he was about to make a move, but Jynx had him covered. When the air had finally come to a boil, both Ren and Trik burst into broad grins.
“What's popping, family?” Trik embraced Ren.
“Same shit, different day.” Ren hugged him equally tight. “Nigga, I ain't seen you since Christmas!”
“You know the streets keep a nigga busy.” Trik shrugged. “Tell my auntie I'm gonna come check her for her birthday though.”
Jynx looked totally confused, but Gutter and Snake Eyes shared a quiet chuckle. The main reason that Gutter had brought Ren along was because he and Trik were first cousins. Sure, they racked up one hell of a body count on opposing sides, but it never came between the cousins. Gutter reasoned that if Trik did have something dirty up his sleeve he'd have been hesitant to spring trap if his family was involved.
“So, what's this all about, cousin?” Ren asked Trik.
“It's about us offering some crab muthafuckas a hand up and they pull a bitch move. Fuck you on snatching my brother, Blood?” Mongo spat viciously.
“Man, you need to slow ya muthafucking lip and remember where you at.” Jynx stepped forward with a scowl. “Only blood pump through the beach is
blue
blood.” Years before Mongo had shot one of Jynx's home boys when he was coming out of the movie theater with his girl. Jynx had always wanted to even the score, but hadn't had the good fortune to bump into him.
“Man, we gonna roll around in the dirt like some schoolkids or we gonna swap some stories?” Gutter's voice boomed. He didn't speak above his normal tone, but the power in his words is what gave it volume.
Trik turned to the speaker and narrowed his eyes. His features had hardened since the last time he'd seen him; he knew the youngest male Soladine. “Sup, Gutter?”
Gutter shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me? Word is you got some intel on who put the heat to my uncle.”
“Man, skip all that. We ain't telling you crabs nothing until I see my brother!” Mongo cut in. The veins in his thick neck were bulging like they would burst at any moment. He was trying to lay the guerrilla down, but Gutter wasn't moved.
The fire in Gutter's eyes was the only sign that he was becoming
irritated with Mongo. “Dawg, why don't you kick back with that loud shit, fo it get tense 'round here? Unlike some muthafuckas, I respect the rules of conduct, so I wouldn't do you or your envoy like that. But if you niggaz is running some bullshit you can rest assured the Soladines ain't gonna be the only ones burying one of their own.”
“Why don't everybody just kick back for a minute,” Trik spoke up. “Gutter, let's cut to the chase 'cause ain't neither one of us got time for it. The bottom line is I came here to see if we can put a cease to the bloodshed.”
“Trik, you must be out ya mind to come over here talking some peace shit when my brother is about to be laid into the ground, cuz. Nah, this shit is about to go full-scale,” Rahkim said emotionally.
“Young Rah, I done lost two brothers and a nephew to this shit, so make no mistake about my understanding your loss,” Trik said. “Gunn was born on the wrong side of the fence, but me and all the home boys respected him as a stand-up nigga and we also respected the fact that he wasn't active no more.”
Snake Eyes spoke up for the first time. “Trik, I've known you for a long time and you've always been a man of your word, but if the homeys respected Gunn's inactive status then how the fuck did he get hit? And why is the finger being pointed at y'all?”
“I don't know all the details, but what I can tell you is that nobody from this side sanctioned that hit,” Trik assured them.
“Man fuck dancing around the subject. If y'all didn't do it, I wanna know who killed my uncle,” Gutter said seriously.
“Come on, G, you know I ain't in the business of snitching,” Trik told him.
“Well, that's too fucking bad, because I'm in the business of killing and if you had us come out here for nothing I'm gonna put
in some overtime,” Gutter shot back. Trik looked like he wanted to say something, but kept looking to his homeys for a reaction. “Trik, what is your face telling me that ya mouth ain't?”
Trik ground his teeth together. He looked from his troops to theirs and weighed his options. Sure, they could all bang out and make a bad situation worse, but Trik wanted a solution, not a bigger problem. Taking a short breath, he addressed Gutter, “Walk with me for a minute, Gutter.” Trik motioned toward a darkened corner away from everyone else.
“Nigga, fuck that shit. Trik, you better start talking before these fullies do!” Rahkim snarled.
“It's all good, Unc.” Gutter placed a reassuring hand on his enraged uncle's shoulder. “Come on, Trik.” Gutter broke away from his group. When they were out of earshot, Trik began speaking in a hushed tone.
“First of all, let's get one thing straight,
lil
homey, I earned my stripes just like you and everybody else out the Soladine house, so I don't take kindly to being spoken to like a common street punk,” Trik told him.
“I hear you, Trik, our family is dead, and the finger is being pointed at you, not nobody else. Now, if you've got some info you wanna share, I'm listening. If not, the next time we meet we'll be speaking over pistols,” Gutter told him. It wasn't a threat, but an actual fact and Trik knew that.
Had this been ten years ago it would've surely been on and popping for the threat Gutter had launched at Trik. In his day he had commanded respect and been quick to violence, but it was no longer his day. The young wolves had changed the code of conduct and every gangster, young and old, could be a potential victim of their wrath. Trik was a battle-worn vet, one of the few who had lived to see his forties, and was just trying to live peacefully for
the rest of his days, and a confrontation with the youngest remaining Soladine wasn't something he wanted. No, it was better to just give him what he wanted and be done with it. With any luck Gutter and the wild assassin from the red side would kill each other and be out of Trik's hair for good.
“A'ight, trip this.” Trik leaned in to whisper to Gutter. “I ain't gonna deny the fact that a Blood blasted your uncle, but it wasn't about no turf. This shit was about a murder that's over twenty years old. The muthafucka who wasted Gunn had a personal grudge, one that even the nation couldn't make him let go.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know who could've been holding a grudge against Gunn for twenty years?” Gutter didn't bother to hide his irritation at Trik's riddles.
“Shit, you're a smart kid. Ask your uncle Rahkim about it. You think on the only nigga crazy enough to clip a dude like Gunn after he was declared inactive, and you couple it with what you learn from your uncle. It'll come to you.”
“Trik, that ain't good enough. You said you wanted to end the violence, so I need a name to make that happen,” Gutter told him.
Trik sighed. “I want this shit to stop, but I ain't about to just give up one of my own, Gutter, you should know this. Wrong or right, he's still damu and I just can't send him off to the slaughter like that, so you're on your own with the name. Now, if you wanna get down over it”—Trik spread his arms—“cool, but I'd rather keep this shit individual instead of riling the sets. It's hard enough to get these little niggaz to quit tripping as it is.”
Gutter weighed Trik's words. He could've tried to force the issue, but to what end? Trik obviously wasn't giving up the name, and besides he had already risked more than he had to trying to put a stop to the fighting. Some people might've taken the fact that Trik was meeting with Crips in Long Beach as a sign of not being
down, which could've netted him a bigger problem than the Soladines. For him to risk his life like that Gutter knew that Trik truly did want to put an end to the violence.
“A'ight, O.G. Trik.” Gutter nodded. “Me and mines is gonna bail back to the 'rib and try to put the pieces of this puzzle together.”
“G, you know if anybody finds out I put you on the trail …”
“Don't worry about that, Trik. I ain't gonna throw you under the bus for what you did here today.”
Trik laughed. “Young general, this ain't got nothing to do with worrying, it's about finally saying enough is enough. I've been killing and watching homeys die longer than most of these niggaz been alive. Set love used to be about something bigger than the turf, but somewhere along the line the game got twisted. If I don't never go to another funeral, it'll still be one too many. I'm tired of this shit, homey, you feel me?”
Gutter thought about his own life and what it was amounting to. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I'm starting to,” he said, going back to join his soldiers.
“What's good, cuz?” Snake Eyes asked, noticing the worried expression on Gutter's face after speaking with Trik.
“Mount up, niggaz, we outta here,” Gutter addressed his crew.
“Fuck you mean y'all out of here? What about my brother?” Mongo demanded.
“As soon as we're clear, Pudgy will be released,” Gutter told him, as he climbed behind the wheel of the Regal.
“So what's up, Hoover and Swan cool or what?” Trik called after him.
Gutter smirked. “For the moment. But trip this, big homey, if what you told me was some bullshit, I'm gonna come through yo hood and kill you personally, but that's after I stink your wife and
anybody else in the house that's old enough to vote.” With that being said, Gutter backed the car out of the lot and mashed to the highway.
 
 
“SO WHAT'S
the business, nephew? We blasting on Swans tonight or some other fag-ass set?” Rahkim asked from the backseat.
“I'm still trying to figure it out,” Gutter told him. “Say, Unc, what you know about a slob Gunn blasted on back in the eighties?”
Rahkim laughed. “Shit, you know how many niggaz my brother done killed in the last twenty years? You'd be better off asking me who the mayor of Mexico City is.”
“Nah, this would've been different. From what I gathered from Trik this has to do with a grudge of some sort. Think on it, Unc, is there anything that Gunn could've done back then that somebody would've been willing to wait twenty years to retaliate?”
Rahkim was silent for a minute, going over the list of kills he knew about. Suddenly he recalled something that might be relevant. “Actually I do remember some shit, a real fucked-up situation that went down at the fair. The Hoovers got into it with some niggaz and they bitches from the 900s, which turned into a firefight. A bitch got shot while her kid was in the backseat of the car. Gunn didn't know shorty was there at the time, but when he found out it had him fucked-up for a long time.”
“The Nines?” Gutter tugged at his beard. Gutter flipped through his mental rolodex of killers in California and found that the list was longer than he was comfortable with. Death was a rite of passage for the children of the Pacific Coast, same as peewee football for suburban kids. Though the 900 block Bloods weren't the largest set, they had a reputation for brutality, but he still couldn't think of one who would've been stupid enough to
touch Gunn … then it hit him. One 900 block rider was just that fool.
“Major Blood,” Gutter hissed. For as long as he could remember Major Blood had been a thorn in his and Lou-Loc's sides. Neither of them could ever figure why he was so hell-bent on giving them grief, but after hearing Trik's and Rahkim's tales it finally made sense. “The woman Gunn killed had to be Major Blood's mother, or at least an aunt or some shit. He's the shooter.”
“Major Blood?” Snake Eyes asked, his voice going up an octave. At the mention of the man's name Snake Eye's mental gang file popped open. Major Blood was a cross between Lou-Loc and Gutter, with a splash of Charles Manson. He had never met the man, but he knew of Major Blood and his exploits all too well.
“Oh, hell nah!” Rahkim slammed his fist into the door, rattling the windows. “That lil half-spic son of a bitch couldn't have touched mine? Floor this bitch to Compton, Ken. On Hoover, I'm gonna smoke his ho ass and everybody close to him.”
“Oh, we gonna ride on them niggaz real proper, Unc, don't worry about that. Before I leave California I'm gonna send Major Blood and his whole gang a great big fuck you. But the question still remains, where the fuck is he?” He was about to add to the question when his new cell phone vibrated. When he looked at the screen and saw the 646 area code he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

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