“GOTDAMN, MAJOR
, we could've used that nigga!” Tito fumed.
“For what? Man, I wouldn't use that snake-bitch to wipe the shit off my shoes,” Major Blood spat. “I came here to put in work, not play muthafucking I Spy, nigga! Fuck B. T. and fuck Harlem. What you need to do is spin Harlem so I can get a line on this monkey muthafucka, Pop Top. As far as everything else, I got this nigga.”
“I hope so, Blood,” Miguel mumbled.
“Y'all niggaz stop acting like faggots and show some nuts,” Major barked. “Now pay attention while I put that little info you gave me to some good use, Tito.” Major Blood pulled out his cell and punched in a few numbers. After a brief pause someone picked up on the other line, but didn't say anything, not that Major needed him to. “Sup, Blood?” Major greeted his watchdog.
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THE MAN
known as B-High was a piece of shit even by a piece of shit's standards. Born in Compton and raised on different Blood
sets throughout the surrounding area, all he knew was gang-banging and his love for his hood ran deeper than the love he had for his own mother. To him there was nothing outside of the set.
Major Blood had originally come across the wild young man barely into his fifteenth year and had no problem turning him out. The seeds had already been planted in B-High so all Major Blood had to do was add a little water. Of all the young Bs he had under him, B-High was the most down to ride, which is why he was now on the East Coast living like a fugitive.
When Major had finally reached O.G. status he decided it was time to deal with his mother's murderer. It was public knowledge that Big Gunn from Hoover had killed his mother, so he found himself stumped that when he'd approached the governing body about laying Gunn they had denied him justice. Some of the old heads felt him on wanting to ride for his old bird, but there were two in particular who fought him tooth and nail on the matter, Swoop from the Jungle, and Bad Ass who represented the 900s. They spit a bunch of political shit about letting old beefs die and Gunn's status, but Major didn't even listen. In his mind, if you weren't for him then you were against him and you had to go, Blood or not. It was that night after the meeting that he plotted Swoop's and Bad Ass's deaths.
Major knew he would be under the magnifying glass, because of the ruling and his reputation of having a hot temper, so he had to seek help elsewhere and this is where B-High came in. He loved Major Blood as if he had been the one to push him from the womb. All it took was the spiel of crabs killing Major's parents and Bad Ass and Swoop trying to protect them. B-High was a powder keg and Major Blood lit the fuse.
Three nights after Major Blood and B-High's meeting Swoop was found shot to death in the parking lot of his apartment complex.
Bad Ass got roasted the next evening. He was found at an hourly motel in Hollywood sporting a bullet hole in his left cheek. The whore he had been with took one in the back, but unfortunately she lived. Five minutes after scrolling through the LAPD's gang file, she had fingered B-High and made him not only a fugitive from justice, but with his name crossed out on every wall in the hood. The set had marked him for death.
Major Blood knew that he would have to get rid of anything that could've tied him to the murders, but he had a soft spot for B-High. Instead of murking him he put B-High on the first thing smoking to Florida. B-High was supposed to lay low until things had cooled off, but of course he couldn't. He went from selling coke on South Beach to sniffing and taking contract hits for short paper in Miami, and finally a fugitive from both ports. Now he made his home in New York, living off the occasional bone Major Blood threw him and his wits.
He was thoroughly surprised when he'd heard from his old mentor, Major Blood. Every so often Major would throw him a piece of business, but that was always done by phone or coded letters. They hadn't actually seen each other in almost a year, so he wondered what his intentions really were for coming to New York? His first thought was that Major had finally confessed and bartered B-High's life for his, but when he mentioned Gutter his fears were put to rest.
Gutter had been notorious in California, but he was becoming a street legend in New York. He had brought to the Big Apple what hadn't been seen in L.A. for almost ten years, banging ⦠full frontal murder over turf. His gangsta wasn't to be tested, but it was his ability to unify the sets that made him dangerous. Could you imagine a man like Gutter with ten thousand troops? No, it made perfect sense for Major Blood to be put on his ass. Use a sociopath to kill a sociopath, how ironic was that?
The nation must've been pissed with Gutter, considering Major's rep and the fact that he hated every Soladine. But the logic behind it, nor Gutter, were B-High's concerns at the moment. What his mind was focused on was the fact that Major had promised him thirty grand for this assignment. Fifteen up front and fifteen when the job was done. B-High took the money, went and bought a quarter-piece of white, and had been getting blasted and sitting on Sharell ever since.
His cell phone vibrated, tearing his eyes off the entrance of Sharell's building. He started to let it ring until he saw that it was Major. His mentor told him that it was time to go to phase two, which brought a smile to B-High's face. He needed the cash, but he was lazy as hell, preferring to sit in his tiny apartment, playing Madden or sniffing with one of the hood rats off his block. Laziness aside, B-High enjoyed putting in work and the heavy paper Major was gonna drop only got him more excited.
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WHEN SHARELL
felt the faint throbbing in her temples, she knew a headache would be coming soon after. It was bad enough that the baby was sucking all the calcium out of her, causing god-awful toothaches, but the strongest thing she could take was Tylenol â¦
regular
strength at that.
Between the kung fu master in her stomach, who felt the need to kick her every time she tried to doze off, Satin being pregnant, and her man on a suicide mission, Sharell found that her nerves were quite frayed. “French onion dip,” she said aloud. The draining sound that emitted from her stomach said that the baby agreed. Rolling off the couch, which she had been lounging on all morning, Sharell decided to take a walk to the store.
She didn't bother with any sort of primping, opting to just jump in her sweatpants and slip on an overcoat. She could only imagine how she looked with her frayed ponytail and no makeup, but she didn't really give a damn. She was fat, her feet hurt, and she felt like she would need chiropractic therapy for months by the time she gave birth. How someone felt about the way she looked going to the store was the furthest thing from her mind.
The weather was decent, but the wind was in full effect, whipping at her overcoat. She was able to button the coat at the neck and chest, but after that it was a wrap. When she had bought the form-fitting coat she was a size nine or ten, but the baby had her pushing a fourteen. She knew she truly loved that man when she allowed him to move her up four dress sizes.
Across the street she saw the dome light go on in Mohammad's car. With a practiced hand gesture she motioned for him to stay put. She was only going to the store and doubted that some wayward assassin would be waiting for her among the throng of upper-class whites that lived in her neighborhood, especially in broad daylight.
Sharell trekked the short distance to the grocery store on Remsen, which was the only one for blocks. Something else she hated about living in Brooklyn. Granted, it was a beautiful neighborhood, but it lacked the convenience of her beloved Harlem. Uptown you had a store on damn near every corner, and most of them were open twenty-four hours. Still, it was a relatively safe neighborhood and that's what mattered most in light of everything that was going on in her life.
She was going through the freezer of the store, trying to find a pint of Ben & Jerry's banana nut ice cream to go with her chips and dip, when the bell over the store's entrance jingled. The young
man who strode into the store looked totally out of place in the neighborhood. He was wearing oversized jeans and a red sweatshirt that looked a little stretched at the collar under a bulky leather jacket. The Korean couple behind the counter glared at him suspiciously, while the few white shoppers in the market did their best to move out of his way. Sharell sucked her teeth at the way the people reacted to the young man when he came in the store. She wondered if they looked at her the same way when her back was turned. Trying not to tell them about themselves, Sharell decided to grab her stuff and get out of the store. She told herself that she would have to track down another market somewhere in the neighborhood because she didn't know how she felt about giving them her money anymore.
She happened to be coming out of an aisle when the young man was coming in. He gave her a smile as she passed, showing off his badly stained teeth. Sharell gave him a weak smile of her own and kept on to the counter.
Sharell stood in line behind a woman who had decided to pay for her purchase with change, rubbing a coin across a Scratch-Off, when she felt a presence behind her. The young man was looking at her strangely, holding a forty ounce in his wiry mitt. It wasn't a threatening look, but something about it still made Sharell uneasy. Slowly, he unscrewed the top of his beer and took a long swig, never taking his eyes off Sharell. When she got to the counter she was in such a rush to get out of the store that she almost forgot her change. Only when she was outside did her heartbeat start to slow down.
“Excuse me!” a voice called from behind her.
Sharell turned around and saw it was the young man from the store. He was slowly bopping toward her, with his free hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jacket. Sharell's had dipped into her bag and landed on the small .22 Gutter insisted she carry at all times.
She'd been against it at first, but it seemed like it would come in handy. By the time he was within spitting distance of her, Sharell's hand was on its way out of the purse with the pistol.
“Could you tell me where I could find the circuit court?” he asked, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
Sharell stopped the ascent of her hand. “Oh, it's two blocks over,” Sharell said, nodding in the direction of Court Street. She hoped she didn't sound as embarrassed as she was.
“Thanks, ma'am.” The young man nodded, heading up the block. He gave a brief glance around and took another swig of his beer.
Sharell stood there for a minute trying to compose herself. She had almost shot a man for nothing because of her paranoia, which seemed to be getting more out of control throughout the course of her relationship with Gutter.
God and the church aside, Sharell was a straight hood chick and never forgot where she came from, but she wasn't used to this. Gutter was a marked man, not only by rival gangs, but the police as well. From narcotics to homicide, they all knew Gutter from Harlem, but had yet to come up with a way to pin him down. Outside of his street name and his gang affiliation, the NYPD had no idea who he was. Even when he was in the hospital it was under a fake name. He was one of their greatest unsolved mysteries, and an embarrassment to the department, which is why he had to be removed from the equation. They had already made it clear that be it by prison or death, Gutter was going down.
Every day of Sharell's life was spent with the fear that she would be gunned down or snatched over one of Gutter's beefs. Her friends all thought that she should leave him alone, but love was a muthafucka. She knew he was a bad seed, but she also knew that there was good in him just waiting to be brought out, and that's where
she came in. Though it was going to take some doing, she would peel away the hard layers and expose the jewel beneath.
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B-HIGH CHUCKLED
to himself as he took another swig of the beer before tossing it into the trash can. For as protected as Gutter thought his wife was he had just proven that anyone could be gotten to if you were patient. He could've blasted Sharell right there if he so chose, but Major hadn't given him the green light. No matter, he would bide his time and appreciate the reward when it came. Thinking back to the sexy pregnant woman, B-High envisioned himself violating her before she died.
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AS SOON
as Top confirmed the whereabouts of his marks, he contacted his partner in crime, High Side. All of the homeys loved High Side because he was just as vicious as he was loyal. He and Pop Top had come up together and joined the set together. Their bond went beyond just being a part of the same gang.
Next they recruited China. Though China was still fairly new to their gang, he was eager to prove himself. Everyone from the crew dug the little mutt, but steered clear of him because of his ties to B. T. Until then, he had participated in a few petty capers, but nothing heavy. Now it was time to see if he was ready for the next level.
The two men he and his cronies were currently stalking were from the Grant projects, and rumored to be two up-and-coming ghetto stars. They made tons of money for Tito slinging crack up and down Amsterdam Avenue. Top had heard of their exploits, and respected their gangsta. They were young, but would never live to see old age because of the side of the color line they had chosen.